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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/2374-h.zip b/2374-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..33d199a --- /dev/null +++ b/2374-h.zip diff --git a/2374-h/2374-h.htm b/2374-h/2374-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..56c0846 --- /dev/null +++ b/2374-h/2374-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,17214 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of Dora Thorne, by Charlotte M. Braeme +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.footnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.finis { text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Dora Thorne, by Charlotte M. Braeme + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Dora Thorne + +Author: Charlotte M. Braeme + +Posting Date: March 1, 2009 [EBook #2374] +Release Date: October, 2000 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DORA THORNE *** + + + + +Produced by Theresa Armao. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +DORA THORNE +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +by +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +Charlotte M. Braeme +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS +</H2> + +<P> +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="100%"> +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap01">Chapter I</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap02">Chapter II</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap03">Chapter III</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap04">Chapter IV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="20%"> +<A HREF="#chap05">Chapter V</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap06">Chapter VI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap07">Chapter VII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap08">Chapter VIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap09">Chapter IX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap10">Chapter X</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">Chapter XI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">Chapter XII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">Chapter XIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap14">Chapter XIV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap15">Chapter XV</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap16">Chapter XVI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap17">Chapter XVII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap18">Chapter XVIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap19">Chapter XIX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap20">Chapter XX</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap21">Chapter XXI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap22">Chapter XXII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap23">Chapter XXIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap24">Chapter XXIV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap25">Chapter XXV</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap26">Chapter XXVI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap27">Chapter XXVII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap28">Chapter XXVIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap29">Chapter XXIX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap30">Chapter XXX</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap31">Chapter XXXI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap32">Chapter XXXII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap33">Chapter XXXIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap34">Chapter XXXIV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap35">Chapter XXXV</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap36">Chapter XXXVI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap37">Chapter XXXVII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap38">Chapter XXXVIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap39">Chapter XXXIX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap40">Chapter XL</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap41">Chapter XLI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap42">Chapter XLII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap43">Chapter XLIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap44">Chapter XLIV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap45">Chapter XLV</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter I +</H3> + +<P> +"The consequences of folly seldom end with its originator," said Lord +Earle to his son. "Rely upon it, Ronald, if you were to take this most +foolish and unadvisable step, you would bring misery upon yourself and +every one connected with you. Listen to reason." +</P> + +<P> +"There is no reason in prejudice," replied the young man haughtily. +"You can not bring forward one valid reason against my marriage." +</P> + +<P> +Despite his annoyance, a smile broke over Lord Earle's grave face. +</P> + +<P> +"I can bring a thousand reasons, if necessary," he replied. "I grant +everything you say. Dora Thorne is very pretty; but remember, she is +quite a rustic and unformed beauty—and I almost doubt whether she can +read or spell properly. She is modest and good, I grant, and I never +heard one syllable against her. Ronald, let me appeal to your better +judgment—are a moderate amount of rustic prettiness and shy modesty +sufficient qualifications for your wife, who will have to take your +mother's place?" +</P> + +<P> +"They are quite sufficient to satisfy me," replied the young man. +</P> + +<P> +"You have others to consider," said Lord Earle, quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"I love her," interrupted his son; and again his father smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"We know what it means," he said, "when boys of nineteen talk about +love. Believe me, Ronald, if I were to consent to your request, you +would be the first in after years to reproach me for weak compliance +with your youthful folly." +</P> + +<P> +"You would not call it folly," retorted Ronald, his face flushing +hotly, "if Dora were an heiress, or the daughter of some—" +</P> + +<P> +"Spare me a long discourse," again interrupted Lord Earle. "You are +quite right; if the young girl in question belonged to your own +station, or even if she were near it, that would be quite a different +matter. I am not annoyed that you have, as you think, fallen in love, +or that you wish to marry, although you are young. I am annoyed that +you should dream of wishing to marry a simple rustic, the daughter of +my lodge keeper. It is so supremely ridiculous that I can hardly treat +the matter seriously." +</P> + +<P> +"It is serious enough for me," returned his son with a long, deep sigh. +"If I do not marry Dora Thorne, I shall never marry at all." +</P> + +<P> +"Better that than a mesalliance," said Lord Earle, shortly. +</P> + +<P> +"She is good," cried Ronald—"good and fair, modest and graceful. Her +heart is pure as her face is fair. What mesalliance can there be, +father? I never have believed and never shall believe in the cruel +laws of caste. In what is one man better than or superior to another +save that he is more intelligent or more virtuous?" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall never interfere in your politics, Ronald," said Lord Earle, +laughing quietly. "Before you are twenty-one you will have gone +through many stages of that fever. Youth is almost invariably liberal, +age conservative. Adopt what line of politics you will, but do not +bring theory into practice in this instance." +</P> + +<P> +"I should consider myself a hero," continued the young man, "if I could +be the first to break through the trammels of custom and the absurd +laws of caste." +</P> + +<P> +"You would not be the first," said Lord Earle, quietly. "Many before +you have made unequal marriages; many will do so after you, but in +every case I believe regret and disappointment followed." +</P> + +<P> +"They would not in my case," said Ronald, eagerly; "and with Dora +Thorne by my side, I could so anything; without her, I can do nothing." +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle looked grieved at the pertinacity of his son. +</P> + +<P> +"Most fathers would refuse to hear all this nonsense, Ronald," he said, +gently. "I listen, and try to convince you by reasonable arguments that +the step you seem bent upon taking is one that will entail nothing but +misery. I have said no angry word to you, nor shall I do so. I tell +you simply it can not be. Dora Thorne, my lodge keeper's daughter, is +no fitting wife for my son, the heir of Earlescourt. Come with me, +Ronald; I will show you further what I mean." +</P> + +<P> +They went together, the father and son, so like in face yet so +dissimilar in mind. They had been walking up and down the broad +terrace, one of the chief beauties of Earlescourt. The park and +pleasure grounds, with flushed summer beauty, lay smiling around them. +The song of hundreds of birds trilled through the sweet summer air, the +water of many fountains rippled musically, rare flowers charmed the eye +and sent forth sweet perfume; but neither song of birds nor fragrance +of flowers—neither sunshine nor music—brought any brightness to the +grave faces of the father and son. +</P> + +<P> +With slow steps they quitted the broad terrace, and entered the hall. +They passed through a long suite of magnificent apartments, up the +broad marble staircase, through long corridors, until they reached the +picture gallery, one of the finest in England. Nearly every great +master was represented there. Murillo, Guido, Raphael, Claude +Lorraine, Salvator Rosa, Correggio, and Tintoretto. The lords of +Earlescourt had all loved pictures, and each of them ad added to the +treasures of that wonderful gallery. +</P> + +<P> +One portion of the gallery was set aside for the portraits of the +family. Grim old warriors and fair ladies hung side by side; faces of +marvelous beauty, bearing the signs of noble descent, shone out clearly +from their gilded frames. +</P> + +<P> +"Look, Ronald," Lord Earle said, laying one hand upon his shoulder, +"you stand before your ancestors now. Yours is a grand old race. +England knows and honors it. Look at these pictured faces of the wives +our fathers chose. There is Lady Sybella Earle; when one of Cromwell's +soldiers drew his dagger to slay her husband, the truest friend King +Charles ever had, she flung herself before him, and received the blow +in his stead. She died, and he lived—noble and beautiful, is she not? +Now look at the Lacy Alicia—this fair patrician lady smiling by the +side of her grim lord; she, at the risk of her life, helped him to fly +from prison, where he lay condemned to death for some great political +wrong. She saved him, and for her sake he received pardon. Here is +the Lady Helena—she is not beautiful, but look at the intellect, the +queenly brow, the soul-lit eyes! She, I need not tell you, was a +poetess. Wherever the English language was spoken, her verses were +read—men were nobler and better for reading them. The ladies of our +race were such that brave men may be proud of them. Is it not so, +Ronald?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he replied, calmly; "they were noble women." +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle then led his son to a large painting, upon which the western +sunbeams lingered, brightening the fair face they shone upon, until it +seemed living and smiling. A deep and tender reverence stole into Lord +Earle's voice as he spoke: +</P> + +<P> +"No fairer or more noble woman ever ruled at Earlescourt than your +mother, Ronald. She is the daughter of 'a hundred earls,' high-bred, +beautiful, and refined. Now, let me ask you, in the name of common +sense, do you wish to place my lodge keeper's daughter by your mother's +side? Admit that she is pretty and good—is it in the fitting order of +things that she should be here?" +</P> + +<P> +For the first time, in the heedless, fiery course of his love, Ronald +Earle paused. He looked at the serene and noble face before him, the +broad brow, the sweet, arched lips, the refined patrician features, and +there came to him the memory of another face, charming, shy and +blushing, with a rustic, graceful beauty different from the one before +him as sunlight compared to moonlight. The words faltered upon his +lips—instinctively he felt that pretty, blushing Dora had no place +there. Lord Earle looked relieved as he saw the doubt upon his son's +face. +</P> + +<P> +"You see it, Ronald," he cried. "Your idea of the 'fusion' of races is +well enough in theory, but it will not do brought into practice. I +have been patient with you—I have treated you, not as a school boy +whose head is half turned by his first love, but as a sensible man +endowed with reason and thought. Now give me a reward. Promise me +here that you will make a brave effort, give up all foolish thoughts of +Dora Thorne, and not see her again. Go abroad for a year or two—you +will soon forget this boyish folly, and bless the good sense that has +saved you from it. Will you promise me, Ronald?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can not, father," he replied, "for I have promised Dora to make her +my wife. I can not break my word. You yourself could never counsel +that." +</P> + +<P> +"In this case I can," said Lord Earle, eagerly. "That promise is not +binding, even in honor; the girl herself, if she has any reason, can +not and does not expect it." +</P> + +<P> +"She believed me," said Ronald, simply. "Besides, I love her, father." +</P> + +<P> +"Hush," replied Lord Earle, angrily, "I will listen to no more +nonsense. There is a limit to my patience. Once and for all, Ronald, +I tell you that I decidedly forbid any mention of such a marriage; it +is degrading and ridiculous. I forbid you to marry Dora Thorne; if you +disobey me, you must bear the penalty." +</P> + +<P> +"And what would the penalty be?" asked the heir of Earlescourt, with a +coolness and calmness that irritated the father. +</P> + +<P> +"One you would hardly wish to pay," replied the earl. "If, in spite of +my prayers, entreaties, and commands, you persist in marrying the girl, +I will never look upon your face again. My home shall be no longer +your home. You will lose my love, my esteem, and what perhaps those +who have lured you to ruin may value still more, my wealth. I can not +disinherit you; but, if you persist in this folly, I will not allow you +one farthing. You shall be to me as one dead until I die myself." +</P> + +<P> +"I have three hundred a year," said Ronald, calmly; "that my godfather +left me." +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle's face now grew white with anger. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he replied, "you have that; it would not find you in gloves and +cigars now. But, Ronald, you can not be serious, my boy. I have loved +you—I have been so proud of you—you can not mean to defy and wound +me." +</P> + +<P> +His voice faltered, and his son looked up quickly, touched to the heart +by his father's emotion. +</P> + +<P> +"Give me your consent, father," he cried, passionately. "You know I +love you, and I love Dora; I can not give up Dora." +</P> + +<P> +"Enough," said Lord Earle; "words seem useless. You hear my final +resolve; I shall never change it—no after repentance, no entreaties, +will move me. Choose between your parents, your home, your position, +and the love of this fair, foolish girl, of whom in a few months you +will be tired and weary. Choose between us. I ask for no promises; you +have refused to give it. I appeal no more to your affection; I leave +you to decide for yourself. I might coerce and force you, but I will +not do so. Obey me, and I will make your happiness my study. Defy me, +and marry the girl then, in life, I will never look upon your face +again. Henceforth, I will have no son; you will not be worthy of the +name. There is no appeal. I leave you now to make your choice; this +is my final resolve." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter II +</H3> + +<P> +The Earles, of Earlescourt, were one of the oldest families in England. +The "Barony of Earle" is mentioned in the early reigns of the Tudor +kings. They never appeared to have taken any great part either in +politics or warfare. The annals of the family told of simple, virtuous +lives; they contained, too, some few romantic incidents. Some of the +older barons had been brave soldiers; and there were stories of +hair-breadth escapes and great exploits by flood and field. Two or +three had taken to politics, and had suffered through their eagerness +and zeal; but, as a rule, the barons of Earle had been simple, kindly +gentlemen, contented to live at home upon their own estates, satisfied +with the duties they found there, careful in the alliances they +contracted, and equally careful in the bringing up and establishment of +their children. One and all they had been zealous cultivators of the +fine arts. Earlescourt was almost overcrowded with pictures, statues, +and works of art. +</P> + +<P> +Son succeeded father, inheriting with title and estate the same kindly, +simple dispositions and the same tastes, until Rupert Earle, nineteenth +baron, with whom our story opens, became Lord Earle. Simplicity and +kindness were not his characteristics. He was proud, ambitious, and +inflexible; he longed for the time when the Earles should become +famous, when their name should be one of weight in council. In early +life his ambitious desires seemed about to be realized. He was but +twenty when he succeeded his father, and was an only child, clever, +keen and ambitious. In his twenty-first year he married Lady Helena +Brooklyn, the daughter of one of the proudest peers in Britain. There +lay before him a fair and useful life. His wife was an elegant, +accomplished woman, who knew the world and its ways—who had, from her +earliest childhood, been accustomed to the highest and best society. +Lord Earle often told her, laughingly, that she would have made an +excellent embassadress—her manners were so bland and gracious; she had +the rare gift of appearing interested in every one and in everything. +</P> + +<P> +With such a wife at the head of his establishment, Lord Earle hoped for +great things. He looked to a prosperous career as a statesman; no +honors seemed to him too high, no ambition too great. But a hard fate +lay before him. He made one brilliant and successful speech in +Parliament—a speech never forgotten by those who heard it, for its +astonishing eloquence, its keen wit, its bitter satire. Never again +did his voice rouse alike friend and foe. He was seized with a sudden +and dangerous illness which brought him to the brink of the grave. +After a long and desperate struggle with the "grim enemy," he slowly +recovered, but all hope of public life was over for him. The doctors +said he might live to be a hale old man if he took proper precautions; +he must live quietly, avoid all excitement, and never dream again of +politics. +</P> + +<P> +To Lord Earle this seemed like a sentence of exile or death. His wife +tried her utmost to comfort and console him, but for some years he +lived only to repine at his lot. Lady Helena devoted herself to him. +Earlescourt became the center and home of famous hospitality; men of +letters, artists, and men of note visited there, and in time Lord Earle +became reconciled to his fate. All his hopes and his ambitions were +now centered in his son, Ronald, a fine, noble boy, like his father in +every respect save one. He had the same clear-cut Saxon face, with +clear, honest eyes and proud lips, the same fair hair and stately +carriage, but in one respect they differed. Lord Earle was firm and +inflexible; no one ever thought of appealing against his decision or +trying to change his resolution. If "my lord" had spoken, the matter +was settled. Even Lady Helena knew that any attempt to influence him +was vain. Ronald, on the contrary, could be stubborn, but not firm. +He was more easily influenced; appeal to the better part of his nature, +to his affection or sense of duty, was seldom made in vain. +</P> + +<P> +No other children gladdened the Lord Earle's heart, and all his hopes +were centered in his son. For the second time in his life great hopes +and ambitions rose within him. What he had not achieved his son would +do; the honor he could no longer seek might one day be his son's. +There was something almost pitiful in the love of the stern, +disappointed man for his child. He longed for the time when Ronald +would be of age to commence his public career. He planned for his son +as he had never planned for himself. +</P> + +<P> +Time passed on, and the heir of Earlescourt went to Oxford, as his +father had done before him. Then came the second bitter disappointment +of Lord Earle's life. He himself was a Tory of the old school. +Liberal principles were an abomination to him; he hated and detested +everything connected with Liberalism. It was a great shock when Ronald +returned from college a "full-fledged Liberal." With his usual +keenness he saw that all discussion was useless. +</P> + +<P> +"Let the Liberal fever wear out," said one of his friends; "you will +find, Lord Earle, that all young men favor it. Conservatism is the +result of age and experience. By the time your son takes a position in +the world, he will have passed through many stages of Liberalism." +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle devoutly believed it. When the first shock of his +disappointment was over, Ronald's political zeal began to amuse him. +He liked to see the boy earnest in everything. He smiled when Ronald, +in his clear, young voice, read out the speeches of the chief of his +party. He smiled when the young man, eager to bring theory into +practice, fraternized with the tenant farmers, and visited families +from whom his father shrunk in aristocratic dread. +</P> + +<P> +There was little doubt that in those days Ronald Earl believed himself +called to a great mission. He dreamed of the time when the barriers of +caste would be thrown down, when men would have equal rights and +privileges, when the aristocracy of intellect and virtue would take +precedence of noble birth, when wealth would be more equally +distributed, and the days when one man perished of hunger while another +reveled in luxury should cease to be. His dreams were neither exactly +Liberal nor Radical; they were simply Utopian. Even then, when he was +most zealous, had any one proposed to him that he should inaugurate the +new state of things, and be the first to divide his fortune, the +futility of his theories would have struck him more plainly. Mingling +in good society, the influence of clever men and beautiful women would, +Lord Earle believed, convert his son in time. He did not oppose him, +knowing that all opposition would but increase his zeal. It was a +bitter disappointment to him, but he bore it bravely, for he never +ceased to hope. +</P> + +<P> +A new trouble was dawning for Lord Earle, one far more serious than the +Utopian dream of his son; of all his sorrows it was the keenest and the +longest felt. Ronald fell in love, and was bent on marrying a simple +rustic beauty, the lodge keeper's daughter. +</P> + +<P> +Earlescourt was one of the fairest spots in fair and tranquil England. +It stood in the deep green heart of the land, in the midst of one of +the bonny, fertile midland counties. +</P> + +<P> +The Hall was surrounded by a large park, where the deer browsed under +the stately spreading trees, where there were flowery dells and knolls +that would charm an artist; a wide brook, almost broad and deep enough +to be called a river, rippled through it. +</P> + +<P> +Earlescourt was noted for its trees, a grand old cedar stood in the +middle of the park; the shivering aspen, the graceful elm, the majestic +oak, the tall, flowering chestnut were all seen to greatest perfection +there. +</P> + +<P> +Art had done much, Nature more, to beautify the home of the Earles. +Charming pleasure gardens were laid out with unrivaled skill; the +broad, deep lake was half hidden by the drooping willows bending over +it, and the white water lilies that lay on its tranquil breast. +</P> + +<P> +The Hall itself was a picturesque, gray old building, with turrets +covered with ivy, and square towers of modern build; there were deep +oriel windows, stately old rooms that told of the ancient race, and +cheerful modern apartments replete with modern comfort. +</P> + +<P> +One of the great beauties of Earlescourt was the broad terrace that ran +along one side of the house; the view from it was unequaled for quiet +loveliness. The lake shone in the distance from between the trees; the +perfume from the hawthorn hedges filled the air, the fountains rippled +merrily in the sunshine, and the flowers bloomed in sweet summer beauty. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle loved his beautiful home; he spared no expense in +improvements, and the time came when Earlescourt was known as a model +estate. +</P> + +<P> +One thing he did of which he repented till the hour of his death. On +the western side of the park he built a new lodge, and installed +therein Stephen Thorne and his wife, little dreaming as he did so that +the first link in what was to be a fatal tragedy was forged. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald was nineteen, and Lord Earle thought, his son's college career +ended, he should travel for two or three years. He could not go with +him, but he hoped that surveillance would not be needed, that his boy +would be wise enough and manly enough to take his first steps in life +alone. At college he won the highest honors; great things were +prophesied for Ronald Earle. They might have been accomplished but for +the unfortunate event that darkened Earlescourt with a cloud of shame +and sorrow. +</P> + +<P> +Lord and Lady Earle had gone to pay a visit to an old friend, Sir Hugh +Charteris, of Greenoke. Thinking Ronald would not reach home until the +third week in June, they accepted Sir Hugh's invitation, and promised +to spend the first two weeks in June with him. But Ronald altered his +plans; the visit he was making did not prove to be a very pleasant one, +and he returned to Earlescourt two days after Lord and Lady Earle had +left it. His father wrote immediately, pressing him to join the party +at Greenoke. He declined, saying that after the hard study of the few +last months he longed for quiet and rest. +</P> + +<P> +Knowing that every attention would be paid to his son's comfort, Lord +Earle thought but little of the matter. In after years he bitterly +regretted that he had not insisted upon his son's going to Greenoke. +So it happened that Ronald Earle, his college career ended, his future +lying like a bright, unruffled dream before him, had two weeks to spend +alone in Earlescourt. +</P> + +<P> +The first day was pleasant enough. Ronald went to see the horses, +inspected the kennels, gladdened the gamekeeper's heart by his keen +appreciation of good sport, rowed on the lake, played a solitary game +at billiards, dined in great state, read three chapters or "Mill on +Liberalism," four of a sensational novel, and fell asleep satisfied +with that day, but rather at a loss to know what he should do on the +next. +</P> + +<P> +It was a beautiful June day; no cloud was in the smiling heavens, the +sun shone bright, and Nature looked so fair and tempting that it was +impossible to remain indoors. Out in the gardens the summer air seemed +to thrill with the song of the birds. Butterflies spread their bright +wings and coquetted with the fragrant blossoms; busy humming bees +buried themselves in the white cups of the lily and the crimson heart +of the rose. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald wandered through the gardens; the delicate golden laburnum +blossoms fell at his feet, and he sat down beneath a large acacia. The +sun was warm, and Ronald thought a dish of strawberries would be very +acceptable. He debated within himself for some time whether he should +return to the house and order them, or walk down to the fruit garden +and gather them for himself. +</P> + +<P> +What impulse was it that sent him on that fair June morning, when all +Nature sung of love and happiness, to the spot where he met his fate? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter III +</H3> + +<P> +The strawberry gardens at Earlescourt were very extensive. Far down +among the green beds Ronald Earle saw a young girl kneeling, gathering +the ripe fruit, which she placed in a large basket lined with leaves, +and he went down to her. +</P> + +<P> +"I should like a few of those strawberries," he said, gently, and she +raised to his a face he never forgot. Involuntarily he raised his hat, +in homage to her youth and her shy, sweet beauty. "For whom are you +gathering these?" he asked, wondering who she was, and whence she came. +</P> + +<P> +In a moment the young girl stood up, and made the prettiest and most +graceful of courtesies. +</P> + +<P> +"They are for the housekeeper, sir," she replied; and her voice was +musical and clear as a silver bell. +</P> + +<P> +"Then may I ask who you are?" continued Ronald. +</P> + +<P> +"I am Dora Thorne," she replied, "the lodge keeper's daughter." +</P> + +<P> +"How is it I have never seen you before?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Because I have lived always with my aunt, at Dale," she replied. "I +only came home last year." +</P> + +<P> +"I see," said Ronald. "Will you give me some of those strawberries?" he +asked. "They look so ripe and tempting." +</P> + +<P> +He sat down on one of the garden chairs and watched her. The pretty +white fingers looked so fair, contrasted with the crimson fruit and +green leaves. Deftly and quickly she contrived a small basket of +leaves, and filled it with fruit. She brought it to him, and then for +the first time Ronald saw her clearly, and that one glance was fatal to +him. +</P> + +<P> +She was no calm, grand beauty. She had a shy, sweet, blushing face, +resembling nothing so much as a rosebud, with fresh, ripe lips; pretty +little teeth, which gleamed like white jewels, large dark eyes, bright +as stars, and veiled by long lashes; dark hair, soft and shining. She +was indeed so fair, so modest and graceful, that Ronald Earle was +charmed. +</P> + +<P> +"It must be because you gathered them that they are so nice," he said, +taking the little basket from her hands. "Rest awhile, Dora—you must +be tired with this hot sun shining full upon you. Sit here under the +shade of this apple tree." +</P> + +<P> +He watched the crimson blushes that dyed her fair young face. She never +once raised her dark eyes to his. He had seen beautiful and stately +ladies, but none so coy or bewitching as this pretty maiden. The more +he looked at her the more he admired her. She had no delicate +patrician loveliness, no refined grace; but for glowing, shy, fresh +beauty, who could equal her? +</P> + +<P> +So the young heir of Earlescourt sat, pretending to enjoy the +strawberries, but in reality engrossed by the charming figure before +him. She neither stirred nor spoke. Under the boughs of the apple +tree, with the sunbeams falling upon her, she made a fair picture, and +his eyes were riveted upon it. +</P> + +<P> +It was all very delightful, and very wrong. Ronald should not have +talked to the lodge keeper's daughter, and sweet, rustic Dora Thorne +should have known better. But they were young, and such days come but +seldom, and pass all too quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"Dora Thorne," said Ronald, musingly—"what a pretty name! How well it +suits you! It is quite a little song in itself." +</P> + +<P> +She smiled with delight at his words; then her shy, dark eyes were +raised for a moment, and quickly dropped again. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you read Tennyson's 'Dora?'" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she replied—"I have little time for reading." +</P> + +<P> +"I will tell you the story," he said, patronizingly. "Ever since I +read it I have had an ideal 'Dora,' and you realize my dream." +</P> + +<P> +She had not the least idea what he meant; but when he recited the +musical words, her fancy and imagination were stirred; she saw the +wheat field, the golden corn, the little child and its anxious mother. +When Ronald ceased speaking, he saw her hands were clasped and her lips +quivering. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you like that?" he asked, with unconscious patronage. +</P> + +<P> +"So much!" she replied. "Ah, he must be a great man who wrote those +words; and you remember them all." +</P> + +<P> +Her simple admiration flattered and charmed him. He recited other +verses for her, and the girl listened in a trance of delight. The +sunshine and western wind brought no warning to the heir of Earlescourt +that he was forging the first link of a dreadful tragedy; he thought +only of the shy, blushing beauty and coy grace of the young girl! +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly from over the trees there came the sound of the great bell at +the Hall. Then Dora started. +</P> + +<P> +"It is one o'clock!" she cried. "What shall I do? Mrs. Morton will be +angry with me." +</P> + +<P> +"Angry!" said Ronald, annoyed at this sudden breakup of his Arcadian +dream. "Angry with you! For what?" +</P> + +<P> +"She is waiting for the strawberries," replied conscious Dora, "and my +basket is not half full." +</P> + +<P> +It was a new idea to him that any one should dare to be angry with this +pretty, gentle Dora. +</P> + +<P> +"I will help you," he said. +</P> + +<P> +In less than a minute the heir of Earlescourt was kneeling by Dora +Thorne, gathering quickly the ripe strawberries, and the basket was +soon filled. +</P> + +<P> +"There," said Ronald, "you need not fear Mrs. Morton now, Dora. You +must go, I suppose; it seems hard to leave this bright sunshine to go +indoors!" +</P> + +<P> +"I—I would rather stay," said Dora, frankly; "but I have much to do." +</P> + +<P> +"Shall you be here tomorrow?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she replied; "it will take me all the week to gather +strawberries for the housekeeper." +</P> + +<P> +"Goodbye, Dora," he said, "I shall see you again." +</P> + +<P> +He held out his hand, and her little fingers trembled and fluttered in +his grasp. She looked so happy, yet so frightened, so charming, yet so +shy. He could have clasped her in his arms at that moment, and have +said he loved her; but Ronald was a gentleman. He bowed over the +little hand, and then relinquished it. He watched the pretty, fairy +figure, as the young girl tripped away. +</P> + +<P> +"Shame on all artificial training!" said Ronald to himself. "What would +our fine ladies give for such a face? Imagine beauty without coquetry +or affectation. The girl's heart is as pure as a stainless lily; she +never heard of 'a grand match' or a 'good parli.' If Tennyson's Dora +was like her, I do not wonder at anything that happened." +</P> + +<P> +Instead of thinking to himself that he had done a foolish thing that +bright morning, and that his plain duty was to forget all about the +girl, Ronald lighted his cigar, and began to dream of the face that had +charmed him. +</P> + +<P> +Dora took the fruit to Mrs. Morton, and received no reprimand; then she +was sent home to the cottage, her work for the day ended. She had to +pass through the park. Was it the same road she had trodden this +morning? What caused the new and shining glory that had fallen on +every leaf and tree? The blue heavens seemed to smile upon her; every +flower, every song of the bright birds had a new meaning. What was it? +Her own heart was beating as it had never beaten before; her face was +flushed, and the sweet, limpid eyes shone with a new light. What was +it? Then she came to the brook-side and sat down on the violet bank. +</P> + +<P> +The rippling water was singing a new song, something of love and youth, +of beauty and happiness—something of a new and fairy-like life; and +with the faint ripple and fall of the water came back to her the voice +that had filled her ears and touched her heart. Would she ever again +forget the handsome face that had smiled so kindly upon her? Surely he +was a king among men, and he had praised her, said her name was like a +song, and that she was like the Dora of the beautiful poem. This grand +gentleman, with the clear, handsome face and dainty white hands, +actually admired her. +</P> + +<P> +So Dora dreamed by the brook-side, and she was to see him again and +again; she gave no thought to a cold, dark time when she should see him +no more. Tomorrow the sun would shine, the birds sing, and she should +see him once again. +</P> + +<P> +Dora never remembered how that happy day passed. Good Mrs. Thorne +looked at her child, and sighed to think how pretty she was and how +soon that sweet, dimpled face would be worn with care. +</P> + +<P> +Dora's first proceeding was characteristic enough. She went to her own +room and locked the door; then she put the cracked little mirror in the +sunshine, and proceeded to examine her face. She wanted to see why +Ronald Earle admired her; she wondered much at this new power she +seemed possessed of; she placed the glass on the table, and sat down to +study her own face. She saw that it was very fair; the coloring was +delicate and vivid, like that of the heart of a rose; the fresh, red +lips were arched and smiling; the dark, shy eyes, with their long +silken lashes, were bright and clear; a pretty, dimpled, smiling face +told of a sweet, simple, loving nature—that was all; there was no +intellect, no soul, no high-bred refinement; nothing but the charm of +bright, half-startled beauty. +</P> + +<P> +Dora was half puzzled. She had never thought much of her own +appearance. Having lived always with sensible, simple people, the +pernicious language of flattery was unknown to her. It was with a +half-guilty thrill of delight that she for the first time realized the +charm of her own sweet face. +</P> + +<P> +The sunny hours flew by. Dora never noted them; she thought only of +the morning past and the morning to come, while Ronald dreamed of her +almost unconsciously. She had been a bright feature in a bright day; +his artistic taste had been gratified, his eyes had been charmed. The +pretty picture haunted him, and he remembered with pleasure that on the +morrow he should see the shy, sweet face again. No thought of harm or +wrong even entered his mind. He did not think that he had been +imprudent. He had recited a beautiful poem to a pretty, coy girl, and +in a grand, lordly way he believed himself to have performed a kind +action. +</P> + +<P> +The morning came, and they brought bright, blushing Dora to her work; +again the little white fingers glistened amid the crimson berries. +Then Dora heard him coming. She heard his footsteps, and her face grew +"ruby red." He made no pretense of finding her accidentally. +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning, Dora," he said; "you look as bright as the sunshine and +as fair as the flowers. Put away the basket; I have brought a book of +poems, and mean to read some to you. I will help you with your work +afterward." +</P> + +<P> +Dora, nothing loath, sat down, and straightway they were both in +fairyland. He read industriously, stealing every now and then a glance +at his pretty companion. She knew nothing of what he was reading, but +his voice made sweeter music than she had ever heard before. +</P> + +<P> +At length the book was closed, and Ronald wondered what thoughts were +running through his companion's simple, artless mind. So he talked to +her of her daily life, her work, her pleasures, her friends. As he +talked he grew more and more charmed; she had no great amount of +intellect, no wit or keen powers of repartee, but the girl's love of +nature made her a poetess. She seemed to know all the secrets of the +trees and the flowers; no beauty escaped her; the rustle of green +leaves, the sighs of the western wind, the solemn hush of the +deep-green woods, the changing tints of the summer sky delighted her. +Beautiful words, embodying beautiful thoughts, rippled over the fresh, +ripe lips. She knew nothing else. She had seen no pictures, read no +books, knew nothing of the fine arts, was totally ignorant of all +scholarly lore, but deep in her heart lay a passionate love for the +fair face of nature. +</P> + +<P> +It was new to Ronald. He had heard fashionable ladies speak of +everything they delighted in. He had ever heard of "music in the fall +of rain drops," or character in flowers. +</P> + +<P> +Once Dora forgot her shyness, and when Ronald said something, she +laughed in reply. How sweet and pure that laughter was—like a soft +peal of silver bells! When Ronald Earle went to sleep that night, the +sound haunted his dreams. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter IV +</H3> + +<P> +Every morning brought the young heir of Earlescourt to the bright sunny +gardens where Dora worked among the strawberries. As the days passed +she began to lose something of her shy, startled manner, and laughed +and talked to him as she would have done to her own brother. His +vanity was gratified by the sweetest homage of all, the unconscious, +unspoken love and admiration of the young girl. He liked to watch the +blushes on her face, and the quivering of her lips when she caught the +first sound of his coming footsteps. He liked to watch her dark eyes +droop, and then to see them raised to his with a beautiful, startled +light. +</P> + +<P> +Insensibly his own heart became interested. At first he had merely +thought of passing a pleasant hour; then he admired Dora, and tried to +believe that reading to her was an act of pure benevolence; but, as the +days passed on, something stronger and sweeter attracted him. He began +to love her—and she was his first love. +</P> + +<P> +Wonderful to say, these long tete-a-tetes had not attracted +observation. No rumor of them escaped, so that no thorn appeared in +this path of roses which led to the brink of a precipice. +</P> + +<P> +It wanted three days until the time settled for the return of Lord and +Lady Earle. Sir Harry Laurence, of Holtham Hall, asked Ronald to spend +a day with him; and, having no valid excuse, he consented. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall not see you tomorrow, Dora," he said. "I am going away for the +day." +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him with a startled face. One whole day without him! +Then, with a sudden deadly pain, came the thought that these golden +days must end; the time must come when she should see him no more. The +pretty, dimpled face grew pale, and a dark shadow came into the clear +eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Dora," cried Ronald, "why do you look so frightened? What is it?" +</P> + +<P> +She gave him no answer, but turned away. He caught her hands in his +own. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you grieved that I am going away for one whole day?" he asked. +But she looked so piteous and so startled that he waited for no reply. +"I shall continue to see you," he resumed. "I could not let any day +pass without that." +</P> + +<P> +"And afterward," she said, simply, raising her eyes to his full of +tears. +</P> + +<P> +Then Ronald paused abruptly—he had never given one thought to the +"afterward." Why, of course strawberries would not grow forever—it +would not always be summer. Lord Earle would soon be back again, and +then he must go abroad. Where would Dora be then? He did not like the +thought—it perplexed him. Short as was the time he had known her, +Dora had, in some mysterious way, grown to be a part of himself. He +could not think of a day wherein he should not see her blushing, pretty +face, and hear the music of her words. He was startled, and clasped +her little hands more tightly within his own. +</P> + +<P> +"You would not like to lose me, Dora?" he said, gently. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she replied; and then tears fell from her dark eyes. +</P> + +<P> +Poor Ronald! Had he been wise, he would have flown then; but he bent +his head over her, and kissed the tears away. The pretty rounded +cheek, so soft and child-like, he kissed again, and then clasped the +slight girlish figure in his arms. +</P> + +<P> +"Do not shed another tear, Dora," he whispered; "we will not lose each +other. I love you, and you shall be my wife." +</P> + +<P> +One minute before he spoke the idea had not even crossed his mind; it +seemed to him afterward that another voice had spoken by his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Your wife!" she cried, looking at him in some alarm. "Ah, no! You are +very kind and good, but that could never be." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Because you are so far above me," replied the girl. "I and mine are +servants and dependents of yours. We are not equal; I must learn to +forget you," sobbed Dora, "and break my own heart!" +</P> + +<P> +She could not have touched Ronald more deeply; in a moment he had +poured forth a torrent of words that amazed her. Fraternity and +equality, caste and folly, his mission and belief, his love and +devotion, were all mingled in one torrent of eloquence that simply +alarmed her. +</P> + +<P> +"Never say that again, Dora," he continued, his fair, boyish face +flushing. "You are the equal of a queen upon her throne; you are fair +and true, sweet and good. What be a queen more than that?" +</P> + +<P> +"A queen knows more," sighed Dora. "I know nothing in all the wide +world." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I will teach you," he said. "Ah, Dora, you know enough! You have +beautiful thoughts, and you clothe them in beautiful words. Do not +turn from me; say you love me and will be my wife. I love you, Dora—do +not make me unhappy." +</P> + +<P> +"I would not make you unhappy," she said, "for the whole world; if you +wish me to love you—oh, you know I love you—if you wish me to go away +and forget you, I will do my best." +</P> + +<P> +But the very thought of it brought tears again. She looked so pretty, +so bewildered between sorrow and joy, so dazzled by happiness, and yet +so piteously uncertain, that Ronald was more charmed than ever. +</P> + +<P> +"My darling Dora," he said, "you do love me. Your eyes speak, if your +lips do not tell me. Will you be my wife? I can not live without you." +</P> + +<P> +It was the prettiest picture in the world to see the color return to +the sweet face. Ronald bent his head, and heard the sweet whisper. +</P> + +<P> +"You shall never rue your trust, Dora," he said, proudly; but she +interrupted him. +</P> + +<P> +"What will Lord Earle say?" she asked; and again Ronald was startled by +that question. +</P> + +<P> +"My father can say nothing," he replied. "I am old enough to please +myself, and this is a free country. I shall introduce you to him, +Dora, and tell him you have promised to be my wife. No more tears, +love. There is nothing but happiness before us." +</P> + +<P> +And so he believed. He could think of nothing, care for nothing but +Dora—her pretty face, her artless, simple ways, her undisguised love +for him. There was but one excuse. He was young, and it was his first +love; yet despite his happiness, his pride, his independence, he did +often wonder in what words he should tell his father that he had +promised to marry the lodge keeper's daughter. There were even times +when he shivered, as one seized with sudden cold, at the thought. +</P> + +<P> +The four days passed like a long, bright dream. It was a pretty +romance, but sadly misplaced—a pretty summer idyll. They were but boy +and girl. Dora met Ronald in the park, by the brook-side, and in the +green meadows where the white hawthorn grew. They talked of but one +thing, their love. Ronald never tired of watching Dora's fair face and +pretty ways; she never wearied of telling him over and over again, in a +hundred different ways, how noble and kind he was, and how dearly she +loved him. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle wrote to say that he should be home on the Thursday evening, +and that they were bringing back a party of guests with them. +</P> + +<P> +"There will be no time to tell my father just at present," said Ronald; +"so, Dora, we must keep our secret. It will not do to tell your father +before I tell mine." +</P> + +<P> +They arranged to keep the secret until Lord Earle should be alone +again. They were to meet twice every day—in the early morning, while +the dew lay on the grass, and in the evening, when the Hall would be +full of bustle and gayety. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald felt guilty—he hardly knew how or why—when his father +commiserated him for the two lonely weeks he had spent. Lonely! He had +not felt them so; they had passed all too quickly for him. How many +destinies were settled in that short time! +</P> + +<P> +There was little time for telling his secret to Lord Earle. The few +guests who had returned to Earlescourt were men of note, and their host +devoted himself to their entertainment. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Earle saw some great change in her son. She fancied that he spent +a great deal of time out of doors. She asked him about it, wondering +if he had taken to studying botany, for late and early he never tired +of rambling in the park. She wondered again at the flush that +crimsoned his face; but the time was coming when she would understand +it all. +</P> + +<P> +It is probable that if Ronald at that time had had as much of Dora's +society as he liked, he would soon have discovered his mistake, and no +great harm would have been done; but the foolish romance of foolish +meetings had a charm for him. In those hurried interviews he had only +time to think of Dora's love—he never noted her deficiencies; he was +charmed with her tenderness and grace; her artless affection was so +pretty; the difference between her and those with whom he was +accustomed to talk was so great; her very ignorance had a piquant charm +for him. So they went on to their fate. +</P> + +<P> +One by one Lord Earle's guests departed, yet Ronald had not told his +secret. A new element crept into his love, and urged him on. Walking +one day through the park with his father they overtook Dora's father. +A young man was with him and the two were talking earnestly together, +so earnestly that they never heard the two gentlemen; and in passing by +Ronald distinguished the words, "You give me your daughter, Mr. Thorne, +and trust me to make her happy." +</P> + +<P> +Ronald Earle turned quickly to look at the speaker. He saw before him +a young man, evidently a well-to-do farmer from his appearance, with a +calm, kind face and clear and honest eyes; and he was asking for +Dora—Dora who was to be his wife and live at Earlescourt. He could +hardly control his impatience; and it seemed to him that evening would +never come. +</P> + +<P> +Dinner was over at last. Lord Earle sat with Sir Harry Laurence over a +bottle of claret, and Lady Earle was in the drawing room and had taken +up her book. Ronald hastened to the favorite trysting place, the +brook-side. Dora was there already, and he saw that her face was still +wet with tears. She refused at first to tell him her sorrow. Then she +whispered a pitiful little story, that made her lover resolve upon some +rash deeds. +</P> + +<P> +Ralph Holt had been speaking to her father, and had asked her to marry +him. She had said "No;" but her mother had wept, and her father had +grown angry, and had said she should obey him. +</P> + +<P> +"He has a large farm," said Dora, with a bitter sigh. "He says I +should live like a great lady, and have nothing to do. He would be +kind to my father and mother; but I do not love him," she added. +</P> + +<P> +Clasping her tender little hands round Ronald's arm, "I do not love +him," she sobbed; "and, Ronald, I do love you." +</P> + +<P> +He bent down and kissed her pretty, tear-bedewed face, all the chivalry +of his nature aroused by her words. +</P> + +<P> +"You shall be my wife, Dora," he said, proudly, "and not his. This very +evening I will tell my father, and ask his consent to our marriage. My +mother is sure to love you—she is so kind and gracious to every one. +Do not tremble, my darling; neither Ralph Holt nor any one else shall +take you from me." +</P> + +<P> +She was soon comforted! There was no bound or limit to her faith in +Ronald Earle. +</P> + +<P> +"Go home now," he said, "and tomorrow my father himself shall see you. +I will teach that young farmer his place. No more tears, Dora—our +troubles will end tonight." +</P> + +<P> +He went with her down the broad walk, and then returned to the Hall. +He walked very proudly, with his gallant head erect, saying to himself +that this was a free country and he could do what he liked; but for all +that his heart beat loudly when he entered the drawing room and found +Lord and Lady Earle. They looked up smilingly at him, all unconscious +that their beloved son, the heir of Earlescourt, was there to ask +permission to marry the lodge keeper's daughter. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter V +</H3> + +<P> +Ronald Earle had plenty of courage—no young hero ever led a forlorn +hope with more bravery that he displayed in the interview with his +parents, which might have daunted a bolder man. As he approached, Lady +Earle raised her eyes with a languid smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Out again, Ronald!" she said. "Sir Harry Laurence left his adieus for +you. I think the park possesses some peculiar fascination. Have you +been walking quickly? Your face is flushed." +</P> + +<P> +He made no reply, but drew near to his mother; he bent over her and +raised her hand to his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"I am come to tell you something," he said. "Father, will you listen +to me? I ask your permission to marry Dora Thorne, one of the fairest, +sweetest girls in England." +</P> + +<P> +His voice never faltered, and the brave young face never quailed. Lord +Earle looked at him in utter amazement. +</P> + +<P> +"To marry Dora Thorne!" he said. "And who, in the name of reason, is +Dora Thorne?" +</P> + +<P> +"The lodge keeper's daughter," replied Ronald, stoutly. "I love her, +father, and she loves me." +</P> + +<P> +He was somewhat disconcerted when Lord Earle, for all reply, broke into +an uncontrollable fit of laughter. He had expected a +storm—expostulations, perhaps, and reproaches—anything but this. +</P> + +<P> +"You can not be serious, Ronald," said his mother, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"I am so much in earnest," he replied, "that I would give up all I have +in the world—my life itself, for Dora." +</P> + +<P> +Then Lord Earle ceased laughing, and looked earnestly at the handsome, +flushed face. +</P> + +<P> +"No," said he, "you can not be serious. You dare not ask your mother +to receive a servant's daughter as her own child. Your jest is in bad +taste, Ronald." +</P> + +<P> +"It is no jest," he replied. "We Earles are always terribly in +earnest. I have promised to marry Dora Thorne, and, with your +permission, I intend to keep my word." +</P> + +<P> +An angry flush rose to Lord Earle's face, but he controlled his +impatience. +</P> + +<P> +"In any case," he replied, quietly, "you are too young to think of +marriage yet. If you had chosen the daughter of a duke, I should, for +the present, refuse." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall be twenty in a few months," said Ronald, "and I am willing to +wait until then." +</P> + +<P> +Lady Earle laid her white jeweled hand on her son's shoulder, and said, +gently: +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Ronald, have you lost your senses? Tell me, who is Dora +Thorne?" She saw tears shining in his eyes; his brave young face +touched her heart. "Tell me," she continued, "who is she? Where have +you seen her? What is she like?" +</P> + +<P> +"She is so beautiful, mother," he said, "that I am sure you would love +her; she is as fair and sweet as she is modest and true. I met her in +the gardens some weeks ago, and I have met her every day since." +</P> + +<P> +Lord and Lady Earle exchanged a glance of dismay which did not escape +Ronald. +</P> + +<P> +"Why have you not told us of this before?" asked his father, angrily. +</P> + +<P> +"I asked her to be my wife while you were from home," replied Ronald. +"She promised and I have only been waiting until our guests left us and +you had more time." +</P> + +<P> +"Is it to see Dora Thorne that you have been out so constantly?" asked +Lady Earle. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I could not let a day pass without seeing her," he replied; "it +would be like a day without sunshine." +</P> + +<P> +"Does any one else know of this folly?" asked Lord Earle, angrily. +</P> + +<P> +"No, you may be quite sure, father, I should tell you before I told any +one else," replied Ronald. +</P> + +<P> +They looked at him in silent dismay, vexed and amazed at what he had +done—irritated at his utter folly, yet forced to admire his honor, his +courage, his truth. Both felt that some sons would have carefully +concealed such a love affair from them. They were proud of his candor +and integrity, although deploring his folly. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell us all about it, Ronald," said Lady Earle. +</P> + +<P> +Without the least hesitation, Ronald told them every word; and despite +their vexation, neither could help smiling—it was such a pretty +story—a romance, all sunshine, smiles, tears, and flowers. Lord +Earle's face cleared as he listened, and he laid one hand on his boy's +shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Ronald," said he, "we shall disagree about your love; but remember, I +do full justice to your truth. After all, the fault is my own. I +might have known that a young fellow of your age, left all alone, was +sure to get into mischief; you have done so. Say no more now; I clearly +and distinctly refuse my consent. I appeal to your honor that you meet +this young girl no more. We will talk of it another time." +</P> + +<P> +When the door closed behind him, Lord and Lady Earle looked at each +other. The lady's face was pale and agitated. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Rupert," she said, "how brave and noble he is! Poor foolish boy! +How proud he looked of his absurd mistake. We shall have trouble with +him, I foresee!" +</P> + +<P> +"I do not think so," replied her husband. "Valentine Charteris will be +here soon, and when Ronald sees her he will forget this rustic beauty." +</P> + +<P> +"It will be better not to thwart him," interrupted Lady Earle. "Let me +manage the matter, Rupert. I will go down to the lodge tomorrow, and +persuade them to send the girl away; and then we will take Ronald +abroad, and he will forget all about it in a few months." +</P> + +<P> +All night long the gentle lady of Earlescourt was troubled by strange +dreams—by vague, dark fears that haunted her and would not be laid to +rest. +</P> + +<P> +"Evil will come of it," she said to herself—"evil and sorrow. This +distant shadow saddens me now." +</P> + +<P> +The next day she went to the lodge, and asked for Dora. She half +pardoned her son's folly when she saw the pretty dimpled face, the +rings of dark hair, lying on the white neck. The girl was indeed +charming and modest, but unfitted—oh, how unfitted! ever to be Lady +Earle. She was graceful as a wild flower is graceful; but she had no +manner, no dignity, no cultivation. She stood blushing, confused, and +speechless, before the "great lady." +</P> + +<P> +"You know what I want you for, Dora," said Lady Earle, kindly. "My son +has told us of the acquaintance between you. I am come to say it must +cease. I do not wish to hurt or wound you. Your own sense must tell +you that you can never be received by Lord Earle and myself as our +daughter. We will not speak of your inferiority in birth and position. +You are not my son's equal in refinement or education; he would soon +discover that, and tire of you." +</P> + +<P> +Dora spoke no word, the tears falling from her bright eyes; this time +there was no young lover to kiss them away. She made no reply and when +Lady Earle sent for her father, Dora ran away; she would hear no more. +</P> + +<P> +"I know nothing of it, my lady," said the worthy lodge keeper, who was +even more surprised than his master had been. "Young Ralph Holt wants +to marry my daughter, and I have said that she shall be his wife. I +never dreamed that she knew the young master; she has not mentioned his +name." +</P> + +<P> +Lady Earle's diplomacy succeeded beyond her most sanguine expectations. +Stephen Thorne and his wife, although rather dazzled by the fact that +their daughter had captivated the future Lord Earlescourt, let common +sense and reason prevail, and saw the disparity and misery such a +marriage would cause. They promised to be gentle and kind to Dora, not +to scold or reproach her, and to allow some little time to elapse +before urging Ralph Holt's claims. +</P> + +<P> +When Lady Earle rose, she placed a twenty-pound banknote in the hands +of Stephen Thorne, saying: +</P> + +<P> +"You are sending Dora to Eastham; that will cover the expenses." +</P> + +<P> +"I could not do that, my lady," said Stephen, refusing to take the +money. "I can not sell poor Dora's love." +</P> + +<P> +Then Lady Earle held out her delicate white hand, and the man bowed low +over it. Before the sun set that evening, Stephen Thorne had taken +Dora to Eastham, where she was to remain until Ronald had gone abroad. +</P> + +<P> +For a few days it seemed as though the storm had blown over. There was +one angry interview between father and son, when Ronald declared that +sending Dora away was a breach of faith, and that he would find her out +and marry her how and when he could. Lord Earle thought his words were +but the wild folly of a boy deprived of a much-desired toy. He did not +give them serious heed. +</P> + +<P> +The story of Earlescourt might have been different, had not Ronald, +while still amazed and irritated by his father's cool contempt, +encountered Ralph Holt. They met at the gate leading from the fields +to the high road; it was closed between them, and neither could make +way. +</P> + +<P> +"I have a little account to settle with you, my young lordling," said +Ralph, angrily. "Doves never mate with eagles; if you want to marry, +choose one of your own class, and leave Dora Thorne to me." +</P> + +<P> +"Dora Thorne is mine," said Ronald, haughtily. +</P> + +<P> +"She will never be," was the quick reply. "See, young master, I have +loved Dora since she was a—a pretty, bright-eyed child. Her father +lived near my father's farm then. I have cared for her all my life—I +do not know that I have ever looked twice at another woman's face. Do +not step in between me and my love. The world is wide, and you can +choose where you will—do not rob me of Dora Thorne." +</P> + +<P> +There was a mournful dignity in the man's face that touched Ronald. +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry for you," he said, "if you love Dora; for she will be my +wife." +</P> + +<P> +"Never!" cried Ralph. "Since you will not listen to fair words, I defy +you. I will go to Eastham and never leave Dora again until she will be +my own." +</P> + +<P> +High, angry words passed between them, but Ralph in his passion had +told the secret Ronald had longed to know—Dora was at Eastham. +</P> + +<P> +It was a sad story and yet no rare one. Love and jealousy robbed the +boy of his better sense; duty and honor were forgotten. Under pretense +of visiting one of his college friends, Ronald went to Eastham. Lord +and Lady Earle saw him depart without any apprehension; they never +suspected that he knew where Dora was. +</P> + +<P> +It was a sad story, and bitter sorrow came from it. Word by word it +can not be written, but when the heir of Earlescourt saw Dora again, +her artless delight, her pretty joy and sorrow mingled, her fear and +dislike of Ralph, her love for himself drove all thought of duty and +honor from his mind. He prayed her to become his wife secretly. He +had said that when once they were married his father would forgive +them, and all would be well. He believed what he said; Dora had no +will but his. She forgot all Lady Earle's warnings; she remembered +only Ronald and his love. So they were married in the quiet parish +church of Helsmeer, twenty miles from Eastham, and no human being +either knew or guessed their secret. +</P> + +<P> +There was no excuse, no palliation for an act that was undutiful, +dishonorable, and deceitful—there was nothing to plead for him, save +that he was young, and had never known a wish refused. +</P> + +<P> +They were married. Dora Thorne became Dora Earle. Ronald parted from +his pretty wife immediately. He arranged all his plans with what he +considered consummate wisdom. He was to return home, and try by every +argument in his power to soften his father and win his consent. If he +still refused, then time would show him the best course. Come what +might, Dora was his; nothing on earth could part them. He cared for +very little else. Even if the very worst came, and his father sent him +from home, it would only be for a time, and there was Dora to comfort +him. +</P> + +<P> +He returned to Earlescourt, and though his eyes were never raised in +clear, true honesty to his father's face, Lord Earle saw that his son +looked happy, and believed the cloud had passed away. +</P> + +<P> +Dora was to remain at Eastham until she heard from him. He could not +write to her, nor could she send one line to him; but he promised and +believed that very soon he should take her in all honor to Earlescourt. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter VI +</H3> + +<P> +It was a beautiful morning toward the end of August; the balmy +sweetness of spring had given way to the glowing radiance of summer. +The golden corn waved in the fields, the hedge rows were filled with +wild flowers, the fruit hung ripe in the orchards. Nature wore her +brightest smile. The breakfast room at Earlescourt was a pretty +apartment; it opened on a flower garden, and through the long French +windows came the sweet perfume of rose blossoms. +</P> + +<P> +It was a pretty scene—the sunbeams fell upon the rich silver, the +delicate china, the vases of sweet flowers. Lord Earle sat at the head +of the table, busily engaged with his letters. Lady Earle, in the +daintiest of morning toilets, was smiling over the pretty pink notes +full of fashionable gossip. Her delicate, patrician face looked clear +and pure in the fresh morning light. But there was no smile on Ronald's +face. He was wondering, for the hundredth time, how he was to tell his +father what he had done. He longed to be with his pretty Dora; and yet +there was a severe storm to encounter before he could bring her home. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah," said Lady Earle, suddenly, "here is good news—Lady Charteris is +positively coming, Rupert. Sir Hugh will join her in a few days. She +will be here with Valentine tomorrow." +</P> + +<P> +"I am very glad," said Lord Earle, looking up with pleasure and +surprise. "We must ask Lady Laurence to meet them." +</P> + +<P> +Ronald sighed; his parents busily discussed the hospitalities and +pleasures to be offered their guests. A grand dinner party was +planned, and a ball, to which half the country side were to be invited. +</P> + +<P> +"Valentine loves gayety," said Lady Earle, "and we must give her plenty +of it." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall have all this to go through," sighed Ronald—"grand parties, +dinners, and balls, while my heart longs to be with my darling; and in +the midst of it all, how shall I find time to talk to my father? I +will begin this very day." +</P> + +<P> +When dinner was over, Ronald proposed to Lord Earle that they should go +out on the terrace and smoke a cigar there. Then took place the +conversation with which our story opens, when the master of Earlescourt +declared his final resolve. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald was more disturbed than he cared to own even to himself. Once +the words hovered upon his lips that he had married Dora. Had Lord Earl +been angry or contemptuous, he would have uttered them; but in the +presence of his father's calm, dignified wisdom, he was abashed and +uncertain. For the first time he felt the truth of all his father +said. Not that he loved Dora less, or repented of the rash private +marriage, but Lord Earle's appeal to his sense of the "fitness of +things" touched him. +</P> + +<P> +There was little time for reflection. Lady Charteris and her daughter +were coming on the morrow. Again Lady Earle entered the field as a +diplomatist, and came off victorious. +</P> + +<P> +"Ronald," said his mother, as they parted that evening, "I know that, +as a rule, young men of your age do not care for the society of elderly +ladies; I must ask you to make an exception in favor of Lady Charteris. +They showed me great kindness at Greenoke, and you must help me to +return it. I shall consider every attention shown to the lady and her +daughter as shown to myself." +</P> + +<P> +Ronald smiled at his mother's words, and told her he would never fail +in her service. +</P> + +<P> +"If he sees much of Valentine," thought his mother, "he can not help +loving her. Then all will be well." +</P> + +<P> +Ronald was not in the house when the guests arrived; they came rather +before the appointed time. His mother and Lady Charteris had gone to +the library together, leaving Valentine in the drawing room alone. +Ronald found her there. Opening the door, he saw the sleeve of a white +dress; believing Lady Earle was there, he went carelessly into the +room, then started in astonishment at the vision before him. Once in a +century, perhaps, one sees a woman like Valentine Charteris; of the +purest and loveliest Greek type, a calm, grand, magnificent blonde, +with clear, straight brows, fair hair that shone like satin and lay in +thick folds around her queenly head—tall and stately, with a finished +ease and grace of manner that could only result from long and careful +training. She rose when Ronald entered the room, and her beautiful +eyes were lifted calmly to his face. Suddenly a rush of color dyed the +white brow. Valentine remembered what Lady Earle had said of her son. +She knew that both his mother and hers wished that she should be +Ronald's wife. +</P> + +<P> +"I beg your pardon," he said hastily, "I thought Lady Earle was here." +</P> + +<P> +"She is in the library," said Valentine, with a smile that dazzled him. +</P> + +<P> +He bowed and withdrew. This, then, was Valentine Charteris, the fine +lady whose coming he had dreaded. She was very beautiful—he had never +seen a face like hers. +</P> + +<P> +No thought of love, or of comparing this magnificent woman with simple, +pretty Dora, ever entered his mind. But Ronald was a true artist, and +one of no mean skill. He thought of that pure Grecian face as he would +have thought of a beautiful picture or an exquisite statue. He never +thought of the loving, sensitive woman's heart hidden under it. +</P> + +<P> +It was not difficult when dinner was over to open the grand piano for +Valentine, to fetch her music, and listen while she talked of operas he +had never heard. It was pleasant to watch her as she sat in the +evening gloaming, her superb beauty enhanced by the delicate evening +dress of fine white lace; the shapely shoulders were polished and +white, the exquisite arms rounded and clasped by a bracelet of pearls. +She wore a rose in the bodice of her dress, and, as Ronald bent over +the music she was showing him the sweet, subtle perfume came to him +like a message from Dora. +</P> + +<P> +Valentine Charteris had one charm even greater than her beauty. She +talked well and gracefully—the play of her features, the movement of +her lips, were something not to be forgotten; and her smile seemed to +break like a sunbeam over her whole face—it was irresistible. +</P> + +<P> +Poor Ronald stood by her, watching the expression that seemed to change +with every word; listening to pretty polished language that was in +itself a charm. The two mothers, looking on, and Lord Earle felt +himself relieved from a heavy weight of care. Then Lady Earle asked +Valentine to sing. She was quite free from all affectation. +</P> + +<P> +"What kind of music do you prefer?" she asked, looking at Ronald. +</P> + +<P> +"Simple old ballads," he replied, thinking of Dora, and how prettily +she would sing them. +</P> + +<P> +He started when the first note of Valentine's magnificent voice rang +clear and sweet in the quiet gloaming. She sang some quaint old story +of a knight who loved a maiden—loved and rode away, returning after +long years to find a green grave. Ronald sat thinking of Dora. Ah, +perhaps, had he forsaken her, the pretty dimpled face would have faded +away! He felt pleased that he had been true. Then the music ceased. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that what you like?" asked Valentine Charteris, "it is of the +stronger sentimental school." +</P> + +<P> +Simple, honest Ronald wondered if sentiment was a sin against +etiquette, or why fashionable ladies generally spoke of it with a sneer. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you laugh at sentiment?" he asked; and Valentine opened her fine +eyes in wonder at the question. Lady Earle half overheard it, and +smiled in great satisfaction. Matters must be going on well, she +thought, if Ronald had already begun to speak of sentiment. She never +thought that his heart and mind were with Dora while he spoke—pretty +Dora, who cried over his poetry, and devoutly believed in the language +of flowers. +</P> + +<P> +The evening passed rapidly, and Ronald felt something like regret when +it ended. Lady Earle was too wise to make any comments; she never +asked her son if he liked Valentine or what he thought of her. +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid you are tired," she said, with a charming smile; "thank +you for helping to amuse my friends." +</P> + +<P> +When Ronald thought over what he had done, his share seemed very small; +still his mother was pleased, and he went to rest resolved that on the +morrow he would be doubly attentive to Miss Charteris. +</P> + +<P> +Three days passed, and Ronald had grown quite at ease with Valentine. +They read and disputed over the same books; Ronald brought out his +large folio of drawings, and Valentine wondered at his skill. He bent +over her, explaining the sketches, laughing and talking gayly, as +though there was no dark background to his life. +</P> + +<P> +"You are an accomplished artist," said Miss Charteris, "you must have +given much time to study." +</P> + +<P> +"I am fond of it," said Ronald; "if fate had not made me an only son, I +should have chosen painting as my profession." +</P> + +<P> +In after years these words came back to them as a sad prophecy. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald liked Miss Charteris. Apart from her grand beauty, she had the +charm, too, of a kindly heart and an affectionate nature. He saw how +much Lady Earle loved her, and resolved to tell Valentine all about +Dora, and ask her to try to influence his mother. With that aim and +end in view, he talked continually to the young lady; he accompanied +her in all her walks and drives, and they sang and sketched together. +Ronald, knowing himself so safely bound to Dora, forgot in what light +his conduct must appear to others. Lady Earle had forgotten her fears; +she believed that her son was learning to love Valentine, and her +husband shared her belief. +</P> + +<P> +All things just then were couleur de rose at Earlescourt. Ronald +looked and felt happy—he had great faith in Valentine's persuasive +powers. +</P> + +<P> +Days passed by rapidly; the time for the grand ball was drawing near. +Lady Earle half wondered when her son would speak of Miss Charteris, +and Valentine wondered why he lingered near her, why oftentimes he was +on the point of speaking, and then drew back. She quite believed he +cared for her, and she liked him in return, as much as she was capable +of liking any one. +</P> + +<P> +She was no tragedy queen, but a loving, affectionate girl, unable to +reach the height of passionate love, or the depth of despair. She was +well disposed toward Ronald—Lady Earle spoke so much of him at +Greenoke. She knew too that a marriage with him would delight her +mother. +</P> + +<P> +Valentine's favorable impression of Ronald was deepened when she saw +him. Despite the one great act of duplicity which shadowed his whole +life, Ronald was true and honorable. Valentine admired his clear Saxon +face and firm lips; she admired his deep bright eyes, that darkened +with every passing emotion; she liked his gentle, chivalrous manner, +his earnest words, his deferential attention to herself, his +affectionate devotion to Lady Earle. +</P> + +<P> +There was not a braver or more gallant man in England than this young +heir of Earlescourt. He inherited the personal beauty and courage of +his race. He gave promise of a splendid manhood; and no one knew how +proudly Lord Earle had rejoiced in that promise. +</P> + +<P> +In her calm stately way, Valentine liked him; she even loved him, and +would have been happy as his wife. She enjoyed his keen, intellectual +powers and his originality of thought. Even the "dreadful politics," +that scared and shocked his father, amused her. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald, whose heart was full of the pretty little wife he dared neither +see nor write to, gave no heed to Valentine's manner; it never occurred +to him what construction could be put upon his friendly liking for her. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter VII +</H3> + +<P> +The day came for the grand ball, and during breakfast the ladies +discussed the important question of bouquets; from that the +conversation changed to flowers. "There are so many of them," said +Valentine, "and they are all so beautiful, I am always at a loss which +to choose." +</P> + +<P> +"I should never hesitate a moment," said Ronald, laughingly. "You will +accuse me, perhaps of being sentimental, but I must give preference to +the white lily-bells. Lilies of the valley are the fairest flowers +that grow." +</P> + +<P> +Lady Earle overheard the remark; no one else appeared to notice it, and +she was not much surprised when Valentine entered the ball room to see +white lilies in her fair hair, and a bouquet of the same flowers, +half-shrouded by green leaves, in her hand. +</P> + +<P> +Many eyes turned admiringly upon the calm, stately beauty and her white +flowers. Ronald saw them. He could not help remarking the exquisite +toilet, marred by no obtrusive colors, the pretty lily wreath and +fragrant bouquet. It never occurred to him that Valentine had chosen +those delicate blossoms in compliment to him. He thought he had never +seen a fairer picture than this magnificent blonde; then she faded from +his mind. He looked round on those fair and noble ladies, thinking +that Dora's shy, sweet face was far lovelier than any there. He looked +at the costly jewels, the waving plumes, the sweeping satins, and +thought of Dora's plain, pretty dress. A softened look came into his +eyes, as he pictured his shy, graceful wife. Some day she, too, would +walk through these gorgeous rooms, and then would all admire the wisdom +of his choice. So the heir of Earlescourt dreamed as he watched the +brilliant crowd that began to fill the ball room; but his reverie was +suddenly broken by a summons from Lady Earle. +</P> + +<P> +"Ronald," said she, looking slightly impatient, "have you forgotten +that it is your place to open the ball? You must ask Miss Charteris to +dance with you." +</P> + +<P> +"That will be no hardship," he replied, smiling at his mother's earnest +manner. "I would rather dance with Miss Charteris than any one else." +</P> + +<P> +Lady Earle wisely kept silence; her son went up to Valentine and made +his request. He danced with her again and again—not as Lady Earle +hoped, from any unusual preference, but because it gave him less +trouble than selecting partners among strange young ladies. Valentine +understood him; they talked easily, and without restraint. He paid her +no compliments, and she did not seem to expect any. With other ladies, +Ronald was always thinking, "What would they say if they knew of that +fair young wife at Eastham?" With Valentine no such idea haunted +him—he had an instinctive belief in her true and firm friendship. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Earle overheard a few whispered comments, and they filled her +heart with delight. Old friends whispered to her that "it would be a +splendid match for her son," and "how happy she would be with such a +daughter-in-law as Miss Charteris, so beautiful and dignified;" and all +this because Ronald wanted to secure Valentine's friendship, so that +she might intercede for Dora. +</P> + +<P> +When, for the fourth time, Ronald asked Miss Charteris "for the next +dance," she looked up at him with a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know how often we have danced together this evening?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"What does it matter?" he replied, wondering at the flush that +crimsoned her face. "Forgive me, Miss Charteris, if I say that you +realize my idea of the poetry of motion." +</P> + +<P> +"Is that why you ask me so frequently?" she said, archly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," replied honest Ronald; "it is a great pleasure; for one good +dancer there are fifty bad ones." +</P> + +<P> +He did not quite understand the pretty, piqued expression of her face. +</P> + +<P> +"You have not told me," said Valentine, "whether you like my flowers." +</P> + +<P> +"They are very beautiful," he replied; but the compliment of her +selection was all lost upon him. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Charteris did not know whether he was simply indifferent or timid. +</P> + +<P> +"You told me these lilies were your favorite flowers," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," replied Ronald; "but they are not the flowers that resemble +you." He was thinking how much simple, loving Dora was like the pretty +delicate little blossoms. "You are like the tall queenly lilies." +</P> + +<P> +He paused, for Valentine was looking at him with a wondering smile. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know you have paid me two compliments in less than five +minutes?" she said. "And yesterday we agreed that between true friends +they were quite unnecessary." +</P> + +<P> +"I—I did not intend to pay idle compliments," he replied. "I merely +said what I thought. You are like a tall, grand, white lily, Miss +Charteris. I have often thought so. If you will not dance with me +again, will you walk through the rooms?" +</P> + +<P> +Many admiring glances followed them—a handsomer pair was seldom seen. +They passed through the long suite of rooms and on to the conservatory, +where lamps gleamed like stars between the green plants and rare +exotics. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you rest here?" said Ronald. "The ball room is so crowded one +can not speak there." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah," thought Miss Charteris, "then he really has something to say to +me!" +</P> + +<P> +Despite her calm dignity and serene manner, Valentine's heart beat +high. She loved the gallant young heir—his honest, kindly nature had +a great charm for her. She saw that the handsome face bending over the +flowers was agitated and pale. Miss Charteris looked down at the +lilies in her hand. He came nearer to her, and looked anxiously at her +beautiful face. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not eloquent," said Ronald—"I have no great gift of speech; but, +Miss Charteris, I should like to find some words that would reach your +heart and dwell there." +</P> + +<P> +He wanted to tell her of Dora, to describe her sweet face with its +dimples and blushes, her graceful manner, her timid, sensitive +disposition. He wanted to make her love Dora, to help him to soften +his mother's prejudices and his father's anger; no wonder his lips +quivered and his voice faltered. +</P> + +<P> +"For some days past I have been longing to speak to you," continued +Ronald; "now my courage almost fails me. Miss Charteris, say something +that will give me confidence." She looked up at him, and any other man +would have read the love in her face. +</P> + +<P> +"The simplest words you can use will always interest me," she said, +gently. +</P> + +<P> +His face cleared, and he began: "You are kind and generous—" +</P> + +<P> +Then came an interruption—Sir Harry Laurence, with a lady, entered the +conservatory. +</P> + +<P> +"This is refreshing," he said to Ronald. "I have been ten minutes +trying to get here, the rooms are so full." +</P> + +<P> +Miss Charteris smiled in replying, wishing Sir Harry had waited ten +minutes longer. +</P> + +<P> +"Promise me," said Ronald, detaining her, as Sir Harry passed on, "that +you will give me one half hour tomorrow." +</P> + +<P> +"I will do so," replied she. +</P> + +<P> +"And you will listen to me, Miss Charteris?" he continued. "You will +hear all I have to say?" +</P> + +<P> +Valentine made no reply; several other people came, some to admire the +alcove filled with ferns which drooped from the wall by which she was +standing, others to breathe the fragrant air. She could not speak +without being overheard; but, with a charming smile, she took a +beautiful lily from her bouquet and held it out to him. They then went +back into the ball room. +</P> + +<P> +"He loves me," thought Valentine; and, as far as her calm, serene +nature was capable of passionate delight, she felt it. +</P> + +<P> +"She will befriend me," thought Ronald; "but why did she give me this +flower?" +</P> + +<P> +The most remote suspicion that Valentine had mistaken him—that she +loved him—never crossed the mind of Ronald Earle. He was singularly +free from vanity. Perhaps if he had a little more confidence in +himself, the story of the Earles might have been different. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Charteris looked at her daughter's calm, proud face. She had +noticed the little interview in the conservatory, and drew her own +conclusions from it. Valentine's face confirmed them there was a +delicate flush upon it, and a new light shone in the lustrous eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"You like Earlescourt?" said Lady Charteris to her daughter that +evening, as they sat in her drawing room alone. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, mamma, I like it very much," said Valentine. +</P> + +<P> +"And from what I see," continued the elder lady, "I think it is likely +to be your home." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I believe so," said Valentine, bending over her mother, and +kissing her. "Ronald has asked me to give him one half hour tomorrow, +and I am very happy, mamma." +</P> + +<P> +For one so calm and stately, it was admission enough. Lady Charteris +knew, from the tone of her daughter's voice, that she loved Ronald +Earle. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald slept calmly, half hoping that the end of his troubles was +drawing nigh. Valentine, whom his mother loved so well, would +intercede for Dora. Lord Earle would be sure to relent; and he could +bring Dora home, and all would be well. If ever and anon a cold fear +crept into his heart that simple, pretty Dora would be sadly out of +place in that magnificent house, he dashed it from him. Miss Charteris +slept calmly, too, but her dreams were different from Ronald's. She +thought of the time when she would be mistress of that fair domain, and +the wife of its brave young lord. She loved him well. No one had ever +pleased her as he had—no one would ever charm her again. Valentine +had made the grand mistake of her life. +</P> + +<P> +The morrow so eagerly looked for was a fair, bright day. The sun shone +warm and bright, the air was soft and fragrant, the sky blue and +cloudless. Lady Charteris did not leave her room for breakfast, and +Valentine remained with her mother. +</P> + +<P> +When breakfast was ended, Ronald lingered about, hoping to see +Valentine. He had not waited long before he saw the glimmer of her +white dress and blue ribbons. He met her in the hall. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you come out into the gardens, Miss Charteris?" he asked. "The +morning is so beautiful, and you promised me one half hour. Do not take +that book with you. I shall want all your attention for I have a story +to tell you." +</P> + +<P> +He walked by her side through the pleasure gardens where the lake +gleamed in the sunshine, the water lilies sleeping on its quiet bosom; +through the fragrant flower beds where the bees hummed and the +butterflies made love to the fairest blossoms. +</P> + +<P> +"Let us go on to the park," said Valentine; "the sun is too warm here." +</P> + +<P> +"I know a little spot just fitted for a fairy bower," said Ronald. +"Let me show it to you. I can tell my story better there." +</P> + +<P> +They went through the broad gates of the park, across which the +checkered sunbeams fell, where the deer browsed and king-cups and tall +foxgloves grew—on to the brook side where Dora had rested so short a +time since to think of her new-found happiness. +</P> + +<P> +The pale primroses had all died away, the violets were gone; but in +their place the deep green bank was covered with other flowers of +bright and sunny hue. The shade of tall trees covered the bank, the +little brook sang merrily, and birds chimed in with the rippling water; +the summer air was filled with the faint, sweet summer music. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a pretty spot," said Miss Charteris. +</P> + +<P> +The green grass seemed to dance in the breeze, and Ronald made +something like a throne amid it. +</P> + +<P> +"You shall be queen, and I your suppliant," he said. "You promise to +listen; I will tell you my story." +</P> + +<P> +They sat a few minutes in deep silence, broken only by the singing +brook and the music of the birds; a solemn hush seemed to have fallen +on them, while the leaves rustled in the wind. +</P> + +<P> +If Ronald Earle's heart and mind had not been filled with another and +very different image, he must have seen how fair Valentine looked; the +sunlight glinting through the dense green foliage fell upon her face, +while the white dress and blue ribbons, the fair floating hair, against +the dark background of the bank and the trees, made a charming picture; +but Ronald never saw it. After long years the memory of it came back to +him, and he wondered at his own blindness. He never saw the trembling +of the white fingers that played carelessly with sprays of purple +foxglove; he never saw the faint flush upon her face, the quiver of her +proud, beautiful lips, or the love light in her eyes. He only saw and +thought of Dora. +</P> + +<P> +"I told you, Miss Charteris, last evening, that I was not eloquent," +began Ronald. "When anything lies deep in my heart, I find great +difficulty in telling it in words." +</P> + +<P> +"All sacred and deep feeling is quiet," said Valentine; "a torrent of +words does not always show an earnest nature. I have many thoughts +that I could never express." +</P> + +<P> +"If I could only be sure that you would understand me, Miss Charteris," +said Ronald—"that you would see and comprehend the motives that I can +hardly explain myself! Sitting here in the summer sunshine, I can +scarcely realize how dark the cloud is that hangs over me. You are so +kind and patient, I will tell you my story in my own way." She +gathered a rich cluster of bluebells, and bent over them, pulling the +pretty flowers into pieces, and throwing leaf after leaf into the +stream. +</P> + +<P> +"Three months since," continued Ronald, "I came home to Earlescourt. +Lord and Lady Earle were both at Greenoke; I, and not quite myself, +preferred remaining here alone and quiet. One morning I went out into +the garden, listless for want of something to do. I saw there—ah! +Now I want words, Miss Charteris—the fairest girl the sun ever shone +upon." +</P> + +<P> +He saw the flowers fall from Valentine's grasp; she put her hand to her +brow, as though to shield her face. +</P> + +<P> +"Does the light annoy you?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she replied, steadily; "go on with your story." +</P> + +<P> +"A clever man," said Ronald, "might paint for you the pretty face, all +smiles and dimples, the dark shining rings of hair that fell upon a +white brow, the sweet, shy eyes fringed by long lashes, seldom raised, +but full of wonderful light when once you could look into their depths. +I can only tell you how in a few days I grew to love the fair young +face, and how Dora Thorne that was her name, Miss Charteris—loved me." +</P> + +<P> +Valentine never moved nor spoke; Ronald could see the bright flush die +away, and the proud lips quiver. +</P> + +<P> +"I must tell you all quickly," said Ronald. "She is not what people +call a lady, this beautiful wild flower of mine. Her father lives at +the lodge; he is Lord Earle's lodge keeper, and she knows nothing of +the world or its ways. She has never been taught or trained, though +her voice is like sweet music, and her laugh like the chime of silver +bells. She is like a bright April day, smiles and tears, sunshine and +rain—so near together that I never know whether I love her best +weeping or laughing." +</P> + +<P> +He paused, but Valentine did not speak; her hand still shaded her face. +</P> + +<P> +"I loved her very much," said Ronald, "and I told her so. I asked her +to be my wife, and she promised. When my father came home from +Greenoke I asked his consent, and he laughed at me. He would not +believe me serious. I need not tell you the details. They sent my +pretty Dora away, and some one who loved her—who wanted to make her +his wife—came, and quarreled with me. He my rival—swore that Dora +should be his. In his passion he betrayed the secret so well kept from +me. He told me where she was, and I went to see her." +</P> + +<P> +There was no movement in the quiet figure, no words passed the white +lips. +</P> + +<P> +"I went to see her," he continued; "she was so unhappy, so pretty in +her sorrow and love, so innocent, so fond of me, that I forgot all I +should have remembered, and married her." +</P> + +<P> +Valentine started then and uttered a low cry. +</P> + +<P> +"You are shocked," said Ronald; "but, Miss Charteris, think of her so +young and gentle! They would have forced her to marry the farmer, and +she disliked him. What else could I do to save her?" +</P> + +<P> +Even then, in the midst of that sharp sorrow, Valentine could not help +admiring Ronald's brave simplicity, his chivalry, his honor. +</P> + +<P> +"I married her," he said, "and I mean to be true to her. I thought my +father would relent and forgive us, but I fear I was too sanguine. +Since my marriage my father has told me that if I do not give up Dora +he will not see me again. Every day I resolve to tell him what I have +done, but something interferes to prevent it. I have never seen my +wife since our wedding day. She is still at Eastham. Now, Miss +Charteris, be my friend, and help me." +</P> + +<P> +Bravely enough Valentine put away her sorrow—another time she would +look it in the face; all her thoughts must now be for him. +</P> + +<P> +"I will do anything to serve you," she said, gently. "What can I do?" +</P> + +<P> +"My mother loves you very much," said Ronald; "she will listen to you. +When I have told her, will you, in your sweet, persuasive way, +interfere for Dora? Lady Earle will be influenced by what you say." +</P> + +<P> +A quiver of pain passed over the proud, calm face of Valentine +Charteris. +</P> + +<P> +"If you think it wise for a stranger to interfere in so delicate a +matter, I will do so cheerfully," she said; "but let me counsel on +thing. Tell Lord and Lady Earle at once. Do not delay, every hour is +of consequence." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you think of my story?" asked Ronald, anxiously. "Have I done +right or wrong?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do not ask me," replied Valentine. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he urged, "I will ask again; you are my friend. Tell me, have I +done right or wrong?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can speak nothing but truth," replied Valentine, "and I think you +have done wrong. Do not be angry. Honor is everything; it ranks +before life or love. In some degree you have tarnished yours by an +underhand proceeding, a private marriage, one forbidden by your parents +and distasteful to them." +</P> + +<P> +Ronald's face fell as her words came to him slowly and clearly. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought," said he, "I was doing a brave deed in marrying Dora. She +had no one to take her part but me." +</P> + +<P> +"It was a brave deed in one sense," said Valentine. "You have proved +yourself generous and disinterested. Heaven grant that you may be +happy!" +</P> + +<P> +"She is young and impressionable," said Ronald; "I can easily mold her +to my own way of thinking. You look very grave, Miss Charteris." +</P> + +<P> +"I am thinking of you," she said, gently; "it seems to me a grave +matter. Pardon me—but did you reflect well—were you quite convinced +that the whole happiness of your life was at stake? If so, I need say +no more. It is an unequal marriage, one not at all fitting in the +order of things." +</P> + +<P> +How strange that she should use his father's words! +</P> + +<P> +"Tell your father at once," she continued. "You can never retrace the +step you have taken. You may never wish to do so, but you can and must +retrieve the error of duplicity and concealment." +</P> + +<P> +"You will try and make my mother love Dora?" said Ronald. +</P> + +<P> +"That I will," replied Valentine. "You sketched her portrait well. I +can almost see her. I will speak of her beauty, her grace, her +tenderness." +</P> + +<P> +"You are a true friend," said Ronald, gratefully. +</P> + +<P> +"Do not overrate my influence," said Valentine. "You must learn to +look your life boldly in the face. Candidly and honestly I think that, +from mistaken notions of honor and chivalry, you have done wrong. A +man must be brave. Perhaps one of the hardest lessons in life is to +bear unflinchingly the effects and consequences of one's own deeds. +You must do that, you must not flinch, you must bear what follows like +a man and a hero." +</P> + +<P> +"I will," said Ronald, looking at the fair face, and half wishing that +the little Dora could talk to him as this noble girl did; such noble +words as hers made men heroes. Then he remembered how Dora would weep +if he were in trouble, and clasp her arms round his neck. +</P> + +<P> +"We shall still be friends, Miss Charteris?" he said, pleadingly. +"Whatever comes you will not give me up?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will be your friend while I live," said Valentine, holding out her +white hand, and her voice never faltered. "You have trusted me—I shall +never forget that. I am your friend, and Dora's also." +</P> + +<P> +The words came so prettily from her lips that Ronald smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"Dora would be quite alarmed at you," he said; "she is so timid and +shy." +</P> + +<P> +Then he told Valentine of Dora's pretty, artless ways, of her love for +all things beautiful in nature, always returning to one theme—her +great love for him. He little dreamed that the calm, stately beauty +listened as one on the rack—that while he was talking of Dora she was +trying to realize the cold, dreary blank that had suddenly fallen over +her life, trying to think what the future would be passed without him, +owning to herself that for this rash, chivalrous marriage, for his +generous love, she admired him more than ever. +</P> + +<P> +The hand that played carelessly among the wild flowers had ceased to +tremble, the proud lips had regained their color, and then Valentine +arose, as she was going out with Lady Earle after lunch. +</P> + +<P> +A feeling of something like blank despair seized Valentine when she +thought of what she must say to her other. As she remembered their few +words the previous evening, her face flushed hotly. +</P> + +<P> +"I can never thank you enough for your kind patience," said Ronald, as +they walked back through the shady park and the bright flower gardens. +</P> + +<P> +Valentine smiled and raised her fact to the quiet summer sky, thinking +of the hope that had been hers a few short hours before. +</P> + +<P> +"You will go at once and see your father, will you not?" she said to +Ronald, as they parted. +</P> + +<P> +"I am going now," he replied; but at that very moment Lady Earle came +up to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Ronald," she said, "come into my boudoir. Your father is there he +wants to see you before he goes to Holtham." +</P> + +<P> +Valentine went straight to her mother's room. Lady Charteris sat +waiting for her, beguiling the time with a book. She smiled as her +daughter entered. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope you have had a pleasant walk," she said; but both smile and +words died away as she saw the expression on her daughter's face, as +she bent over her mother. +</P> + +<P> +"Mamma," said Valentine, gently, "all I said to you last night about +Earlescourt was a great mistake—it will never be my home. My vanity +misled me." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you quarreled with Ronald?" asked Lady Charteris, quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"No," was the calm reply. "We are excellent friends but, mamma, I was +mistaken. He did want to tell me something, but it was of his love for +some one else—not for me." +</P> + +<P> +"He has behaved shamefully to you!" cried Lady Charteris. +</P> + +<P> +"Hush, mamma!" said Valentine. "You forget how such words humiliate me. +I have refused men of far better position that Ronald Earle. Never let +it be imagined that I have mistaken his intentions." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course not," said her mother. "I only say it to yourself, +Valentine; he seemed unable to live out of your sight—morning, noon, +and night he was always by your side." +</P> + +<P> +"He only wanted me to be his friend," said Valentine. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, he is selfish, like all the men!" said Lady Charteris. "With whom +has he fallen in love, my dear?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do not ask me," replied Valentine. "He is in a terrible dilemma. Do +not talk to me about it, mamma. I made a foolish mistake, and do not +wish to be reminded of it." +</P> + +<P> +Lady Charteris detected the suppressed pain in the tone of her child's +voice, and instantly formed her plans. +</P> + +<P> +"I think of returning tomorrow," she said. "Your father is getting +impatient to have us with him. He can not come to Earlescourt himself. +You say Mr. Earle is in a terrible dilemma, Valentine. I hope there +will be no scandalous expose while we are here. I detest scenes." +</P> + +<P> +"Lord Earle is far too proud for anything of that kind," said +Valentine. "If there should be any unpleasantness, it will not appear +on the surface. Mamma, you will not mention this to me again." +</P> + +<P> +Valentine threw off her lace shawl and pretty hat; she then took up the +book her mother had laid down. +</P> + +<P> +"My walk has tired me," she said; "the sun is very warm." +</P> + +<P> +She lay down upon the sofa and turned her face to the window, where the +roses came nodding in. +</P> + +<P> +"Stay here and read," said lady Charteris, with delicate tact. "I am +going to write my letters." +</P> + +<P> +Valentine lay still, looking at the summer beauty outside. No one knew +of the tears that gathered slowly in those proud eyes; no one knew of +the passionate weeping that could not be stilled. +</P> + +<P> +When Lady Charteris returned in two hours, Valentine had regained her +calm, and there was no trace of tears in the smiles which welcomed her. +Proudly and calmly she bore the great disappointment of her life. She +was no tragedy queen; she never said to herself that her life was +blighted or useless or burdensome. But she did say that she would +never marry until she found some one with Ronald's simple chivalry, his +loyal, true nature, and without the weakness which had caused and would +cause so much suffering. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter VIII +</H3> + +<P> +Lady Earle's boudoir was always considered one of the prettiest rooms +at Earlescourt. Few, but rare, pictures adorned its walls. The long +French windows opened on to the prettiest part of the gardens, where a +large fountain rippled merrily in the sunshine. Groups of flowers in +rare and costly vases perfumed the room. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle had but drawn a pretty lounging chair to the window, and sat +there, looking happier than he had looked for months. Lady Earle went +on with her task of arranging some delicate leaves and blossoms ready +for sketching. +</P> + +<P> +"Ronald," said his father, "I have been waiting here some time. Have +you been out?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have been in the park with Miss Charteris," replied Ronald. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle smiled again, evidently well pleased to hear that +intelligence. +</P> + +<P> +"A pleasant and sensible method of spending your time," he continued; +"and, strange to say, it is on that very subject I wish to speak to +you. Your attentions to Miss Charteris—" +</P> + +<P> +"My attentions!" cried Ronald. "You are mistaken. I have never paid +any." +</P> + +<P> +"You need have no fear this time," said Lord Earle. "Your mother tells +me of the numerous comments made last evening on your long tete-a-tete +in the conservatory. I know some of your secrets. There can be no +doubt that Miss Charteris has a great regard for you. I sent for you +to say that, far from my again offering any opposition to your +marriage, the dearest wish of my heart will be gratified when I call +Valentine Charteris my daughter." +</P> + +<P> +He paused for a reply, but none came. Ronald's face had grown +strangely pale. +</P> + +<P> +"We never named our wish to you," continued Lord Earle, "but years ago +your mother and I hoped you would some day love Miss Charteris. She is +very beautiful; she is the truest, noblest, the best woman I know. I +am proud of your choice, Ronald—more proud than words can express." +</P> + +<P> +Still Ronald made no reply, and Lady Earle looked up at him quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"You need not fear for Valentine," she said. "I must not betray any +secrets; she likes you, Ronald; I will say no more. If you ask her to +be your wife, I do not think you will ask in vain." +</P> + +<P> +"There is some great mistake," said Ronald, his pale lips quivering. +"Miss Charteris has no thought for me." +</P> + +<P> +"She has no thought for any one else," rejoined Lady Earle, quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"And I," continued Ronald, "never dreamed of making her my wife. I do +not love her. I can never marry Valentine Charteris." +</P> + +<P> +The smiles died from Lord Earle's face, and his wife dropped the pretty +blossoms she was arranging. +</P> + +<P> +"Then why have you paid the girl so much attention?" asked his father, +gravely. "Every one has remarked your manner; you never seemed happy +away from her." +</P> + +<P> +"I wished to make her my friend," said Ronald; "I never thought of +anything else." +</P> + +<P> +He stood aghast when he remembered why he had tried so hard to win her +friendship. What if Valentine misunderstood him? +</P> + +<P> +"Others thought for you," said Lady Earle, dryly. "Of course, if I am +mistaken, there is no more to be said; I merely intended to say how +happy such a marriage would make me. If you do not love the young lady +the matter ends, I suppose." +</P> + +<P> +"Can you not love her, Ronald?" asked his mother, gently. "She is so +fair and good, so well fitted to be the future mistress of Earlescourt. +Can you not love her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing was further from my thoughts," he replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Surely," interrupted Lady Earle, "you have forgotten the idle, boyish +folly that angered your father some time since—that can not be your +reason?" +</P> + +<P> +"Hush, mother," said Ronald, standing erect and dauntless; "I was +coming to tell you my secret when you met me. Father, I deceived and +disobeyed you. I followed Dora Thorne to Eastham, and married her +there." +</P> + +<P> +A low cry came from Lady Earle's lips. Ronald saw his father's face +grow white—livid—with anger; but no word broke the awful silence that +fell upon them. Hours seemed to pass in the space of a few minutes. +</P> + +<P> +"You married her," said Lord Earle, in a low, hoarse voice, +"remembering what I said?" +</P> + +<P> +"I married her," replied Ronald, "hoping you would retract hard, cruel +words that you never meant. I could not help it, father; she has no +one but me; they would have forced her to marry some one she did not +like." +</P> + +<P> +"Enough," interrupted Lord Earle. "Tell me when and where. Let me +understand whether the deed is irrevocable or not." +</P> + +<P> +Calmly, but with trembling lips, Ronald gave him every particular. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, the marriage is legal enough," said the master of Earlescourt. +"You had to choose between duty, honor, home, position—and Dora +Thorne. You preferred Dora; you must leave the rest." +</P> + +<P> +"Father, you will forgive me," cried Ronald. "I am your only son." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Lord Earle, drearily, "you are my only son. Heaven grant +no other child may pierce his father's heart as you have done mine! +Years ago, Ronald, my life was blighted—my hopes, wishes, ambitions, +and plans all melted; they lived again in you. I longed with wicked +impatience for the time when you should carry out my dreams, and add +fresh luster to a grand old name. I have lived in your life; and now, +for the sake of a simple, pretty, foolish girl, you have forsaken +me—you have deliberately trampled upon every hope that I had." +</P> + +<P> +"Let me atone for it," cried Ronald. "I never thought of these things." +</P> + +<P> +"You can not atone," said Lord Earle, gravely. "I can never trust you +again. From this time forth I have no son. My heir you must be when +the life you have darkened ends. My son is dead to me." +</P> + +<P> +There was no anger in the stern, grave face turned toward the unhappy +young man. +</P> + +<P> +"I never broke my word," he continued, "and never shall. You have +chosen your own path; take it. You preferred this Dora to me; go to +her. I told you if you persisted in your folly, I would never look +upon your face again, and I never will." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Rupert!" cried Lady Earle; "be merciful. He is my only child. I +shall die if you send him from me." +</P> + +<P> +"He preferred this Dora to you or to me," said Lord Earle. "I am sorry +for you, Helena—Heaven knows it wrings my heart—but I shall not break +my word! I will not reproach you," he continued, turning to his son, +"it would be a waste of time and words; you knew the alternative, and +are doubtless prepared for it." +</P> + +<P> +"I must bear it, father; the deed was my own," said Ronald. +</P> + +<P> +"We will end this scene," said Lord Earle, turning from his unhappy +wife, who was weeping passionately. "Look at your mother, Ronald; kiss +her for the last time and go from her; bear with you the memory of her +love and of her tenderness, and of how you have repaid them. Take your +last look at me. I have loved you—I have been proud of you, hopeful +for you; now I dismiss you from my presence, unworthy son of a noble +race. The same roof will never shelter us again. Make what +arrangements you will. You have some little fortune; it must maintain +you. I will never contribute one farthing to the support of my lodge +keeper's daughter. Go where you like—do as you like. You have chosen +your own path. Some day you must return to Earlescourt as its master. +I thank Heaven it will be when the degradation of my home and the +dishonor of my race can not touch me. Go now; I shall expect you to +have quitted the Hall before tomorrow morning." +</P> + +<P> +"You can not mean it, father," cried Ronald. "Send me from you punish +me—I deserve it; but let me see you again!" +</P> + +<P> +"Never in life," said Lord Earle, calmly. "Remember, when you see me +lying dead, that death itself was less bitter than the hour in which I +learned that you had deceived me." +</P> + +<P> +"Mother," cried the unhappy youth, "plead for me!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is useless," replied his father; "your choice has been made +deliberately. I am not cruel. If you write to me I shall return your +letters unopened. I shall refuse to see or hear from you, or to allow +you to come near Earlescourt; but you can write to your mother—I do +not forbid that. She can see you under any roof save mine. Now, +farewell; the sunshine, the hope, the happiness of my life go with you, +but I shall keep my word. See my solicitor, Mr. Burt, about your +money, and he will arrange everything in my place." +</P> + +<P> +"Father," cried Ronald, with tears in his eyes, "say one kind word, +touch my hand once again!" +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Lord Earle, turning from the outstretched hand; "that is not +the hand of an honorable man; I can not hold it in my own." +</P> + +<P> +Then Ronald bent down to kiss his mother; her face was white and still; +she was not conscious of his tears or his passionate pleading. Lord +Earle raised her face. "Go," said he, calmly; "do not let your mother +find you here when she recovers." +</P> + +<P> +He never forgot the pleading of those sorrowful eyes, the anguish of +the brave young face, as Ronald turned from him and left the room. +</P> + +<P> +When Lady Earle awoke to consciousness of her misery, her son had left +her. No one would have called Lord Earle hard or stern who saw him +clasp his weeping wife in his arms, and console her by every kind and +tender word he could utter. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle did not know that in his wife's heart there was a hope that +in time he would relent. It was hard to lose her brave boy for a few +months or even years; but he would return, his father must forgive him, +her sorrow would be but for a time. But Lord Earle, inflexible and +unflinching, knew that he should never in life see his son again. +</P> + +<P> +No one knew what Lord Earle suffered; as Valentine Charteris said, he +was too proud for scenes. He dined with Lady Charteris and her +daughter, excusing his wife, and never naming his son. After dinner he +shut himself in his own room, and suffered his agony along. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +Earlescourt was full of bustle and activity. The young heir was +leaving suddenly; boxes and trunks had to be packed. He did not say +where he was going; indeed those who helped him said afterward that his +face was fixed and pale, and that he moved about like one in a dream. +</P> + +<P> +Everything was arranged for Ronald's departure by the night mail from +Greenfield, the nearest station to Earlescourt. He took with him +neither horses nor servants; even his valet, Morton, was left behind. +"My lady" was ill, and shut up in her room all day. +</P> + +<P> +Valentine Charteris sat alone in the drawing room when Ronald came in +to bid her farewell. She was amazed at the unhappy termination of the +interview. She would have gone instantly to Lord Earle, but Ronald +told her it was useless—no prayers, no pleadings could change his +determination. +</P> + +<P> +As Ronald stood here, looking into Valentine's beautiful face, he +remembered his mother's words, that she cared for him as she cared for +no other. Could it be possible that this magnificent girl, with her +serene, queenly dignity, loved him? She looked distressed by his +sorrow. When he spoke of his mother, and she saw the quivering lips he +vainly tried to still, tears filled her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Where shall you go," she asked, "and what shall you do?" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall go to my wife at once," he replied, "and take her abroad. Do +not look so pained and grieved for me, Miss Charteris I must do the +best I can. If my income will not support me, I must work; a few +months' study will make me a tolerable artist. Do not forget my mother, +Valentine, and bid me 'Godspeed.'" +</P> + +<P> +Her heart yearned for him—so young, so simple, so brave. She longed +to tell him how much she admired him—how she wanted to help him, and +would be his friend while she lived. But Miss Charteris rarely yielded +to any emotion; she had laid her hand in his and said: +</P> + +<P> +"Goodbye, Ronald—God bless you! Be brave; it is not one great deed +that makes a hero. The man who bears trouble well is the greatest hero +of all." +</P> + +<P> +As he left his home in that quiet starlit night, Ronald little thought +that, while his mother lay weeping as though her heart would break, a +beautiful face, wet with bitter tears, watched him from one of the +upper windows, and his father, shut up alone, listened to every sound, +and heard the door closed behind his son as he would have heard his own +death knell. +</P> + +<P> +The next day Lady Charteris and her daughter left Earlescourt. Lord +Earle gave no sign of the heavy blow which had struck him. He was their +attentive host while they remained; he escorted them to their carriage, +and parted from them with smiling words. Then he went back to the +house, where he was never more to hear the sound of the voice he loved +best on earth. +</P> + +<P> +As the days and months passed, and the young heir did not return, +wonder and surprise reigned at Earlescourt. Lord Earle never mentioned +his son's name. People said he had gone abroad, and was living +somewhere in Italy. To Lord Earl it seemed that his life was ended; he +had no further plans, ambition died away; the grand purpose of his life +would never be fulfilled. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Earle said nothing of the trouble that had fallen upon her. She +hoped against hope that the time would come when her husband would +pardon their only son. Valentine Charteris bore her disappointment +well. She never forgot the simple, chivalrous man who had clung to her +friendship and relied so vainly upon her influence. +</P> + +<P> +Many lovers sighed round Valentine. One after another she dismissed +them. She was waiting until she saw some one like Ronald Earle—like +him in all things save the weakness which had so fatally shadowed his +life. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter IX +</H3> + +<P> +In a small, pretty villa, on the banks of the Arno, Ronald Earle +established himself with his young wife. He had gone direct to +Eastham, after leaving Earlescourt, his heart aching with sorrow for +home and all that he had left there, and beating high with joy at the +thought that now nothing stood between him and Dora. He told her of the +quarrel—of his father's stern words—and Dora, as he had foreseen +clung round his neck and wept. +</P> + +<P> +She would love him all the more, she said. She must love him enough to +make up for home and every one else. +</P> + +<P> +Yet, strange to say, when Ronald told his pretty, weeping wife all that +happened, he made no mention of Valentine Charteris—he did not even +utter her name. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald's arrangements were soon made. He sent for Stephen Thorne and +his wife, and told them how and when he had married Dora. +</P> + +<P> +"I am sorry for it," said Stephen. "No good will ever come of such an +unequal match. My girl had better have stayed at home, or married the +young farmer who loved her. The distance between you is too great, Mr. +Earle, and I fear me you will find it out." +</P> + +<P> +Ronald laughed at the idea that he should ever tire of Dora. How +little these prosaic, commonplace people knew of love! +</P> + +<P> +The good lodge keeper and his wife parted from Dora with many tears. +She was never to brighten their home again with her sweet face and gay +voice. She was going away to strange lands over the sea. Many dark +forebodings haunted them; but it was too late for advice and +interference now. +</P> + +<P> +The first news that came to the villa on the banks of the Arno was that +Stephen Thorne and his wife had left the lodge and taken a small farm +somewhere in the county of Kent. Lady Earle had found them the means, +and they had left without one word from Lord Earle. He never asked +whither they had gone. +</P> + +<P> +Despite his father's anger and his mother's sorrow, despite his poverty +and loss of position, Ronald for some months was very happy with his +young wife. It was so pleasant to teach Dora, to watch her sweet, +dimpled face and the dark eyes grow large with wonder; to hear her +simple, naive remarks, her original ideas; to see her pretty, artless +ways; above all, it was pleasant to be so dearly loved. +</P> + +<P> +He often thought that there never had been, never could be, a wife so +loving as Dora. He could not teach her much, although he tried hard. +She sang simple little ballads sweetly and clearly; but although master +after master tried his best, she could never be taught to play—not +even as much as the easy accompaniments of her own songs. Ronald hoped +that with time and attention she would be able to sketch, but Dora +never managed it. Obediently enough she took pencil and paper in her +hands and tried, but the strokes would never come straight. Sometimes +the drawing she made would resemble something so comical that both she +and Ronald laughed heartily; while the consciousness of her own +inferiority grieved her, and large, bright tears would frequently fall +upon the paper. Then Ronald would take the pencils away, and Dora +would cling around his neck and ask him if he would not have been +happier with a cleverer wife. +</P> + +<P> +"No, a thousand times, no," he would say; he loved Dora better in her +artless simplicity than he could have loved the cleverest woman in the +world. +</P> + +<P> +"And you are quite sure," said Dora, "that you will never repent +marrying me?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, again," was the reply. "You are the crowning joy of my life." +</P> + +<P> +It was pleasant to sit amid the oleanders and myrtles, reading the +great poems of the world to Dora. Even if she did not understand them, +her face lighted with pleasure as the grand words came from Ronald's +lips. It was pleasant, too, to sit on the banks of the Arno, watching +the blue waters gleaming in the sun. Dora was at home there. She +would say little of books, of pictures, or music; but she could talk of +beautiful Nature, and never tire. She knew the changing colors of the +sky, the varied hues of the waves, the different voices of the wind, +the songs of the birds. All these had a separate and distinct meaning +for her. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald could not teach her much more. She liked the beautiful poems he +read, but never could remember who had written them. She forgot the +names of great authors, or mixed them up so terribly that Ronald, in +despair, told her it would be better not to talk of books just yet—not +until she was more familiar with them. +</P> + +<P> +But he soon found out that Dora could not read for many minutes +together. She would open her book, and make a desperate attempt; then +her dark eyes would wander away to the distant mountains, or to the +glistening river. She could never read while the sun shone or the +birds sang. +</P> + +<P> +Seeing that, Ronald gave up all attempts at literature in the daytime; +when the lamps were lighted in the evening, and the fair face of Nature +was shut out, he tried again, and succeeded for ten minutes; then +Dora's eyes drooped, the white lids with their jetty fringe closed; and +with great dismay he found that over the masterpieces of the world Dora +had fallen asleep. +</P> + +<P> +Two long, bright years had passed away before Ronald began to perceive +that he could educate his pretty young wife no further. She was a +strange mixture of ignorance and uncultivated poetry. She could speak +well; her voice was sweet, her accent, caught from him, good; alone he +never noticed any deficiencies, but if he met an English friend in +Florence and brought him home to dine, then Ronald began to wish that +Dora would leave off blushing and grow less shy, that she could talk a +little more, and that he might lose all fear of her making some +terrible blunder. +</P> + +<P> +The third year of their married life dawned; Dora was just twenty, and +Ronald twenty-three. There had been no rejoicing when he had attained +his majority; it passed over unnoticed and unmarked. News came to them +from England, letters from the little farm in Kent, telling of simple +home intelligence, and letters from Lady Earle, always sad and stained +with tears. She had no good news to tell them. Lord Earle was well, +but he would never allow his son's name to be mentioned before him, and +she longed to see her son. In all her letters Lady Earle said: "Give +my love to Dora." +</P> + +<P> +In this, the third year of his married life, Ronald began to feel the +pressure of poverty. His income was not more than three hundred a +year. To Dora this seemed boundless riches; but the heir of +Earlescourt had spent more in dress and cigars. Now debts began to +press upon him, writing home he knew was useless. He would not ask Lady +Earle, although he knew that she would have parted with the last jewel +in her case for him. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald gave himself up to the study of painting. A pretty little +studio was built, and Dora spent long hours in admiring both her +husband and his work. He gave promise of being some day a good +artist—not a genius. The world would never rave about his pictures; +but, in time, he would be a conscientious, painstaking artist. Among +his small coterie of friends some approved, others laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Why not go to the Jews?" asked fashionable young men. "Earlescourt +must be yours some day. You can borrow money if you like." +</P> + +<P> +Ronald steadily refused to entertain the idea. He wondered at modern +ideas of honor—that men saw no shame in borrowing upon the lives of +their nearest and dearest, yet thought it a disgrace to be a follower +of one of the grandest of arts. He made one compromise—that was for +his father's sake. As an artist, he was known by Dora's name of +Thorne, and, before long, Ronald Thorne's pictures were in great +request. There was no dash of genius about them; but they were careful +studies. Some few were sold, and the price realized proved no +unwelcome addition to a small income. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald became known in Florence. People who had not thought much of +Mr. Earle were eager to know the clever artist and his pretty, shy +wife. Then the trial of Ronald Earle began in earnest. Had he lived +always away from the world, out of society, the chances are that his +fate would have been different; but invitations began to pour in upon +him and Dora, and Ronald, half tired of his solitude, although he never +suspected it, accepted them eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +Dora did not like the change; she felt lonely and lost where Ronald was +so popular and so much at home. +</P> + +<P> +Among those who eagerly sought Ronald's society was the pretty +coquette, the Countess Rosali, an English lady who had married the +Count Rosali, a Florentine noble of great wealth. +</P> + +<P> +No one in Florence was half so popular as the fair countess. Among the +dark, glowing beauties of sunny Italy she was like a bright sunbeam. +Her fair, piquant face was charming from its delicate bright coloring +and gay smiles; her hair, of the rare color painted by the old masters, +yet so seldom seen, was of pure golden hue, looking always as though +the sun shone upon it. +</P> + +<P> +Countess Rosali, there was no denying the fact, certainly did enjoy a +little flirtation. Her grave, serious husband knew it, and looked on +quite calmly. To his grave mind the pretty countess resembled a +butterfly far more than a rational being. He knew that, though she +might laugh and talk to others, though she might seek admiration and +enjoy delicate flattery, yet in her heart she was true as steel. She +loved bright colors, and everything else that was gay and brilliant. +She had gathered the roses; perhaps some one else had her share of +thorns. +</P> + +<P> +The fair, dainty lady had a great desire to see Mr. Thorne. She had +seen one of his pictures at the house of one of her friends a simple +little thing, but it had charmed her. It was merely a bouquet of +English wild flowers; but then they were so naturally painted! The +bluebells looked as though they had just been gathered. One almost +fancied dew drops on the delicate wild roses; a spray of pink hawthorn, +daisies and golden buttercups mingled with woodbine and meadow-sweet, +told sweet stories of the English meadows. +</P> + +<P> +"Whoever painted that," said the fair countess, "loves flowers, and +knows what English flowers mean." +</P> + +<P> +The countess did not rest until Ronald had been introduced to her, and +then she would know his wife. Her grave, silent husband smiled at her +evident admiration of the handsome young Englishman. She liked his +clear, Saxon face and fair hair; she liked his simple, kindly manner, +so full of chivalry and truth. She liked pretty Dora, too; but there +were times when the dainty, fastidious countess looked at the young +wife in wonder, for, as she said one evening to her husband: +</P> + +<P> +"There is something in Mrs. Thorne that puzzles me—she does not always +speak or look like a lady—" +</P> + +<P> +Few days passed without bringing Ronald and Dora to the Villa Rosali. +It would have been better for Ronald had he never left his pretty home +on the banks of the Arno. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter X +</H3> + +<P> +Going into society increased the expenses which Ronald and his wife +found already heavy enough. There were times when the money received +from the sale of his pictures failed in liquidating bills; then Ronald +grew anxious, and Dora, not knowing what better to do, wept and blamed +herself for all the trouble. It was a relief then to leave the home +over which the clouds lowered and seek the gay villa, where something +pleasant and amusing was always going on. +</P> + +<P> +The countess gathered around her the elite of Florentine society; she +selected her friends and acquaintances as carefully as she selected her +dresses, jewels, and flowers. She refused to know "bores" and +"nobodies"; her lady friends must be pretty, piquant, or fashionable, +any gentleman admitted into her charmed circle must have genius, wit, +or talent to recommend him. Though grave matrons shook their heads and +looked prudish when the Countess Rosali was mentioned, yet to belong to +her set was to receive the "stamp of fashion." No day passed without +some amusement at the villa—picnic, excursion, soiree, dance, or, what +its fair mistress preferred, private theatricals and charades. +</P> + +<P> +"Help me," she said one morning, as Ronald and Dora, in compliance with +her urgent invitation, came to spend the day at the villa—"help me; I +want to do something that will surprise every one. There are some +great English people coming to Florence—one of your heiresses, who is +at the same time a beauty. We must have some grand charades or +tableaus. What would you advise? Think of something original that +will take Florence by surprise." +</P> + +<P> +"Wishing any one to be original," said Ronald, smiling at her quick, +eager ways, "immediately deprives one of all thought. I must have +time; it seems to me you have exhausted every subject." +</P> + +<P> +"An artist has never-failing resources," she replied; "when every +'fount of inspiration' is closed it will be time to tell me there are +no ideas. You must have seen many charades, Mrs. Thorne," she said, +turning suddenly to Dora; "they are very popular in England. Tell me +of some." +</P> + +<P> +Dora blushed. She thought of the lodge and its one small parlor, and +then felt wretched and uncomfortable, out of place, and unhappy. +</P> + +<P> +"I have never seen any charades," she said, stiffly, and with crimson +cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +The countess opened her blue eyes in surprise, and Ronald looked +anxiously from one to the other. +</P> + +<P> +"My wife was too young when we were married to have seen much of the +world," he said, inwardly hoping that the tears he saw gathering in +Dora's dark eyes would not fall. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, then, she will be of no use in our council," replied the countess, +quickly. "Let us go out on the terrace; there is always inspiration +under an Italian sky." +</P> + +<P> +She led the way to a pretty veranda on the terrace, and they sat under +the shade of a large spreading vine. +</P> + +<P> +"Now we can discuss my difficulty in peace," said the lady, in her +pretty, imperious way. "I will, with your permission, tell you some of +my ideas." +</P> + +<P> +The countess was not particularly gifted, but Ronald was charmed by the +series of pictures she placed before him, all well chosen, with +startling points of interest, scenes from noble poems, pictures from +fine old tragedies. She never paused or seemed tired, while Dora sat, +her face still flushed, looking more awkward and ill at ease than +Ronald had ever seen her. For the first time, as they sat under the +vine that morning, Ronald contrasted his wife with his dainty, +brilliant hostess, and felt that she lost by the contrast—"awkward and +ill at ease," self-conscious to a miserable degree. For the first time +Ronald felt slightly ashamed of Dora, and wished that she knew more, +and could take some part in the conversation. Dimples and smiles, +curling rings of dark hair, and pretty rosebud lips were, he thought, +all very well, but a man grew tired of them in time, unless there was +something to keep up the charm. But poor little Dora had no resources +beyond her smiles and tears. She sat shrinking and timid, half +frightened at the bright lady who knew so much and told it so well; +feeling her heart cold with its first dread that Ronald was not pleased +with her. Her eyes wandered to the far-off hills. Ah! Could it be +that he would ever tire of her and wished that he had married some one +like himself. The very thought pierced her heart, and the timid young +wife sat with a sorrowful look upon her face that took away all its +simple beauty. +</P> + +<P> +"I will show you a sketch of the costume," said the countess; "it is in +my desk. Pray excuse me." +</P> + +<P> +She was gone in an instant, and Dora was alone with her husband. +</P> + +<P> +"For Heaven's sake, Dora," he said, quickly, "do look a little +brighter; what will the countess think of you? You look like a +frightened school girl." +</P> + +<P> +It was an injudicious speech. If Ronald had only caressed her, all +would have been sunshine again; as it was, the first impatient words +she had ever heard from him smote her with a new, strange pain, and the +tears overflowed. +</P> + +<P> +"Do not—pray—never do that," said Ronald; "we shall be the laughing +stock of all Florence. Well-bred people never give way to emotion." +</P> + +<P> +"Here is the sketch," said the countess, holding a small drawing in her +hand. Her quick glance took in Dora's tears and the disturbed +expression of Ronald's face. +</P> + +<P> +With kind and graceful tact the countess gave Dora time to recover +herself; but that was the last time she ever invited the young artist +and his wife alone. Countess Rosali had a great dread of all domestic +scenes. +</P> + +<P> +Neither Dora nor Ronald ever alluded again to this little incident; it +had one bad effect—it frightened the timid young wife, and made her +dread going into society. When invitations to grand houses came, she +would say, "Go alone, Ronald; if I am with you they are sure to ask me +ever so many questions which I can not answer; then you will be vexed +with me, and I shall be ashamed of my ignorance." +</P> + +<P> +"Why do you not learn?" Ronald would ask, disarmed by her sweet +humility. +</P> + +<P> +"I can not," said Dora, shaking her pretty head. "The only lesson I +ever learned in my life was how to love you." +</P> + +<P> +"You have learned that by heart," replied Ronald. Then he would kiss +her pitiful little face and go without her. +</P> + +<P> +By slow degrees it became a settled rule that Dora should stay at home +and Ronald go out. He had no scruples in leaving her—she never +objected; her face was always smiling and bright when he went away, and +the same when he returned. He said to himself that Dora was happier at +home than elsewhere, that fine ladies frightened her and made her +unhappy. +</P> + +<P> +Their ways in life, now became separate and distinct, Ronald going more +than ever into society, Dora clinging more to the safe shelter of home. +</P> + +<P> +But society was expensive in two ways—not only from the outlay in +dress and other necessaries, but in the time taken from work. There +were many days when Ronald never went near his studio, and only +returned home late in the evening to leave early in the morning. He +was only human, this young hero who had sacrificed so much for love; +and there were times, after some brilliant fete or soiree, when the +remembrance of home, Dora, hard work, narrow means, would come to him +like a heavy weight or the shadow of a dark cloud. +</P> + +<P> +Not that he loved her less—pretty, tender Dora; but there was not one +feeling or taste in common between them. Harder men would have tired +of her long before. They never cared to speak much of home, for Dora +noticed that Ronald was always sad after a letter from Lady Earle. The +time came when she hesitated to speak of her own parents, lest he +should remember much that she would have liked him to forget. +</P> + +<P> +If any true friend had stepped in then, and warned them, life would +have been a different story for Ronald Earle and his wife. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald's story became known in Florence. He was the son of a wealthy +English peer, who had offended his father by a "low" marriage; in time +he would succeed to the title. Hospitalities were lavished upon him, +the best houses in Florence were thrown open to him, and he was eagerly +welcomed there. When people met him continually unaccompanied by his +young wife they smiled significantly, and bright eyes grew soft with +pity. Poor, pretty Dora! +</P> + +<P> +Ronald never knew how the long hours of his absence were spent by Dora. +She never looked sad or weary to him, he never saw any traces of tears, +yet Dora shed many. Through the long sunny hours and far into the +night she sat alone, thinking of the home she had left in far-off +England—where she had been loved and worshiped by her rough, homely, +honest father and a loving mother; thinking too, of Ralph, and his +pretty, quiet homestead in the green fields, where she would have been +honored as its mistress, where no fine ladies would have vexed her with +questions, and no one would have thought her ignorant or awkward; +thinking of all these things, yet loving Ronald none the less, except +that a certain kind of fear began to mingle with her love. +</P> + +<P> +Gradually, slowly, but surely, the fascination of the gay and brilliant +society in which Ronald was so eagerly courted laid hold of him. He +did not sin willfully or consciously; little by little a distaste for +his own home and a weariness of Dora's society overcame him. He was +never unkind to her, for Ronald was a gentleman; but he lingered no +more through the long sunny morning by her side. He gave up all +attempts to educate her. He ceased to tease her about books; he never +offered to read to her; and pretty, simple Dora, taught by the keen +instinct of love, noted it all. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald saw some little change in her. The dimples and smiles had +almost vanished from her face. He seldom heard the laugh that had once +been so sweet to him. There was retiring grace in her manner that +suited her well. He thought she was catching the "tone of good +society," and liked the change. +</P> + +<P> +Some natures become ennobled under the pressure of adversity; but +limited means and petty money cares had no good effect upon Ronald +Earle. He fretted under them. He could do nothing as other people +did. He could not purchase a magnificent bouquet for the countess; his +means would not permit it. He could not afford a horse such as all his +gentlemen friends rode. Adversity developed no good qualities in him; +the discipline was harder and sterner still that made of him a true man +at last. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald went on with his painting fitfully, sometimes producing a good +picture, but often failing. +</P> + +<P> +The greatest patron of the fine arts in Florence was the Prince di +Borgezi. His magnificent palace was like one picture gallery. He saw +some sketches of Ronald's, and gave an order to him to paint a large +picture, leaving him to choose the subject. In vain by night and by +day did Ronald ponder on what that subject should be. He longed to +make his name immortal by it. He thought once of Tennyson's "Dora," +and of sketching his wife for the principal figure. He did make a +sketch, but he found that he could not paint Dora's face; he could not +place the dimpling smiles and bright blushes on canvas, and they were +the chief charm. He therefore abandoned the idea. +</P> + +<P> +Standing one day where the sunbeams fell lightly through the thick +myrtles, an inspiration came to him. He would paint a picture of Queen +Guinevere in her gay sweet youth and bright innocent beauty—Guinevere +with her lovely face and golden hair, the white plumes waving and +jewels flashing; the bright figure on the milk-white palfrey shining in +the mellow sunlight that came through the green trees. +</P> + +<P> +Lancelot should ride by her side; he could see every detail of the +picture; he knew just the noble, brave, tender face Sir Lancelot should +have; but where could he find a model for Guinevere? Where was there a +face that would realize his artist dreams of her? The painting was +half completed before he thought of Valentine Charteris and her +magnificent blonde beauty—the very ideal of Queen Guinevere. +</P> + +<P> +With renewed energy Ronald set to work. Every feature of that perfect +face was engraved upon his mind. He made sketch after sketch, until, +in its serene, sweet loveliness, Valentine's face smiled upon him. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XI +</H3> + +<P> +"Queen Guinevere" was a success far beyond Ronald's dearest hopes. +Artists and amateurs, connoisseurs of all ranks and degrees were +delighted with it. The great charm of the picture was the lovely young +face. "Whom was it like?" "Where had he found his model?" "Was ever +any woman so perfectly beautiful?" Such were the questions that people +never seemed tired of repeating. +</P> + +<P> +The picture was hung in the gallery of the palace, and the Prince di +Borgezi became one of Ronald's best patrons. +</P> + +<P> +The prince gave a grand ball in honor of a beautiful English lady, who, +with her family, had just arrived in Florence. Countess Rosali raved +about her, wisely making a friend where any one else would have feared +a rival. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald had contrived an invitation, but was prevented from attending. +All the elite of Florence were there, and great was the excitement when +Countess Rosali entered the ball room with an exceedingly beautiful +woman—a queenly blonde—the lady about whom all Florence was +interested—an English heiress, clever as she was fair, speaking French +with a courtly grace and Italian with fluent skill; and when the prince +stood before her he recognized in one moment the original of his famous +"Guinevere." +</P> + +<P> +The countess was in danger—a fairer, brighter star had arisen. +Valentine Charteris was the belle of the most brilliant hall ever given +in Florence. +</P> + +<P> +When the prince had received his guest, and danced once with Miss +Charteris, he asked her if she would like to see his celebrated +picture, the "Guinevere," whose fame was spreading fast. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing," she said, "would please her better;" and as the Countess +Rosali stood near, the prince included her in the invitation. +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly; I never tire of the 'Guinevere,' never weary of the +artist's triumph, for he is one of the most valued of my friends." +</P> + +<P> +Prince di Borgesi smiled, thinking how much of the fair coquette's +admiration went to the artist's talent, and how much to his handsome +face. +</P> + +<P> +They entered the long gallery, where some of the finest pictures in +Italy were hung. The prince led the ladies to the southern end. +Valentine saw before her a magnificent painting—tall forest trees, +whose thick branches were interwoven, every green leaf distinct and +clear; she saw the mellow light that fell through them, the milk-white +palfrey and the jeweled harness, the handsome knight who rode near; and +then she saw her own face, bright, smiling, glowing with beauty, bright +in innocence, sweet in purity. Valentine stared in astonishment, and +her companion smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"There can be no doubt about the resemblance," said the countess. "The +artist has made you Queen Guinevere, Miss Charteris." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Valentine, wonderingly; "it is my own face. How came it +there? Who is the artist?" +</P> + +<P> +"His name is Ronald Thorne," replied the countess. "There is quite a +romance about him." +</P> + +<P> +The countess saw Miss Charteris grow pale and silent. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you ever seen him?" inquired the countess. "Do you know him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Valentine, "my family and his have been on intimate terms +for years. I knew that he was in Italy with his wife." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah," rejoined the countess, eagerly, "then perhaps you know all about +his marriage? Who was Mrs. Thorne? Why did he quarrel with his +father? Do tell us, Miss Charteris." +</P> + +<P> +"Nay," said Valentine; "if Mrs. Thorne has any secrets, I shall not +reveal them. I must tell mamma they are in Florence. We must call and +see them." +</P> + +<P> +"I was fond of Mrs. Thorne once," said the countess, plaintively, "but +really there is nothing in her." +</P> + +<P> +"There must be something both estimable and lovable," replied Valentine +quickly, "or Mr. Thorne would never have married her." +</P> + +<P> +Prince di Borgesi smiled approval of the young lady's reply. +</P> + +<P> +"You admire my picture, Miss Charteris?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"The more so because it is the work of an old friend," said Valentine; +and again the prince admired the grace of her words. +</P> + +<P> +"Any other woman in her place," he thought, "would have blushed and +coquetted. How charming she is!" +</P> + +<P> +From that moment Prince di Borgezi resolved to win Valentine if he +could. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Charteris was half pleased, half sorry, to hear that Ronald was in +Florence. No one deplored his rash, foolish marriage more than she +did. She thought Lord Earle stern and cruel; she pitied the young man +she had once liked so well, yet for all that she did not feel inclined +to renew the acquaintance. When Valentine asked her to drive next +morning to the little villa on the banks of the Arno, she at first half +declined. +</P> + +<P> +"I promised to be Ronald's friend years ago," said Valentine, calmly; +"and now, mamma, you must allow me to keep my word. We must visit his +wife, and pay her every attention. To refuse would imply a doubt of +me, and that I could not endure." +</P> + +<P> +"You shall do as you like, my dear," replied Lady Charteris; "the young +man's mother is my dearest friend, and for her sake we will be kind to +him." +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +It was one of those Italian mornings when the fair face of Nature +seemed bathed in beauty. The air was full of the music of birds; the +waters of the Arno rolled languidly on; oleanders and myrtles were in +full bloom; birds sang as they sing only under the blue sky of Italy. +</P> + +<P> +It was not yet noon when Lady Charteris and her daughter reached the +little villa. Before they came to the house, Valentine caught one +glimpse of a pretty, pale face with large dark eyes. Could that be +pretty, smiling Dora? There were the shining rings of dark hair; but +where were the smiles Ronald had described? That was not a happy face. +Care and sorrow were in every line of it. +</P> + +<P> +They were told that Mr. Thorne was in his studio, and would see them +there. They had sent no card, and Ronald believed the "two ladies" to +have called on some business connected with pictures. He started with +surprise when Lady Charteris and Valentine entered. There were a few +words of confused greeting, a hurried explanation of the circumstances +that led Sir Hugh to Florence; and then Valentine looked long and +steadily at the only man she had ever cared for. He was altered; the +frank, handsome face looked worn and thin; it had a restless +expression. He did not look like a man who had found peace. Lady +Charteris told him of her last visit to Earlescourt—how his mother +never ceased speaking of him, and his father still preserved the same +rigid, unbending silence. +</P> + +<P> +"I have seen your picture," said Lady Charteris. "How well you +remembered my daughter's face." +</P> + +<P> +"It is one not easily forgotten," he replied; and then another deep +silence fell upon him. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is Mrs. Earle?" asked Valentine. "Our visit is chiefly to her. +Pray introduce her to mamma. I know her already by description." +</P> + +<P> +"I left my wife in the garden," said Ronald; "shall we join her there?" +</P> + +<P> +They followed him into the pretty sunlit garden, where Valentine had +seen the pale, sad face. +</P> + +<P> +"My wife is timid," said Ronald, "always nervous with strangers." +</P> + +<P> +Dora was sitting under the shade of a large flowering tree, her hands +folded, and her eyes riveted on the distant hills; there was something +in her listless manner that touched both ladies more than any words +could have done. A deep flush crimsoned her face when Ronald and his +guests stood before her. She rose, not ungracefully; her eyelids +drooped in their old shy manner. As Ronald introduced his wife, +something in the girl's wistful face went straight to Lady Charteris's +heart. She spoke not a word, but folded Dora in her arms and kissed +her as her own mother might have done. +</P> + +<P> +"You must learn to love us," said Valentine; "we are your husband's +dearest friends." +</P> + +<P> +Poor Dora had no graceful words ready; her heart was full of gratitude, +but she knew not how to express it. Ronald looked at her anxiously, +and she caught his glance. +</P> + +<P> +"Now," thought Dora, "he will not be pleased." She tried to say +something of her pleasure in seeing them, but the words were so stiff +and ungracious that Ronald hastened to interrupt them. +</P> + +<P> +A luncheon of fruit and wine was brought out into the garden, and they +talked merrily—of Earlescourt and the dear old friends there; of the +ball and Prince di Borgesi; in all of which Dora felt that she had no +share. +</P> + +<P> +Who was this beautiful lady, with her fair face and golden hair? +</P> + +<P> +The same face she saw that Ronald had painted in his picture, and every +one admired. How graceful she was! How she talked! The words seemed +to ripple like music over her perfect lips. Where had Ronald known +her? Why had he never told her of Miss Charteris? +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" thought Dora, "if I could be like her!" And a sudden sense of +wonder struck her that Ronald had not loved and married this fair and +gracious lady. +</P> + +<P> +Valentine neither forgot nor neglected her. She tried to draw her into +their conversation, but Dora replied so uneasily and so briefly to all +her remarks that she saw the truest kindness was to leave her alone. +</P> + +<P> +They spent a few hours pleasantly, and Lady Charteris would not leave +until Ronald promised to take his wife to spend a long day with them. +</P> + +<P> +"I can hardly promise for Dora," said Ronald, kindly; "she seldom +leaves home." +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Earle will not refuse me," said Valentine, with that smile which +no one ever resisted. "She will come with you, and we will make her +happy." +</P> + +<P> +When the day was settled, the ladies drove away, and Ronald watched the +carriage until it was out of sight. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Valentine," cried Lady Charteris when they were out of +hearing, "my dear child, what could possess Ronald Earle? What could +he see in that shy, awkward girl to induce him to give up everything +and go into exile for her sake? She is not even pretty." +</P> + +<P> +"She is altered, mamma," began Valentine. +</P> + +<P> +"Altered!" interrupted Lady Charteris. "I should imagine she is, and +unhappy, too. She is frightened to speak—she has no style, no manner, +no dignity. He must have been insane." +</P> + +<P> +"I am quite sure he loved her," said Valentine, warmly, "and loves her +now." +</P> + +<P> +"That is just the mystery," replied her mother—"a clever man like he +is, accustomed to intelligent and beautiful women. I shall never +understand it." +</P> + +<P> +"Do not try," said Valentine, calmly. "She is evidently nervous and +sensitive. I mean to be a true friend to Ronald, mamma; I shall try to +train and form his wife." +</P> + +<P> +Poor Dora! She was already trained and formed, but no one would +understand that. People do not expect the perfume of the rose in a +wild strawberry blossom, or the fragrance of the heliotrope in a common +bluebell. Yet they wondered that in this simple girl, ignorant of the +world and it ways, they did not find a cultivated mind, a graceful +manner, and a dignified carriage. Their only thought was to train and +form her, whereas Nature and not Art had done both. +</P> + +<P> +"Dora," said Ronald, as the carriage disappeared from view, "try to +like Lady Charteris and her daughter; they are so kindly disposed +toward you. I shall be so pleased to see you good friends." +</P> + +<P> +"I will try," she replied, cheerfully. "How beautiful she is, Ronald! +Tell me about her. You remember her face exactly; should you remember +mine as well?" +</P> + +<P> +It was the first touch of jealousy stirring in the simple, loving heart. +</P> + +<P> +"Far better," said Ronald, with a smile; and then he looked up in +alarm, for Dora was weeping wildly, and clinging to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Ronald!" she said, "for your sake I wish I was like her. Shall you +ever tire of me, or wish you had not married me?" +</P> + +<P> +Ronald soothed and comforted his wife, and did not return to his studio +that day, but sat talking to her, telling her how noble and good +Valentine Charteris was. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XII +</H3> + +<P> +It is very seldom that a man of good disposition goes wrong willfully. +Ronald Earle would have felt indignant if any one had accused him of +dishonor or even neglect. He thought Dora enjoyed herself more at home +than in society, consequently he left her there. Habits soon grow. +The time came when he thought it was the wiser course. He felt more at +ease without her. If Dora by chance accompanied him, he watched her +anxiously, fearful lest others should discover and comment upon the +little deficiencies she felt so acutely. +</P> + +<P> +The visit to Lady Charteris was duly paid—a day that Ronald enjoyed, +and Dora thought would never end. She could not feel at home with +these fine ladies, although Lady Charteris was kind to her and +Valentine laid herself out to please; not even when Valentine, pitying +her shy, timid manner and evident constraint, took her out into the +garden and tried hard to win her confidence. Dora's heart seemed to +close against the beautiful, brilliant lady who knew her husband and +all his friends so well. A fierce, hot breath of jealousy stirred the +simple nature. Ronald talked to Miss Charteris of things all unknown to +her; they seemed to have the same thoughts and feelings, while she was +outside the charmed circle, and could never enter it. She watched the +growing admiration on Ronald's face when Valentine played and sang, and +her restless heart grew weary and faint. She had never felt jealous +before. When Countess Rosali talked and laughed with her husband, +treating him sometimes as a captive and again as a victor, Dora never +cared; but every smile on this woman's fair face pained her—she hardly +knew why. +</P> + +<P> +When Miss Charteris, under pretense of showing her favorite flower, +took Dora away from the others, and condescended to her as she had +never done to any other, actually caressing the anxious little face and +herself offering to be Mrs. Earle's true friend, Dora's heart closed +against her. She only replied by faint monosyllables, and never raised +her dark eyes to the face turned so kindly upon her. +</P> + +<P> +When Ronald had taken his young wife away, Lady Charteris sat with her +daughter in an unbroken silence. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor boy!" said the other lady at length, "and poor Dora! This is one +more added to the list of unhappy marriages. How will it end?" +</P> + +<P> +As she watched the sun set in the golden west, Valentine asked herself +the same question: "How will it end?" +</P> + +<P> +If any one had told Dora she was jealous, she would have denied it +indignantly, although Valentine was seldom out of her mind. +</P> + +<P> +From pure kindness Lady Charteris wished Ronald to paint her daughter's +portrait; it was to be a large picture they could take back to +Greenoke. He was pleased with the commission, and began to work at it +eagerly. Lady Charteris came with Valentine, and remained with her +during the long sittings, doing everything in her power to please and +win the artist's timid wife. +</P> + +<P> +The fair face, in its calm, Grecian beauty, grew upon the canvas. Many +a long hour, when Ronald was absent, Dora lingered over it. The +portrait had a strange fascination for her. She dwelt upon every +feature until, if the lips had opened and smiled a mocking smile at +her, she would not have felt greatly surprised. It was less a picture +to her than a living, breathing reality. She would watch Ronald as he +worked at it, eager and enthusiastic; then, looking up and finding her +dark eyes riveted upon him with so strange an expression, he would call +her to see what progress he had made; and, never dreaming of the +growing jealousy in Dora's heart, speak with an artist's delight of the +peerless features. +</P> + +<P> +Without any great or sudden change, day by day Dora grew more silent +and reserved. She was learning to hide her thoughts, to keep her +little troubles in her own heart and ponder them. The time was past +when she would throw herself into Ronald's arms and weep out her +sorrows there. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald did not notice the change. Home seemed very dull. It was a +great pleasure to leave the solitary little villa and sit in the +brilliant salon of Lady Charteris's well-appointed home. It was +pleasant to exchange dull monotony for sparkling conversation and gay +society. +</P> + +<P> +Valentine had many admirers. Every one knew the Prince di Borgesi +would gladly have laid his fortune and title at her feet; but she cared +for neither. Ronald often watched her as noble and learned men offered +their homage to her. She smiled brightly, spoke well and gracefully; +but he never saw in her face the look he once remembered there. Lady +Charteris deplored her daughter's obstinacy. She took Ronald into her +confidence, and confided to him her annoyance when one suitor after +another was dismissed. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald was not particularly vain. Like most men, he had a pleasing +consciousness of his own worth; but he could not help remembering his +mother's assurance that Valentine cared for him. Could it have been +true? Was there ever a time when that beautiful girl, so indifferent +to all homage, cared for him? Could there have been a time when the +prize for which others sighed in vain was within his grasp and he +slighted it? +</P> + +<P> +He did not dwell upon these thoughts, but they would come into his +mind. It was seldom that a day passed without his calling at the +pretty home where Lady Charteris always welcomed him kindly. She was +sorry for him. He was never de trop with her. Occasionally, too, she +drove out to see his wife; but the visits were rather of duty than of +pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +Then Dora's health failed. She grew weak and languid—irritable at +times—as unlike the smiling, blushing girl Ronald had met at +Earlescourt gardens as it was possible for her to be. He wrote to tell +his mother that at length there was hope of an heir to their ancient +house. He was very kind and patient to his ailing, delicate wife, +giving up parties and soirees to sit with her, but never able to guess +why Dora's dark eyes looked so strangely upon him. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Charteris had planned an excursion to some picturesque ruin that +had pleased her daughter, who wished to make a sketch of it. Ronald was +asked to join them, and he had been looking forward for many days to a +few pleasant hours away from all care and anxiety—out in the beautiful +country with Valentine. But when the morning came Dora looked pale and +ill. She did not ask him to stay with her, but he read the wish in her +face. +</P> + +<P> +"I will not go, Dora," said her husband; "I will not leave you. I shall +send a note of excuse to Lady Charteris, and take care of you all day." +</P> + +<P> +"Is Miss Charteris going?" she asked, quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and several others," he replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Then never mind me," said Dora; "do not give up a day's pleasure for +me." +</P> + +<P> +Ronald might have guessed there was something wrong from the tone of +her voice, but Ronald was not of a suspicious nature. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, Dora," he said, gently, "you know I would give up every pleasure +in the world for you." +</P> + +<P> +He bent over her, and kissed her pale little face. Time had been when +the simple heart would have thrilled with happiness at his words; but +Dora grew cold and hard. +</P> + +<P> +"It used to be always so," she thought, "before she came with her +beauty and took him from me." +</P> + +<P> +How much misery would have been averted had she told Ronald of her +jealous thoughts and fears! He never suspected them. When he returned +home, looking bright and happy, she would ask him, "Have you seen Miss +Charteris today?" and he, glad of her interest in his friends, would +reply that he had been to her mother's house, and tell her of music he +had heard or people he had met, or of Valentine's messages to her. So +Dora fed the dark, bitter jealousy that had crept into her heart. +</P> + +<P> +It was a proud but anxious day for Ronald when he wrote to tell his +mother that he was now the father of little twin daughters, two pretty, +fair babies, in place of the long looked-for heir of Earlescourt. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Charteris was very kind to the lonely young mother—so kind that, +had she borne any other name, Dora must have loved her. A glimpse of +the old happiness came back, for Ronald was proud and pleased with the +little twin sisters. +</P> + +<P> +One bright morning, when Dora had been taken down into the pretty room +where the infants lay sleeping, Lady Charteris and her daughter came +in. Ronald joined them and there was a long discussion as to the names. +</P> + +<P> +"You must have an eye to the future," said Valentine, smiling. "These +little ladies will be very grand personages some day. It would be a +nice compliment to Lady Earle if you called one Helena." +</P> + +<P> +"I have made my choice," said Dora, in a clear, ringing voice. "I shall +call this little one with the fair hair Lillian, the other Beatrice." +</P> + +<P> +A faint flush rose to her face as she spoke. She would allow of no +interference here. This smiling beauty should not give names to her +children. +</P> + +<P> +"I admire your choice," said Lady Charteris; "Beatrice and Lillian are +very pretty names." +</P> + +<P> +When Valentine bent over the cradle and kissed the children before +taking leave, Dora said, "I have had my own way, you see, Miss +Charteris, with my little ones. Mr. Earle did not oppose me." +</P> + +<P> +Valentine thought the words harsh and strange; she had no clew to their +meaning. She could not have imagined Dora jealous of her. She made +some laughing reply, and passed on. Dora was not lonely now, the care +of the little ones occupying her whole time; but, far from their +binding Ronald to his home, he became more estranged from it than ever. +</P> + +<P> +The pretty, picturesque villa was very small; there was no room +available for a nursery. Wherever Dora sat, there must the little ones +be; and although they were very charming to the mother and the nurse, +the continued cries and noise irritated Ronald greatly. Then he grew +vexed; Dora cried, and said he did not love them, and so the barrier +grew day by day between those who should have been all in all to each +other. +</P> + +<P> +The children grew. Little Beatrice gave promise of great beauty. She +had the Earle face, Ronald said. Lillian was a fair, sweet babe, too +gentle, her mother thought, to live. Neither of them resembled her, +and at times Dora wished it had been otherwise. +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps in all Ronald Earle's troubled life he never spent a more +unsettled or wretched year than this. "It is impossible to paint," he +said to himself, "when disturbed by crying babies." So the greater part +of his time was spent away from home. Some hours of every day were +passed with Valentine; he never stopped to ask himself what impulse led +him to seek her society; the calm repose of her fair presence +contrasted so pleasantly with the petty troubles and small miseries of +home. When Miss Charteris rode out he accompanied her; he liked to +meet her at parties and balls. He would have thought a day sad and +dark wherein he did not see her. +</P> + +<P> +When the little ones reached their first birthday, Valentine, with her +usual kind thought, purchased a grand assortment of toys, and drove +over quite unexpectedly to the villa. It was not a very cheerful scene +which met her gaze. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald was busily engaged in writing. Dora, flushed and worn, was +vainly trying to stop the cries of one child, while the other pulled at +her dress. The anxious, dreary face struck Valentine with pain. She +laid the parcel of toys down, and shook hands with Ronald, who looked +somewhat ashamed of the aspect of affairs. Then, turning to Dora, she +took the child from her arms, and little Beatrice, looking at her with +wondering eyes, forgot to cry. +</P> + +<P> +"You are not strong enough, Dora, to nurse this heavy child," said Miss +Charteris. "Why do you not find some one to help you?" +</P> + +<P> +"We can not afford it," said Ronald, gloomily. +</P> + +<P> +"We spend too much in gloves and horses," added Dora, bitterly; but no +sooner were the words spoken than she would have given the world to +recall them. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald made no reply, and Valentine, anxious to avert the storm she had +unwittingly raised, drew attention to the toys. +</P> + +<P> +When Valentine left them, Dora and Ronald had their first quarrel long +and bitter. He could ill brook the insult her words implied—spoken +before Valentine, too!—and she for the first time showed him how an +undisciplined, untrained nature can throw off the restraint of good +manners and good breeding. It was a quarrel never to be forgotten, +when Ronald in the height of his rage wished that he had never seen +Dora, and she re-echoed the wish. When such a quarrel takes place +between man and wife, the bloom and freshness are gone from love. They +may be reconciled, but they will never again be to each other what they +once were. A strong barrier is broken down, and nothing can be put in +its place. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XIII +</H3> + +<P> +The angry, passionate words spoken by Ronald—almost the first he had +ever uttered—soon faded from his mind, but they rankled like poisoned +arrows in Dora's heart. She believed them. Before evening her husband +repented of his anger, and called himself a coward for having scolded +Dora. He went up to her and raised her face to his. +</P> + +<P> +"Little wife," He said, "we have both been wrong. I am very sorry—let +us make friends." +</P> + +<P> +There was just a suspicion of sullenness in Dora's nature, and it +showed itself in full force now. +</P> + +<P> +"It is no matter," she replied, coolly; "I knew long ago that you were +tired of me." +</P> + +<P> +Ronald would not answer, lest they should quarrel again, but he thought +to himself that perhaps she was not far wrong. +</P> + +<P> +From that day the breach between them widened. In after years Dora saw +how much she was to blame. She understood then how distasteful her +quiet, sullen reserve must have been to a high-bred, fastidious man +like Ronald. She did not see it then, but nursed in her heart +imaginary wrongs and injuries; and, above all, she yielded to a wild, +fierce jealousy of Valentine Charteris. +</P> + +<P> +For some weeks Miss Charteris saw the cloud deepening on Ronald's face. +He grew silent, and lost the flow of spirit that had once seemed never +to fail; and during the few weeks that followed, a strong resolution +grew in her mind. She was his true friend, and she would try to +restore peace and harmony between him and his wife. She waited for +some days, but at her mother's house it was impossible to see him +alone. Yet she honestly believed that, if she could talk to him, +remind him of his first love for Dora, of her simplicity and many +virtues, she might restore peace and harmony to her old friend's house. +She thought Ronald to blame. He had voluntarily taken active duties +upon himself, and to her clearly, rightly judging mind, there was no +earthly reason why he should not fulfill them. He would not feel hurt +at her speaking, she felt sure, for he had voluntarily sought her aid +years ago. So Valentine waited day after day, hoping to find a chance +for those few words she thought would do so much good; but, as no +opportunity came, she resolved to make one. Taking her little jeweled +pencil, she wrote the following lines that were in after-time a death +warrant: +</P> + +<P> +"Dear Mr. Earle,—I wish to speak to you particularly and privately. I +shall be in our grounds tomorrow morning about ten; let me see you +there before you enter the house. Your sincere friend, Valentine +Charteris." +</P> + +<P> +All the world might have read the note—there was nothing wrong in +it—good intentions and a kindly heart dictated it, but it worked fatal +mischief. When Ronald was leaving her mother's house, Miss Charteris +openly placed the letter in his hands. +</P> + +<P> +"This is the first note I have ever written to you," she said, with a +smile. "You must not refuse the request it contains." +</P> + +<P> +"I will send him home happy tomorrow," she thought, "he is easily +influenced for good. He must make up the misunderstanding with his +pretty little wife—neither of them look happy." +</P> + +<P> +Ronald did not open the letter until he reached home. Then he read it +with a half-consciousness of what Valentine wanted him for. +</P> + +<P> +"She is a noble woman," he thought. "Her words made me brave +before—they will do me good again." +</P> + +<P> +He left the folded paper upon the table in his studio; and jealous +little Dora, going in search of some work she had left, found it there. +She read it word by word, the color dying slowly out of her face as she +did so, and a bitter, deadly jealousy piercing her heart like a +two-edged sword. It confirmed her worst fears, her darkest doubts. +How dared this brilliant, beautiful woman lure Ronald from her? How +dared she rob her of his love? +</P> + +<P> +Ronald looked aghast at his wife's face as she re-entered the sitting +room. He had been playing with the children, and had forgotten for the +time both Valentine and her note. He cried out in alarm as she turned +her white, wild face to him in dumb, silent despair. +</P> + +<P> +"What is the matter, Dora?" he cried. "Are you ill or frightened? You +look like a ghost." +</P> + +<P> +She made no reply, and her husband, thinking she had relapsed into one +of her little fits of temper, sighed heavily and bade her good night. +</P> + +<P> +Poor, foolish, jealous heart—she never lay down to rest! +</P> + +<P> +She had quite resolved she would go and meet the husband who was tired +of her and the woman who lured him away. She would listen to all they +had to say, and then confront them. No thought of the dishonor of such +a proceeding struck her. Poor Dora was not gifted with great +refinement of feeling—she looked upon the step she contemplated rather +as a triumph over an enemy than a degradation to herself. She knew the +place in the grounds where they should be sure to meet. Miss Charteris +called it her bower; it was a thick cluster of trees under the shade of +which stood a pretty, rustic seat; and Dora thought that, if she placed +herself behind the trees, she would be able to hear all unseen. +</P> + +<P> +Before Ronald partook of breakfast, Dora had quitted the house on her +foolish errand. She knew the way to the house and the entrance to the +garden. She had no fear; even were she discovered there, no one could +surmise more than that she was resting on her way to the house. She +crouched behind the trees and waited. It was wrong, weak, and wicked; +but there was something so pitiful in the white face full of anguish, +that one would hardly know whether to pity or blame her. +</P> + +<P> +The sunshine reached her, the birds were singing in the trees, the +flowers were all blooming—she, in her sorrow and desolation, heeded +nothing. At length she saw them—Valentine in her white morning dress, +her beautiful face full of deep, earnest emotion, and Ronald by her +side. As she surmised, they walked straight to the trees, and +Valentine signed to Ronald to take a seat by her side. Sweetly and +clearly every word she uttered sounded to Ronald, but they fell like +drops of molten lead on the jealous heart of Ronald's wife. +</P> + +<P> +"You must try," Valentine was saying; "I used to think you would be a +hero. You are proving yourself a very weak and erring man." +</P> + +<P> +Dora could not distinguish Ronald's words so plainly; he said something +about life and its mistakes. +</P> + +<P> +"I told you once," said Valentine, "that the man who could endure so +bravely the consequences of his own actions was a true hero. Grant the +worst—that you have made a mistake. You must make the best you can of +it, and you are not doing that now." +</P> + +<P> +"No," he said gravely. "I am very unhappy—more so than you can +imagine, Valentine. Life seems to have lost all its charms for me. I +had such great hopes once, but they are all dead now." +</P> + +<P> +"You are too young to say that," she replied; "a little courage, a +little patience, and all will be well. If it comforts you to know that +my warmest, deepest sympathy is with you—" +</P> + +<P> +Valentine Charteris never finished her sentence; a pale, angry face and +dark, gleaming eyes full of passion suddenly flashed before her. +</P> + +<P> +"You may spare your pity, Miss Charteris," cried a hoarse voice. "Why +have you made my husband dissatisfied with me? Why have you taken his +love from me? Why do you write notes asking him to meet you, that you +may both speak evil and wrong of his low-born wife?" +</P> + +<P> +"Hush!" said Ronald, sternly, grasping her arm. "Stop those wild +words, Dora! Are you mad?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, not yet," she cried; "but this false woman will drive me so!" +</P> + +<P> +Then Miss Charteris rose, her calm, grand face unruffled, not a quiver +on her proud lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Stay, Miss Charteris, one moment, I pray you," said Ronald, "while my +wife apologizes for her folly." +</P> + +<P> +"It is all true," cried Dora. "She wrote and asked you to meet her +here." +</P> + +<P> +"Dora," said her husband, gravely, "did you read the letter Miss +Charteris wrote to me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I did," she replied. +</P> + +<P> +"And you deliberately came here to listen to what she had to say to +me?" he continued. "You deliberately listened to what you were never +intended to hear?" +</P> + +<P> +His grave, stern dignity calmed her angry passion, and she looked +half-frightened into his quiet white face. +</P> + +<P> +"Answer me!" he said. "Have you crouched behind those trees +deliberately and purposely to listen? +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said; "and I would do so again if any one tried to take my +husband from me." +</P> + +<P> +"Then may I be forgiven for the dishonor I have brought to my name and +race!" said Ronald. "May I be forgiven for thinking such a woman fit +to be my wife! Hear me," he continued, and the passion in his voice +changed to contempt: "Miss Charteris is your friend; she asked me to +meet her here that she might plead your cause, Dora—that she might +advise me to remain more at home with you, to go less into society, to +look more at the bright side of our married life, and be a better +husband than I have been lately; it was for that she summoned me here." +</P> + +<P> +"I—I do not believe it," sobbed his wife. +</P> + +<P> +"That is at your option," he replied coolly. "Miss Charteris, I should +kneel to ask your pardon for the insults you have received. If a man +had uttered them, I would avenge them. The woman who spoke them bears +my name. I entreat your pardon." +</P> + +<P> +"It is granted," she replied; "your wife must have been mad, or she +would have known I was her friend. I deeply regret that my good +intentions have resulted so unhappily. Forget my annoyance, Mr. Earle, +and forgive Dora; she could not have known what she was saying." +</P> + +<P> +"I forgive her," said Ronald; "but I never wish to look upon her face +again. I see nothing but dishonor there. My love died a violent death +ten minutes since. The woman so dead to all delicacy, all honor as to +listen and suspect will never more be wife of mine." +</P> + +<P> +"Be pitiful," said Valentine, for Dora was weeping bitterly now; all +her fire and passion, all her angry jealousy, had faded before his +wrath. +</P> + +<P> +"I am pitiful," he replied. "Heaven knows I pity her. I pity myself. +We Earles love honorable women when we love at all. I will escort you +to your house, Miss Charteris, and then Mrs. Earle and myself will make +our arrangements." +</P> + +<P> +In her sweet, womanly pity, Valentine bent down and kissed the +despairing face. +</P> + +<P> +"Try to believe that you are wrong and mistaken, Mrs. Earle," she said +gently. "I had no thought save to be your friend." +</P> + +<P> +They spoke no word as they passed through the pretty grounds. Valentine +was full of pity for her companion, and of regret for her own share in +that fatal morning's work. +</P> + +<P> +When Ronald reached the cluster of trees again, Dora was not there. +Just at that moment he cared but little whither she had gone. His +vexation and sorrow seemed almost greater than he could bear. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XIV +</H3> + +<P> +The passion and despair of that undisciplined heart were something +painful to see. Reason, sense, and honor, for a time were all dead. +If Dora could have stamped out the calm beauty of Valentine's +magnificent face, she would have done so. Ronald's anger, his bitter +contempt, stung her, until her whole heart and soul were in angry +revolt, until bitter thoughts raged like a wild tempest within her. +She could not see much harm in what she had done; she did not quite see +why reading her own husband's letter, or listening to a private +conversation of his was a breach of honor. She thought but little at +the time of what she had done; her heart was full of anger against +Ronald and Valentine. She clasped her hands angrily after Mrs. +Charteris had kissed her, crying out that she was false, and had lured +Ronald from her. Any one passing her on the high-road would have +thought her mad, seeing the white face, the dark, gleaming eyes, the +rigid lips only opening for moans and cries that marred the sweet +silence. He should keep his word; never—come what might never should +he look upon her fair face again—the face he had caressed so often and +thought so fair. She would go away—he was quite tired of her, and of +her children, too. They would tease him and intrude upon him no more. +Let him go to the fair, false woman, who had pretended to pity her. +</P> + +<P> +The little nurse-maid, a simple peasant girl, looked on in mute +amazement when her mistress entered the room where the children were. +</P> + +<P> +"Maria," she said, "I am going home, over the seas to England. Will you +come with me?" +</P> + +<P> +The only thing poor Dora had learned during those quiet years was a +moderate share of Italian. The young nurse looked up in wonder at the +hard voice, usually soft as the cooing of a ring-dove. +</P> + +<P> +"I will go," she replied, "if the signora will take me. I leave none +behind that I love." +</P> + +<P> +With trembling, passionate hands and white, stern face, Dora packed her +trunks and boxes—the children's little wardrobe and her own, throwing +far from her every present, either of dress or toys, that Valentine had +brought. +</P> + +<P> +She never delayed to look round and think of the happy hours spent in +those pretty rooms. She never thought of the young lover who had given +up all the world for her. All she remembered was the wrathful husband +who never wished to see her more—who, in presence of another, had +bitterly regretted having made her his wife. She could not weep—the +burning brain and jealous, angry heart would have been better for that, +but the dark eyes were bright and full of strange, angry light. The +little ones, looking upon her, wept for fear. With eager, passionate +love she caught them in her arms, crying the while that they should +never remain to be despised as she was. +</P> + +<P> +In the white-faced, angry woman, roused to the highest pitch of +passion, there was no trace of pretty, blushing Dora. Rapidly were the +boxes packed, corded, and addressed. Once during that brief time Maria +asked, "Where are you going, signora?" And the hard voice answered, +"To my father's—my own home in England." +</P> + +<P> +When everything was ready, the wondering children dressed, and the +little maid waiting, Dora sat down at her husband's desk and wrote the +following lines. No tears fell upon them; her hand did not tremble, +the words were clear and firmly written: +</P> + +<P> +"I have not waited for you to send me away. Your eyes shall not be +pained again by resting on the face where you read dishonor. I saw +months ago that you were tired of me. I am going to my father's house, +and my children I shall take with me—you care no more for them than +for me. They are mine—not yours. I leave you with all you love in +the world. I take all I love with me. If you prayed for long years, I +would never return to you nor speak to you again." +</P> + +<P> +She folded the note and addressed it to her husband. She left no kiss +warm from her lips upon it. As she passed forever from the little +villa, she never turned for one last look at its vine-clad walls. +</P> + +<P> +The gaunt, silent Italian servant who had lived with Dora since the +first day she reached Florence came to her in wonder and alarm, barely +recognizing her pretty, gentle mistress in the pale, determined woman +who looked like one brought to bay. To her Dora spoke of the letter; +it was to be given to her husband as soon as he returned. Not one word +did she utter in reply to the woman's question. She hurried with the +keen desperation of despair, lest Ronald should return and find her +still there. +</P> + +<P> +Soon after noon, and while Ronald lingered with some friends upon the +steps of the Hotel d'Italia, his wife reached the busy railway station +at Florence. She had money enough to take her home, but none to spare. +She knew no rest; every moment seemed like an age to her, until the +train was in motion, and fair, sunny Florence left far behind. +</P> + +<P> +Without the stimulus of anger Dora would have shrunk in terror from the +thought of a long journey alone—she who had never been without the +escort of a kind and attentive husband. But no prospect daunted her +now—the wide seas, the dangers of rail and road had no terror for her. +She was flying in hot haste and anger from one who had said before her +rival that he never wished to see her face again. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +The sun shining so brightly on the waters of the Arno lingered almost +lovingly on the fair, quiet English landscape. Far down in the fertile +and beautiful county of Kent, where the broad channel washes the shore, +stands the pretty, almost unknown village of Knutsford. +</P> + +<P> +The world is full of beauty, every country has its share Switzerland +its snow-clad mountains, Germany its dark woods and broad streams, +France its sunny plains, Italy its "thousand charms of Nature and Art;" +but for quiet, tranquil loveliness, for calm, fair beauty, looking +always fresh from the mighty hand that created it, there is nothing +like English scenery. +</P> + +<P> +The white cliffs of Knutsford, like "grand giants," ran along the +shore; there was a broad stretch of yellow sand, hidden when the tide +was in, shining and firm when it ebbed. The top of the cliff was like +a carpet of thick green grass and springing heather. Far away, in the +blue distance, one could see, of a bright, sunny day, the outline of +the French coast. The waves rolled in, and broke upon the yellow +sands; the sea-birds flew by with busy wings, white sails gleamed in +the sunshine. Occasionally a large steamer passed; there was no sound +save the rich, never-changing music of Nature, the rush of wind and +waves, the grand, solemn anthem that the sea never tires of singing. +</P> + +<P> +Far down the cliff ran the zigzag path that led to the village; there +was no sign of the sea on the other side of the white rocks. There the +green fields and pretty hop-gardens stretched out far and wide, and the +Farthinglow Woods formed a belt around them. In the midst of a green, +fertile valley stood the lovely village of Knutsford. It had no +regular street; there were a few cottages, a few farm houses, a few +little villas, one grand mansion, three or four shops, and quiet +homesteads with thatched roofs and eaves of straw. +</P> + +<P> +The prettiest and most compact little farm in the village was the one +where Stephen Thorne and his wife dwelt. It was called the elms, a +long avenue of elms leading to the little house and skirting the broad +green meadows. It was at a short distance from the village, so quiet, +so tranquil, that, living there, one seemed out of the world. +</P> + +<P> +Stephen Thorne and his wife were not rich. In spite of Lady Earle's +bounty, it was hard for them at times to make both ends meet. Crops, +even in that fair and fertile county, would fail, cattle would die, +rain would fall when it should not, and the sun refuse to shine. But +this year everything had gone on well; the hay stood in great ricks in +the farm yard, the golden corn waved in the fields ripe and ready for +the sickle, the cows and sheep fed tranquilly in the meadows, and all +things had prospered with Stephen Thorne. One thing only weighed upon +his heart—his wife would have it that Dora's letters grew more and +more sad; she declared her child was unhappy, and he could not persuade +her to the contrary. +</P> + +<P> +It was a fair August evening. Ah! How weak and feeble are the words. +Who could paint the golden flush of summer beauty that lay over the +meadows and corn fields—the hedge rows filled with wild flowers, the +long, thick grass studded with gay blossoms, the calm, sullen silence +only broken by the singing of the birds, the lowing of cattle, the +rustling of green leaves in the sweet soft air? +</P> + +<P> +Stephen Thorne had gone with his guest and visitor, Ralph Holt, to +fetch the cattle home. In Ralph's honor, good, motherly Mrs. Thorne +had laid out a beautiful tea—golden honey that seemed just gathered +from the flowers, ripe fruits, cream from the dairy everything was +ready; yet the farmer and his guest seemed long in coming. She went to +the door and looked across the meadows. The quiet summer beauty stole +like a spell over her. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly, down in the meadows, Mrs. Thorne caught sight of a lady +leading a little child by the hand. She was followed by a young maid +carrying another. As the lady drew nearer, Mrs. Thorne stood +transfixed and bewildered. Could the summer sun or the flickering +shade be mocking her? Was she dreaming or awake? Far off still, +through the summer haze, she saw a white, wan face; dark eyes, shadowed +and veiled, as though by long weeping; lips, once rosy and smiling, +rigid and firm. She saw what seemed to her the sorrowful ghost of the +pretty, blooming child that had left her long ago. She tried to call +out, but her voice failed her. She tried to run forward and meet the +figure coming slowly through the meadows, but she was powerless to +move. She never heard the footsteps of her husband and his guest. She +only stirred when Stephen Thorne placed his hand upon her shoulder, and +in a loud, cheery voice, asked what ailed her. +</P> + +<P> +"Look," she said, hoarsely, "look down the meadow there and tell me—if +that is Dora or Dora's ghost?" +</P> + +<P> +She drew near more swiftly now, for she had seen the three figures at +the door. The white face and wild eyes seemed aflame with anxiety. +</P> + +<P> +"Dora, Dora!" cried Mrs. Thorne, "is it really you?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is," said a faint, bitter voice. "I am come home, mother. My heart +is broken and I long to die." +</P> + +<P> +They crowded around her, and Ralph Holt, with his strong arms, carried +the fragile, drooping figure into the house. They laid her upon the +little couch, and drew the curling rings of dark hair back from her +white face. Mrs. Thorne wept aloud, crying out for her pretty Dora, +her poor, unhappy child. The two men stood watching her with grave, +sad eyes. Ralph clenched his hand as he gazed upon her, the wreck of +the simple, gentle girl he had loved so dearly. +</P> + +<P> +"If he has wronged her," he said to Stephen Thorne, "if he has broken +her heart, and sent her home to die, let him beware!" +</P> + +<P> +"I knew it would never prosper," groaned her father; "such marriages +never do." +</P> + +<P> +When Dora opened her eyes, and saw the three anxious faces around her, +for a moment she was bewildered. They knew when the torture of memory +returned to her, for she clasped her hands with a low moan. +</P> + +<P> +"Dora," said her mother, "what has happened? Trust us, dear child—we +are your best friends. Where is your husband? And why have you left +him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because he has grown tired of me," she cried, with passion and anger +flaming again in her white, worn face. "I did something he thought +wrong, and he prayed to Heaven to pardon him for making me his wife." +</P> + +<P> +"What did you do?" asked her father, anxiously. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing that I thought wrong," she replied. "Ask me no questions, +father. I would rather die any death than return to him or see him +again. Yet do not think evil of him. It was all a mistake. I could +not think his thoughts or live his life—we were quite different, and +very unhappy. He never wishes to see me again, and I will suffer +anything rather than see him." +</P> + +<P> +The farmer and his wife looked at each other in silent dismay. This +proud, angry woman and her passionate words frightened them. Could it +be their Dora, who had ever been sunshine and music to them? +</P> + +<P> +"If you do not like to take me home, father," she said, in a hard +voice, "I can go elsewhere; nothing can surprise or grieve me now." +</P> + +<P> +But kindly Mrs. Thorne had drawn the tired head to her. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you not know, child," she said, gently, "that a mother's love never +fails?" +</P> + +<P> +Ralph had raised the little one in his arms, and was looking with +wondering admiration at the proud, beautiful face of the little +Beatrice, and the fair loveliness of Lillian. The children looked with +frank, fearless eyes into his plain, honest face. +</P> + +<P> +"This one with dark hair has the real Earle face," said Stephen Thorne, +proudly; "that is just my lord's look—proud and quiet. And the little +Lillian is something like Dora, when she was quite a child." +</P> + +<P> +"Never say that!" cried the young mother. "Let them grow like any one +else, but never like me!" +</P> + +<P> +They soothed her with gentle, loving words. Her father said she should +share his home with her children, and he would never give her up again. +They bade her watch the little ones, who had forgotten their fears, and +laughed over the ripe fruit and golden honey. They also drew aside the +white curtain, and let her tired eyes fall upon the sweet summer beauty +of earth and sky. Was not everything peaceful? The sun sinking in the +west, the birds singing their evening song, the flowers closing their +bright eyes, the wind whispering "good night" to the shimmering, +graceful elms—all was peace, and the hot, angry heart grew calm and +still. Bitter tears rose to the burning eyes—tears that fell like +rain, and seemed to take away the sharpest sting of her pain. +</P> + +<P> +With wise and tender thought they let Dora weep undisturbed. The +bitter sobbing ceased at last. Dora said farewell to her love. She lay +white and exhausted, but the anger and passion had died away. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me live with you, father," she said, humbly. "I will serve you, +and obey you. I an content, more than content, with my own home. But +for my little children, let all be as it was years ago." +</P> + +<P> +When the little ones, like the flowers, had gone to sleep, and Dora had +gone into the pretty white room prepared for her, Ralph rose to take +his leave. +</P> + +<P> +"Surely," said Thorne, "you are not leaving us. You promised to stay a +whole week." +</P> + +<P> +"I know," said the young farmer; "but you have many to think for now, +Mr. Thorne. The time will come when the poor, wearied girl sleeping +above us will be Lady Earle. Her husband knew I loved her. No shadow +even of suspicion must rest upon her. While your daughter remains +under your roof, I shall not visit you again." +</P> + +<P> +Dora's father knew the young man was right. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me see the little ones sometimes," continued Ralph; "and if large +parcels of toys and books find their way to the Elms, you will know who +sent them. But I must not come in Dora's way; she is no loner Dora +Thorne." +</P> + +<P> +As Stephen watched the young man walking quickly through the long gray +fields, he wished that Dora had never seen Ronald Earle. +</P> + +<P> +Poor Dora's troubles were not yet ended. When the warm August sun +peeped into her room on the following morning, she did not see it +shine; when the children crept to her side and called for mamma, she +was deaf to their little voices. The tired head tossed wearily to and +fro, the burning eyes would not close. A raging fever had her in its +fierce clutches. When Mrs. Thorne, alarmed by the children's cries, +came in, Dora did not know her, but cried out loudly that she was a +false woman, who had lured her husband from her. +</P> + +<P> +They sent in all haste for aid; but the battle was long and fierce. +During the hours of delirium, Mrs. Thorne gleaned sorrowfully some +portions of her daughter's story. She cried out incessantly against a +fair woman—one Valentine—whom Ronald loved—cried in scorn and anger. +Frequently she was in a garden, behind some trees; then confronting +some one with flaming eyes, sobbing that she did not believe it; then +hiding her face and crying out: +</P> + +<P> +"He has ceased to love me—let me die!" +</P> + +<P> +But the time came when the fierce fever burned itself out, and Dora lay +weak and helpless as a little child. She recovered slowly, but she was +never the same again. Her youth, hope, love, and happiness were all +dead. No smile or dimple, no pretty blush, came to the changed face; +the old coy beauty was all gone. +</P> + +<P> +Calm and quiet, with deep, earnest eyes, and lips that seldom smiled, +Dora seemed to have found another self. Even with her children the sad +restraint never wore off nor grew less. If they wanted to play, they +sought the farmer in the fields, the good-natured nurse, or the +indulgent grandmamma—never the sad, pale mother. If they were in +trouble then they sought her. +</P> + +<P> +Dora asked for work. She would have been dairy maid, house maid, or +anything else, but her father said "No." A pretty little room was +given to her, with woodbines and roses peeping in at the window. Here +for long hours every day, while the children played in the meadows, she +sat and sewed. There, too, Dora, for the first time, learned what +Ronald, far away in sunny Italy, failed to teach her—how to think and +read. Big boxes of books came from the town of Shorebeach. Stephen +Thorne spared no trouble or expense in pleasing his daughter. Dora +wondered that she had never cared for books, now that deeper and more +solemn thoughts came to her. The pale face took a new beauty; no one +could have believed that the thoughtful woman with the sweet voice and +refined accent was the daughter of the blunt farmer Thorne and his +homely wife. +</P> + +<P> +A few weeks passed, and but for the little ones Dora would have +believed the whole to have been but a long, dark dream. She would not +think of Ronald; she would not remember his love, his sacrifices for +her; she thought only of her wrongs and his cruel words. +</P> + +<P> +The children grew and throve. Dora had no care at present as to their +education. From her they learned good English, and between herself and +the faithful young nurse they could learn, she thought, tolerable +Italian. She would not think of a future that might take these beloved +children from her. She ignored Ronald's claim to them—they were hers. +He had tired of them when he tired of her. She never felt the days +monotonous in that quiet farm house, as others might have done. A dead +calm seemed to surround her; but it was destined soon to be broken. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XV +</H3> + +<P> +Ronald did not return in the evening to the pretty villa where he had +once been so happy. In the warmth of his anger, he felt that he never +could look again upon his wife. To his sensitive, refined nature there +was something more repulsive in the dishonorable act she had committed +than there would have been in a crime of deeper dye. He was shocked +and startled—more so than if he awoke some fair summer morning to find +Dora dead by his side. She was indeed dead to him in one sense. The +ideal girl, all purity, gentleness, and truth, whom he had loved and +married, had, it appeared, never really existed after all. He shrank +from the idea of the angry, vehement words and foul calumnies. He +shrank from the woman who had forgotten every rule of good breeding, +every trace of good manners, in angry, fierce passion. +</P> + +<P> +How was he ever to face Miss Charteris again? She would never mention +one word of what had happened, but he could ill brook the shame Dora +had brought upon him. He remembered the summer morning in the woods +when he told Valentine the story of his love, and had pictured his +pretty, artless Dora to her. Could the angry woman who had dared to +insult him, and to calumniate the fairest and truest lady in all +England, possibly be the same? +</P> + +<P> +Ronald had never before been brought into close contact with dishonor. +He had some faint recollection at college of having seen and known a +young man, the son of a wealthy nobleman, scorned and despised, driven +from all society, and he was told that it was because he had been +detected in the act of listening at the principal's door. He +remembered how old and young had shunned this young man as though he +were plague-stricken; and now his own wife Dora had done the very same +thing under circumstances that rendered the dishonor greater. He asked +himself, with a cynical smile, what he could expect? He had married +for love of a pretty, child-like face, never giving any thought to +principle, mind, or intellect. The only wonder was that so wretched +and unequal a match had not turned out ten times worse. His father's +warning rang in his ears. How blind, how foolish he had been! +</P> + +<P> +Every hope of his own life was wrecked, every hope and plan of his +father's disappointed and dead. There seemed to him nothing left to +care for. His wife—oh, he would not think of her! The name vexed +him. He could not stand in Valentine's presence again, and for the +first time he realized what she had been to him. Home, and +consequently England, was closed to him; the grand mansion he had once +believed his had faded from his mind. +</P> + +<P> +Thinking of all these things, Ronald's love for his young wife seemed +changed to dislike. Three days passed before he returned home; then he +was somewhat startled to find her really gone. He had anticipated +sullen temper, renewed quarrels, and then perhaps a separation, but he +was startled to find her actually gone. The servant gave him the cold +farewell letter, written without tears, without sorrow. He tore it +into shreds and flung it from him. +</P> + +<P> +"The last act in the farce," he said, bitterly. "If I had not been mad, +I should have foreseen this." +</P> + +<P> +The silent, deserted rooms did not remind him of the loving young wife +parted from him forever. He was too angry, too annoyed, for any gentle +thoughts to influence him. She had left him—so much the better; there +could never again be peace between them. He thought with regret of the +little ones—they were too young for him to undertake charge of them, +so that they were best left with their mother for a time. He said to +himself that he must make the best use he could of his life; everything +seemed at an end. He felt very lonely and unhappy as he sat in his +solitary home; and the more sorrow present upon him, the more bitter +his thoughts grew, the deeper became his dislike to this unhappy young +wife. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald wrote to his mother, but said no word to her of the cause of +their quarrel. +</P> + +<P> +"Dora and I," he said, "will never live together again—perhaps never +meet. She has gone home to her father; I am going to wander over the +wide earth. Will you induce my father to receive my children at +Earlescourt? And will you see Mr. Burt, and arrange that half of my +small income is settled upon Dora?" +</P> + +<P> +But to all his wife's entreaties Lord Earle turned a deaf ear. He +declared that never during his life time should the children of Dora +Thorne enter Earlescourt. His resolution was fixed and unalterable. +How, he asked, was he to trust the man who had once deceived him? For +aught he knew, the separation between Ronald and his wife might be a +deeply laid scheme, and, the children once with him, there would be a +grand reconciliation between the parents. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not surprised," he said, "that the unhappy boy is weary of his +pretty toy. It could not be otherwise; he must bear the consequences +of his own folly. He had time for thought, he made his own choice—now +let him abide by it. You have disregarded my wish, Lady Helena, in +even naming the matter to me. Let all mention of it cease. I have no +son. One thing remember—I am not hard upon you—you can go where you +like, see whom you like, and spend what money you will, and as you +will." +</P> + +<P> +Lady Earle was not long in availing herself of the permission. There +was great excitement at the Elms one morning, caused by the receipt of +a letter from Lady Earle saying that she would be there on the same day +to visit the son's wife and children. +</P> + +<P> +The little ones looked up to her with wondering eyes. To them she was +like a vision, with her noble face and distinguished air. +</P> + +<P> +Stephen Thorne and his wife received the great lady not without some +trepidation; yet they were in no way to blame. The fatal marriage had +been as great a blow to them as to Lord and Lady Earle. With the quiet +dignity and graceful ease that never deserted her, Lady Earle soon made +them feel at home. She started in utter surprise, when a quiet, grave +woman, on whose face sweetness and sullen humor were strangely mingled, +entered the room. This could not be pretty, coy, blushing Dora! Where +were the dimples and smiles? The large dark eyes raised so sadly to +hers were full of strange, pathetic beauty. With sharp pain the +thought struck Lady Earle, "What must not Dora have suffered to have +changed her so greatly!" The sad eyes and worn face touched her as no +beauty could have done. She clasped Dora in her arms and kissed her. +</P> + +<P> +"You are my daughter now," she said, in that rich, musical voice which +Dora remembered so well. "We will not mention the past; it is +irrevocable. If you sinned against duty and obedience, your face tells +me you have suffered. What has come between you and my son I do not +seek to know. The shock must have been a great one which parted you, +for he gave up all the world for you, Dora, years ago. We will not +speak of Ronald. Our care must be the children. Of course you wish +them to remain with you?" +</P> + +<P> +"While it is possible," said Dora, wearily. "I shall never leave home +again; but I can not hope to keep them here always." +</P> + +<P> +"I should have liked to adopt them," said Lady Earle; "to take them +home and educate them, but—" +</P> + +<P> +"Lord Earle will not permit it," interrupted Dora, calmly. "I know—I +do not wonder." +</P> + +<P> +"You must let me do all I can for them here," continued Lady Earle; "I +have made all plans and arrangements. We will give the children an +education befitting their position, without removing them from you. +Then we shall see what time will do. Let me see the little ones. I +wish you had called one Helena, after me." +</P> + +<P> +Dora remembered why she had not done so, and a flush of shame rose to +her face. +</P> + +<P> +They were beautiful children, and Dora brought them proudly to the +stately lady waiting for them. Lady Earle took Beatrice in her arms. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Dora," she said admiringly, "she has the Earle face, with a novel +charm all its own. The child will grow up into magnificent woman." +</P> + +<P> +"She has the Earle spirit and pride," said the young mother; "I find it +hard to manage her even now." +</P> + +<P> +Then Lady Earle looked at the fair, spirituelle face and golden hair of +little Lillian. The shy, dove-like eyes and sweet lips charmed her. +</P> + +<P> +"There is a great contrast between them," she said, thoughtfully. "They +will require careful training, Dora; and now we will speak of the +matter which brought me here." +</P> + +<P> +Dora noticed that, long as she remained, Lady Earle never let Beatrice +leave her arms; occasionally she bent over Lillian and touched her soft +golden curls, but the child with the "Earle face" was the one she loved +best. +</P> + +<P> +Together with Stephen Thorne and his wife, Lady Earle went over the +Elms. The situation delighted her; nothing could be better or more +healthy for the children, but the interior of the house must be +altered. Then with delicate grace that could only charm, never wound, +Lady Earle unfolded her plans. She wished a new suite of rooms to be +built for Dora and the children, to be nicely furnished with everything +that could be required. She would bear the expense. Immediately on +her return she would send an efficient French maid for the little ones, +and in the course of a year or two she would engage the services of an +accomplished governess, who would undertake the education of Beatrice +and Lillian without removing them from their mother's care. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall send a good piano and harp," said Lady Earle, "it will be my +pride and pleasure to select books, music, drawings, and everything +else my grandchildren require. I should wish them always to be nicely +dressed and carefully trained. To you, Dora, I must leave the highest +and best training of all. Teach them to be good, and to do their duty. +They have learned all when they have learned that." +</P> + +<P> +For the first time in her life, the thought came home to Dora: How was +she to teach what she had never learned and had failed to practice? +That night, long after Lady Earle had gone away, and the children had +fallen to sleep, Dora knelt in the moonlight and prayed that she might +learn to teach her children to do their duty. +</P> + +<P> +As Lady Earle wished, the old farm house was left intact, and a new +group of buildings added to it. There was a pretty sitting room for +Dora, and a larger one to serve as a study for the children, large +sleeping rooms, and a bathroom, all replete with comfort. Two years +passed before all was completed, and Lady Earle thought it time to send +a governess to the Elms. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +During those years little or nothing was heard from Ronald. After +reading the cold letter Dora left for him, it seemed as though all +love, all care, all interest died out of his heart. He sat for many +long hours thinking of the blighted life "he could not lay down, yet +cared little to hold." +</P> + +<P> +He was only twenty-three—the age at which life opens to most men; yet +he was worn, tired, weary of everything—the energies that once seemed +boundless, the ambition once so fierce and proud, all gone. His whole +nature recoiled from the shock. Had Dora, in the fury of her jealousy +and rage, tried to kill him, he would have thought that but a small +offense compared with the breach of honor in crouching behind the trees +to listen. He thought of the quiet, grand beauty of Valentine's face +while Dora was convulsed with passion. He remembered the utter wonder +in Valentine's eyes when Dora's flamed upon them. He remembered the +sickening sense of shame that had cowed him as he listened to her +angry, abusive words. And this untrained, ignorant, ill-bred woman was +his wife! For her he had given up home, parents, position, wealth—all +he had in life worth caring for. For her, and through her, he stood +there alone in the world. +</P> + +<P> +Those thoughts first maddened him, then drove him to despair. What had +life left for him? He could not return to England; his father's doors +were closed against him. There was no path open to him; without his +father's help he could not get into Parliament. He could not work as +an artist at home. He could not remain in Florence; never again, he +said to himself, would he see Valentine Charteris—Valentine, who had +been the witness of his humiliation and disgrace. Sooner anything than +that. He would leave the villa and go somewhere—he cared little +where. No quiet, no rest came to him. Had his misfortunes been +accidental—had they been any other than they were, the result of his +boyish folly and disobedience, he would have found them easier to bear; +as it was, the recollection that it was all his own fault drove him mad. +</P> + +<P> +Before morning he had written a farewell note to Lady Charteris, saying +that he was leaving Florence at once, and would not be able to see her +again. He wrote to Valentine, but the few stiff words expressed little +of what he felt. He prayed her to forget the miserable scene that +would haunt him to his dying day; to pardon the insults that had driven +him nearly mad; to pardon the mad jealousy, the dishonor of Dora; to +forget him and all belonging to him. When Miss Charteris read the +letter she knew that all effort to restore peace would for a time be in +vain. She heard the day following that the clever young artist, Mr. +Earle, had left. +</P> + +<P> +Countess Rosali loudly lamented Ronald's departure. It was so strange, +she said; the dark-eyed little wife and her children had gone home to +England, and the husband, after selling off his home, had gone with Mr. +Charles Standon into the interior of Africa. What was he going to do +there? +</P> + +<P> +She lamented him for two days without ceasing, until Valentine was +tired of her many conjectures. He was missed in the brilliant salons +of Florence, but by none so much as by Valentine Charteris. +</P> + +<P> +What the pretty, coquettish countess had said was true. After making +many plans and forming many resolutions, Ronald met Mr. Standon, who +was on the point of joining an exploring expedition in South Africa. +He gladly consented to accompany him. There was but little preparation +needed. Four days after the never-to-be-forgotten garden scene, Ronald +Earle left Italy and became a wanderer upon the face of the earth. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XVI +</H3> + +<P> +Valentine Charteris never told the secret. She listened to the wonder +and conjectures of all around her, but not even to her mother did she +hint what had passed. She pitied Ronald profoundly. She knew the +shock Dora had inflicted on his sensitive, honorable disposition. For +Dora herself she felt nothing but compassion. Her calm, serene nature +was incapable of such jealousies. Valentine could never be jealous or +mean, but she could understand the torture that had made shy, gentle +Dora both. +</P> + +<P> +"Jealous of me, poor child!" said Valentine to herself. "Nothing but +ignorance can excuse her. As though I, with half Florence at my feet, +cared for her husband, except as a dear and true friend." +</P> + +<P> +So the little villa was deserted; the gaunt, silent servant found a +fresh place. Ronald's pictures were eagerly bought up; the pretty +countess, after looking very sentimental and sad for some days, forgot +her sorrow and its cause in the novelty of making the acquaintance of +an impassive unimpressionable American. Florence soon forgot one whom +she had been proud to know and honor. +</P> + +<P> +Two months afterward, as Miss Charteris sat alone in her favorite +nook—the bower of trees where poor Dora's tragedy had been +enacted—she was found by the Prince di Borgezi. Every one had said +that sooner or later it would come to this. Prince di Borgezi, the +most fastidious of men, who had admired many women but loved none, +whose verdict was the rule of fashion, loved Valentine Charteris. Her +fair English face, with its calm, grand beauty, her graceful dignity, +her noble mind and pure soul had captivated him. For many long weeks +he hovered round Valentine, longing yet dreading to speak the words +which would unite or part them for life. +</P> + +<P> +Lately there had been rumors that Lady Charteris and her daughter +intended to leave Florence; then Prince di Borgezi decided upon knowing +his fate. He sought Valentine, and found her seated under the shade of +her favorite trees. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Charteris," he said, after a few words of greeting, "I have come +to ask you the greatest favor, the sweetest boon, you can confer on any +man." +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" asked Valentine, calmly, anticipating some trifling +request. +</P> + +<P> +"Your permission to keep for my own the original 'Queen Guinevere'," he +replied; "that picture is more to me than all that I possess. Only one +thing is dearer, the original. May I ever hope to make that mine also?" +</P> + +<P> +Valentine opened her magnificent eyes in wonder. It was an offer of +marriage then that he was making. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you no word for me, Miss Charteris?" he said. "I lay my life and +my love at your feet. Have you no word for me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I really do not know what to say," replied Valentine. +</P> + +<P> +"You do not refuse me?" said her lover. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, no," replied Valentine. +</P> + +<P> +"And you do not accept me?" he continued. +</P> + +<P> +"Decidedly not," she replied, more firmly. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I shall consider there is some ground for hope," he said. +</P> + +<P> +Valentine had recovered her self-possession. Her lover gazed anxiously +at her beautiful face, its proud calm was unbroken. +</P> + +<P> +"I will tell you how it is," resumed Valentine, after a short pause; "I +like you better, perhaps, than any man I know, but I do not love you." +</P> + +<P> +"You do not forbid me to try all I can to win your love?" asked the +prince. +</P> + +<P> +"No," was the calm reply. "I esteem you very highly, prince. I can +not say more." +</P> + +<P> +"But you will in time," he replied. "I would not change your quiet +friendly liking, Miss Charteris, for the love of any other woman." +</P> + +<P> +Under the bright sky the handsome Italian told the story of his love in +words that were poetry itself—how he worshiped the fair calm girl so +unlike the women of his own clime. As she listened, Valentine thought +of that summer morning years ago when Ronald had told her the story of +his love; and then Valentine owned to her own heart, that, if Ronald +were in Prince di Borgezi's place, she would not listen so calmly nor +reply so coolly. +</P> + +<P> +"How cold and stately these English girls are!" thought her lover. +"They are more like goddesses than women. Would any word of mine ever +disturb the proud coldness of that perfect face?" +</P> + +<P> +It did not then, but before morning ended Prince di Borgezi had +obtained permission to visit England in the spring and ask again the +same question. Valentine liked him. She admired his noble and +generous character, his artistic tastes, his fastidious exclusiveness +had a charm for her; she did not love him, but it seemed to her more +than probable that the day would come when she would do so. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +Lady Charteris and her daughter left Florence and returned to Greenoke. +Lady Earle paid them a long visit, and heard all they had to tell of +her idolized son. Lady Charteris spoke kindly of Dora; and Valentine, +believing she could do something to restore peace, sent an affectionate +greeting, and asked permission to visit the Elms. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Earle saw she had made a mistake when she repeated Valentine's +words to Dora. The young wife's face flushed burning red, and then +grew white as death. +</P> + +<P> +"Pray bring me no more messages from Miss Charteris," she replied. "I +do not like her—she would only come to triumph over me; I decline to +see her. I have no message to send her." +</P> + +<P> +Then, for the first time, an inkling of the truth came to Lady Earle. +Evidently Dora was bitterly jealous of Valentine. Had she any cause +for it? Could it be that her unhappy son had learned to love Miss +Charteris when it was all too late? From that day Lady Earle pitied +her son with a deeper and more tender compassion; she translated Dora's +curt words into civil English, and then wrote to Miss Charteris. +Valentine quite understood upon reading them that she was not yet +pardoned by Ronald Earle's wife. +</P> + +<P> +Time passed on without any great changes, until the year came when Lady +Earle thought her grandchildren should begin their education. She was +long in selecting one to whom she could intrust them. At length she met +with Mrs. Vyvian, the widow of an officer who had died in India, a lady +qualified in every way for the task, accomplished, a good linguist, +speaking French and Italian as fluently as English—an accomplished +musician, an artist of no mean skill, and, what Lady Earl valued still +more, a woman of sterling principles and earnest religious feeling. +</P> + +<P> +It was not a light task that Mrs. Vyvian undertook. The children had +reached their fifth year, and for ten years she bound herself by +promise to remain with them night and day, to teach and train them. It +is true the reward promised was great. Lady Earle settled a handsome +annuity upon her. Mrs. Vyvian was not dismayed by the lonely house, +the complete isolation from all society, or the homely appearance of +the farmer and his wife. A piano and a harp were sent to the Elms. +Every week Lady Earle dispatched a large box of books, and the +governess was quite content. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Vyvian, to whom Lady Earle intrusted every detail of her son's +marriage, was well pleased to find that Dora liked her and began to +show some taste for study. Dora, who would dream of other things when +Ronald read, now tried to learn herself. She was not ashamed to sit +hour after hour at the piano trying to master some simple little air, +or to ask questions when anything puzzled her in her reading. Mrs. +Vyvian, so calm and wise, so gentle, yet so strong, taught her so +cleverly that Dora never felt her own ignorance, nor did she grow +disheartened as she had done with Ronald. +</P> + +<P> +The time came when Dora could play pretty simple ballads, singing them +in her own bird-like, clear voice, and when she could appreciate great +writers, and speak of them without any mistake either as to their names +or their works. +</P> + +<P> +It was a simple, pleasant, happy life; the greater part of the day was +spent by mother children in study. In the evening came long rambles +through the green woods, where Dora seemed to know the name and history +of every flower that grew; over the smiling meadows, where the kine +stood knee-deep in the long, scented grass; over the rocks, and down by +the sea shore, where the waves chanted their grand anthem, and broke in +white foam drifts upon the sands. +</P> + +<P> +No wonder the young girls imbibed a deep warm love for all that was +beautiful in Nature. Dora never wearied of it—from the smallest blade +of grass to the most stately of forest trees, she loved it all. +</P> + +<P> +The little twin sisters grew in beauty both in body and mind; but the +contrast between them was great; Beatrice was the more beautiful and +brilliant; Lillian the more sweet and lovable. Beatrice was all fire +and spirit; her sister was gentle and calm. Beatrice had great faults +and great virtues; Lillian was simply good and charming. Yet, withal, +Beatrice was the better loved. It was seldom that any one refused to +gratify her wishes. +</P> + +<P> +Dora loved both children tenderly; but the warmest love was certainly +for the child who had the Earle face. She was imperious and willful, +generous to a fault, impatient of all control; but her greatest fault, +Mrs. Vyvian said, was a constant craving for excitement; a distaste for +and dislike of quiet and retirement. She would ride the most restive +horse, she would do anything to break the ennui and monotony of the +long days. +</P> + +<P> +Beautiful, daring, and restless, every day running a hundred risks, and +loved the better for the dangers she ran, Beatrice was almost worshiped +at the Elms. Nothing ever daunted her, nothing ever made her dull or +sad. Lillian was gentle and quiet, with more depth of character, but +little power of showing it; somewhat timid and diffident—a more +charming ideal of an English girl could not have been +found—spirituelle, graceful, and refined; so serene and fair that to +look at her was a pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Earle often visited the Elms; no mystery had been made to the +girls—they were told their father was abroad and would not return for +many years, and that at some distant day they might perhaps live with +him in his own home. They did not ask many questions, satisfied to +believe what was told them, not seeking to know more. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Earle loved the young girls very dearly. Beatrice, so like her +father, was undoubtedly the favorite. Lord Earle never inquired after +them; when Lady Earle asked for a larger check than usual, he gave it +to her with a smile, perfectly understanding its destination, but never +betraying the knowledge. +</P> + +<P> +So eleven years passed like a long tranquil dream. The sun rose and +set, the tides ebbed and flowed, spring flowers bloomed, and died, the +summer skies smiled, autumn leaves of golden hue withered on the +ground; and winter snows fell; yet no change came to the quiet +homestead in the Kentish meadows. +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice and Lillian had reached their sixteenth year, and two fairer +girls were seldom seen. Mrs. Vyvian's efforts had not been in vain; +they were accomplished far beyond the ordinary run of young girls. +Lillian inherited her father's talent for drawing. She was an +excellent artist. Beatrice excelled in music. She had a magnificent +contralto voice that had been carefully trained. Both were cultivated, +graceful, elegant girls, and Lady Earle often sighed to think they +should be living in such profound obscurity. She could do nothing; +seventeen years had not changed Lord Earle's resolution. Time, far +from softening, imbittered him the more against his son. Of Ronald +Lady Earle heard but little. He was still in Africa; he wrote at rare +intervals, but there was little comfort in his letters. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Earle did what she could for her grandchildren, but it was a +strange, unnatural life. They knew no other girls; they had never ben +twenty miles from Knutsford. All girlish pleasures and enjoyments were +a sealed book to them. They had never been to a party, a picnic, or a +ball; no life was ever more simple, more quiet, more devoid of all +amusement than theirs. Lillian was satisfied and happy; her rich, +teeming fancy, her artistic mind, and contented, sweet disposition +would have rendered her happy under any circumstances—but it was +different with brilliant, beautiful Beatrice. No wild bird in a cage +ever pined for liberty or chafed under restraint more than she did. +She cried out loudly against the unnatural solitude, the isolation of +such a life. +</P> + +<P> +Eleven years had done much for Dora. The coy, girlish beauty that had +won Ronald Earle's heart had given place to a sweet, patient womanhood. +Constant association with one so elegant and refined as Mrs. Vyvian had +done for her what nothing else could have achieved. Dora had caught +the refined, high-bred accent, the graceful, cultivated manner, the +easy dignity. She had become imbued with Mrs. Vyvian's noble thoughts +and ideas. +</P> + +<P> +Dora retained two peculiarities—one was a great dislike for Ronald, +the other a sincere dread of all love and lovers for her children. +From her they heard nothing but depreciation of men. All men were +alike, false, insincere, fickle, cruel; all love was nonsense and +folly. Mrs. Vyvian tried her best to counteract these ideas; they had +this one evil consequence—that neither Lillian nor Beatrice would ever +dream of even naming such subjects to their mother, who should have +been their friend and confidante. If in the books Lady Earle sent +there was any mention of this love their mother dreaded so, they went +to Mrs. Vyvian or puzzled over it themselves. With these two +exceptions Dora had become a thoughtful, gentle woman. As her mind +became more cultivated she understood better the dishonor of the fault +which had robbed her of Ronald's love. Her fair face grew crimson when +she remembered what she had done. +</P> + +<P> +It was a fair and tranquil womanhood; the dark eyes retained their +wondrous light and beauty; the curling rings of dark hair were +luxuriant as ever; the lips wore a patient, sweet expression. The +clear, healthy country air had given a delicate bloom to the fair face. +Dora looked more like the elder sister of the young girls than their +mother. +</P> + +<P> +The quiet, half-dreamy monotony was broken at last. Mrs. Vyvian was +suddenly summoned home. Her mother, to whom she was warmly attached, +was said to be dying, and she wished her last few days to be spent with +her daughter. At the same time Lady Earle wrote to say that her +husband was so ill that it was impossible for her to look for any lady +to supply Mrs. Vyvian's place. The consequence was that, for the first +time in their lives, the young girls were left for a few weeks without +a companion and without surveillance. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XVII +</H3> + +<P> +One beautiful morning in May, Lillian went out alone to sketch. The +beauty of the sky and sea tempted her; fleecy-white clouds floated +gently over the blue heavens; the sun shone upon the water until, at +times, it resembled a huge sea of rippling gold. Far off in the +distance were the shining white sails of two boats; they looked in the +golden haze like the brilliant wings of some bright bird. The sun upon +the white sails struck her fancy, and she wanted to sketch the effect. +</P> + +<P> +It was the kind of morning that makes life seem all beauty and +gladness, even if the heart is weighed down with care. It was a luxury +merely to live and breathe. The leaves were all springing in the +woods; the meadows were green; wild flowers blossomed by the +hedge-rows; the birds sang gayly of the coming summer; the white +hawthorn threw its rich fragrance all around, and the yellow broom +bloomed on the cliffs. +</P> + +<P> +As she sat there, Lillian was indeed a fair picture herself on that May +morning; the sweet, spirituelle face; the noble head with its crown of +golden hair; the violet eyes, so full of thought; the sensitive lips, +sweet yet firm; the white forehead, the throne of intellect. The +little fingers that moved rapidly and gracefully over the drawing were +white and shapely; there was a delicate rose-leaf flush in the pretty +hand. She looked fair and tranquil as the morning itself. +</P> + +<P> +The pure, sweet face had no touch of fire or passion; its serenity was +all unmoved; the world had never breathed on the innocent, child-like +mind. A white lily was not more pure and stainless than the young girl +who sat amid the purple heather, sketching the white, far-off sails. +</P> + +<P> +So intent was Lillian upon her drawing that she did not hear light, +rapid steps coming near; she was not aroused until a rich musical voice +called, "Lillian, if you have not changed into stone or statue, do +speak." Then, looking up, she saw Beatrice by her side. +</P> + +<P> +"Lay down your pencils and talk to me," said Beatrice, imperiously. +"How unkind of you, the only human being in this place who can talk, to +come here all by yourself! What do you think was to become of me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you were reading to mamma," said Lillian, quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"Reading!" exclaimed Beatrice. "You know I am tired of reading, tired +of writing, tired of sewing, tired of everything I have to do." +</P> + +<P> +Lillian looked up in wonder at the beautiful, restless face. +</P> + +<P> +"Do not look 'good' at me," said Beatrice, impatiently. "I am tired to +death of it all. I want some change. Do you think any girls in the +world lead such lives as we do—shut up in a rambling old farm house, +studying from morn to night; shut in on one side by that tiresome sea, +imprisoned on the other by fields and woods? How can you take it so +quietly, Lillian? I am wearied to death." +</P> + +<P> +"Something has disturbed you this morning," said Lillian, gently. +</P> + +<P> +"That is like mamma," cried Beatrice; "just her very tone and words. +She does not understand, you do not understand; mamma's life satisfies +her, your life contents you; mine does not content me—it is all vague +and empty. I should welcome anything that changed this monotony; even +sorrow would be better than this dead level—one day so like another, I +can never distinguish them." +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Beatrice, think of what you are saying," said Lillian. +</P> + +<P> +"I am tired of thinking," said Beatrice; "for the last ten years I have +been told to 'think' and 'reflect.' I have thought all I can; I want a +fresh subject." +</P> + +<P> +"Think how beautiful those far-off white sails look," said +Lillian—"how they gleam in the sunshine. See, that one looks like a +mysterious hand raised to beckon us away." +</P> + +<P> +"Such ideas are very well for you, Lillian," retorted Beatrice. "I see +nothing in them. Look at the stories we read; how different those +girls are from us! They have fathers, brothers, and friends; they have +jewels and dresses; they have handsome admirers, who pay them homage; +they dance, ride, and enjoy themselves. Now look at us, shut up here +with old and serious people." +</P> + +<P> +"Hush, Beatrice," said Lillian; "mamma is not old." +</P> + +<P> +"Not in years, perhaps," replied Beatrice; "but she seems to me old in +sorrow. She is never gay nor light-hearted. Mrs. Vyvian is very kind, +but she never laughs. Is every one sad and unhappy, I wonder? Oh, +Lillian, I long to see the world—the bright, gay world—over the sea +there. I long for it as an imprisoned bird longs for fresh air and +green woods." +</P> + +<P> +"You would not find it all happiness," said Lillian, sagely. +</P> + +<P> +"Spare me all truism," cried Beatrice. "Ah, sister, I am tired of all +this; for eleven years the sea has been singing the same songs; those +waves rise and fall as they did a hundred years since; the birds sing +the same story; the sun shines the same; even the shadow of the great +elms fall over the meadow just as it did when we first played there. I +long to away from the sound of the sea and the rustling of the elm +trees. I want to be where there are girls of my own age, and do as +they do. It seems to me we shall go on reading and writing, sewing and +drawing, and taking what mamma calls instructive rambles until our +heads grow gray." +</P> + +<P> +"It is not so bad as that, Beatrice," laughed Lillian. "Lady Earle says +papa must return some day; then we shall all go to him." +</P> + +<P> +"I never believe one word of it," said Beatrice, undauntedly. "At times +I could almost declare papa himself was a myth. Why do we not live +with him? Why does he never write? We never hear of or from him, save +through Lady Earle; besides, Lillian, what do you think I heard Mrs. +Vyvian say once to grandmamma? It was that we might not go to +Earlescourt at all—that if papa did not return, or died young, all +would go to a Mr. Lionel Dacre, and we should remain here. Imagine +that fate—living a long life and dying at the Elms!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is all conjecture," said her sister. "Try to be more contented, +Beatrice. We do not make our own lives, we have not the control of our +own destiny." +</P> + +<P> +"I should like to control mine," sighed Beatrice. +</P> + +<P> +"Try to be contented, darling," continued the sweet, pleading voice. +"We all love and admire you. No one was ever loved more dearly or +better than you are. The days are rather long at times, but there are +all the wonders and beauties of Nature and art." +</P> + +<P> +"Nature and Art are all very well," cried Beatrice; "but give me life." +</P> + +<P> +She turned her beautiful, restless face from the smiling sea; the south +wind dancing over the yellow gorse caught up the words uttered in that +clear, musical voice and carried them over the cliff to one who was +lying with half-closed eyes under the shade of a large tree—a young +man with a dark, half-Spanish face handsome with a coarse kind of +beauty. He was lying there, resting upon the turf, enjoying the beauty +of the morning. As the musical voice reached him, and the strange +words fell upon his ear, he smiled and raised his head to see who +uttered them. He saw the young girls, but their faces were turned from +him; those words range in his ears—"Nature and Art are all very well, +but give me life." +</P> + +<P> +Who was it longed for life? He understood the longing; he resolved to +wait there until the girls went away. Again he heard the same voice. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall leave you to your sails, Lillian. I wish those same boats +would come to carry us away—I wish I had wings and could fly over the +sea and see the bright, grand world that lies beyond it. Goodbye; I am +tired of the never-ending wash of those long, low waves." +</P> + +<P> +He saw a young girl rise from the fragrant heather and turn to descend +the cliff. Quick as thought he rushed down by another path, and, +turning back, contrived to meet her half-way. Beatrice came singing +down the cliff. Her humor, never the same ten minutes together, had +suddenly changed. She remembered a new and beautiful song that Lady +Earle had sent, and determined to go home and try it. There came no +warning to her that bright summer morning. The south wind lifted the +hair from her brow and wafted the fragrance of hawthorn buds and spring +flowers to greet her, but it brought no warning message; the birds +singing gayly, the sun shining so brightly could not tell her that the +first link in a terrible chain was to be forged that morning. +</P> + +<P> +Half-way down the cliff, where the path was steep and narrow, Beatrice +suddenly met the stranger. A stranger was a rarity at the Elms. Only +at rare intervals did an artist or a tourist seek shelter and +hospitality at the old farm house. The stranger seemed to be a +gentleman. For one moment both stood still; then, with a low bow, the +gentleman stepped aside to let the young girl pass. As he did so, he +noted the rare beauty of that brilliant face—he remembered the longing +words. +</P> + +<P> +"No wonder," he thought; "it is a sin for such a face as that to be +hidden here." +</P> + +<P> +The beauty of those magnificent eyes startled him. Who was she? What +could she be doing here? Beatrice turning again, saw the stranger +looking eagerly after her, with profound admiration expressed in every +feature of his face; and that admiring gaze, the first she had ever +received in her life, sank deep into the vain, girlish heart. +</P> + +<P> +He watched the graceful, slender figure until the turn of the road hid +Beatrice from his view. He followed her at a safe distance, and saw +her cross the long meadows that led to the Elms. Then Hugh Fernely +waited with patience until one of the farm laborers came by. By +judicious questioning he discovered much of the history of the +beautiful young girl who longed for life. Her face haunted him—its +brilliant, queenly beauty, the dark, radiant eyes. Come what might, +Hugh Fernely said to himself, he must see her again. +</P> + +<P> +On the following morning he saw the girls return to the cliff. Lillian +finished her picture. Ever and anon he heard Beatrice singing, in a +low, rich voice, a song that had charmed her with its weird beauty: +</P> + +<P> +"For men must work, and women must weep; And the sooner it's over, the +sooner to sleep And goodbye to the bar and its moaning." +</P> + +<P> +"I like those words, Lillian," he heard her say. "I wonder how soon it +will be 'over' for me. Shall I ever weep, as the song says? I have +never wept yet." +</P> + +<P> +This morning the golden-haired sister left the cliff first, and +Beatrice sat reading until the noonday sun shone upon the sea. Her book +charmed her; it was a story telling of the life she loved and longed +for—of the gay, glad world. Unfortunately all the people in the book +were noble, heroic, and ideal. The young girl, in her simplicity, +believed that they who lived in the world she longed for were all like +the people in her book. +</P> + +<P> +When she left the path that led to the meadows, she saw by her side the +stranger who had met her the day before. Again he bowed profoundly, +and, with many well-expressed apologies, asked some trifling question +about the road. +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice replied briefly, but she could not help seeing the wonder of +admiration in his face. Her own grew crimson under his gaze—he saw +it, and his heart beat high with triumph. As Beatrice went through the +meadows he walked by her side. She never quite remembered how it +happened, but in a few minutes he was telling her how many years had +passed since he had seen the spring in England. She forgot all +restraint, all prudence, and raised her beautiful eyes to his. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, then," she cried, "you have seen the great world that lies over +the wide sea." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he replied, "I have seen it. I have been in strange, bright +lands, so different from England that they seemed to belong to another +world. I have seen many climes, bright skies, and glittering seas, +where the spice islands lie." +</P> + +<P> +As he spoke, in words that were full of wild, untutored eloquence, he +saw the young girl's eyes riveted upon him. Sure of having roused her +attention, he bowed, apologized for his intrusion, and left her. +</P> + +<P> +Had Dora been like other mothers, Beatrice would have related this +little adventure and told of the handsome young traveler who had been +in strange climes. As it was, knowing her mother's utter dread of all +men—her fear lest her children should ever love and marry—Beatrice +never named the subject. She thought much of Hugh Fernely—not of him +himself, but of the world he had spoken about—and she hoped it might +happen to her to meet him again. +</P> + +<P> +"If we had some one here who could talk in that way," she said to +herself, "the Elms would not be quite so insupportable." +</P> + +<P> +Two days afterward, Beatrice, wandering on the sands, met Hugh Fernely. +She saw the startled look of delight on his face, and smiled at his +pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +"Pray forgive me," he said. "I—I can not pass you without one word. +Time has seemed to me like one long night since I saw you last." +</P> + +<P> +He held in his hand some beautiful lilies of the valley—every little +white warm bell was perfect. He offered them to her with a low bow. +</P> + +<P> +"This is the most beautiful flower I have seen for many years," he +said. "May I be forgiven for begging permission to offer it to the +most beautiful lady I have ever seen?" +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice took it from him, blushing at his words. He walked by her +side along the yellow sands, the waves rolling in and breaking at their +feet. Again his eloquence charmed her. He told her his name, and how +he was captain of a trading vessel. Instinctively he seemed to +understand her character—her romantic, ideal way of looking at +everything. He talked to her of the deep seas and their many wonders; +of the ocean said to be fathomless; of the coral islands and of waters +in whose depths the oyster containing the pale, gleaming pearl is +found; of the quiet nights spent at sea, where the stars shine as they +never seem to shine on land; of the strange hush that falls upon the +heaving waters before a storm. He told of long days when they were +becalmed upon the green deep, when the vessel seemed +</P> + +<P> + "A painted ship upon a painted ocean."<BR> +</P> + +<P> +With her marvelous fancy and quick imagination she followed him to the +wondrous depth of silent waters where strange shapes, never seen by +human eye, abound. She hung upon his words; he saw it, and rejoiced in +his success. He did not startle her by any further compliment, but +when their walk was ended he told her that morning would live in his +memory as the happiest time of his life. +</P> + +<P> +After a few days it seemed to become a settled thing that Beatrice +should meet Hugh Fernely. Lillian wondered that her sister so often +preferred lonely rambles, but she saw the beautiful face she loved so +dearly grow brighter and happier, never dreaming the cause. +</P> + +<P> +For many long days little thought of Hugh Fernely came to Beatrice. +Her mind ran always upon what he had told her—upon his description of +what he had seen and heard. He noted this, and waited with a patience +born of love for the time when she should take an interest in him. +</P> + +<P> +Words were weak in which to express the passionate love he felt for +this beautiful and stately young girl. It seemed to him like a fairy +tale. On the morning he first saw Beatrice he had been walking a long +distance, and had lain down to rest on the cliffs. There the beautiful +vision had dawned upon him. The first moment he gazed into that +peerless face he loved Beatrice with a passion that frightened himself. +He determined to win her at any cost. +</P> + +<P> +At last and by slow degrees he began to speak of her and himself, +slowly and carefully, his keen eyes noting every change upon her face; +he began to offer her delicate compliments and flattery so well +disguised that it did not seem to her flattery at all. He made her +understand that he believed her to be the most beautiful girl he had +ever beheld. He treated her always as though she were a queen, and he +her humblest slave. +</P> + +<P> +Slowly but surely the sweet poison worked its way; the day came when +that graceful, subtle flattery was necessary to the very existence of +Beatrice Earle. There was much to excuse her; the clever, artful man +into whose hands she had fallen was her first admirer—the first who +seemed to remember she was no longer a child, and to treat her with +deferential attention. Had she been, as other girls are, surrounded by +friends, accustomed to society, properly trained, prepared by the +tender wisdom of a loving mother, she would never have cast her proud +eyes upon Hugh Fernely; she would never have courted the danger or run +the risk. +</P> + +<P> +As it was, while Dora preferred solitude, and nourished a keen dislike +to her husband in her heart—while Ronald yielded to obstinate pride, +and neglected every duty—while both preferred the indulgence of their +own tempers, and neglected the children the Almighty intrusted to them, +Beatrice went on to her fate. +</P> + +<P> +It was so sad a story, the details so simple yet so pitiful. Every +element of that impulsive, idealistic nature helped on the tragedy. +Hugh Fernely understood Beatrice as perhaps no one else ever did. He +idealized himself. To her at length he became a hero who had met with +numberless adventures—a hero who had traveled and fought, brave and +generous. After a time he spoke to her of love, at first never +appearing to suppose that she could care for him, but telling her of +his own passionate worship how her face haunted him, filled his dreams +at night, and shone before him all day—how the very ground she stood +upon was sacred to him—how he envied the flowers she touched—how he +would give up everything to be the rose that died in her hands. It was +all very pretty and poetical, and he knew how to find pretty, +picturesque spots in the woods where the birds and the flowers helped +him to tell his story. +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice found it very pleasant to be worshiped like a queen; there was +no more monotony for her. Every morning she looked forward to seeing +Hugh—to learning more of those words that seemed to her like sweetest +music. She knew that at some time or other during the day she would +see him; he never tired of admiring her beauty. Blameworthy was the +sad mother with her stern doctrines, blameworthy the proud, neglectful +father, that she knew not how wrong all this was. He loved her; in a +thousand eloquent ways he told her so. She was his loadstar, beautiful +and peerless. It was far more pleasant to sit on the sea shore, or +under the greenwood trees, listening to such words than to pass long, +dreary hours indoors. And none of those intrusted with the care of the +young girl ever dreamed of her danger. +</P> + +<P> +So this was the love her mother dreaded so much. This was the love +poets sung of and novelists wrote about. It was pleasant; but in after +days, when Beatrice herself came to love, she knew that this had been +but child's play. +</P> + +<P> +It was the romance of the stolen meeting that charmed Beatrice. If Hugh +had been admitted to the Elms she would have wearied of him in a week; +but the concealment gave her something to think of. There was +something to occupy her mind; every day she must arrange for a long +ramble, so that she might meet Hugh. So, while the corn grew ripe in +the fields, and the blossoms died away—while warm, luxurious summer +ruled with his golden wand Ronald Earle's daughter went on to her fate. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XVIII +</H3> + +<P> +At length there came an interruption to Hugh Fernely's love dream. The +time drew near when he must leave Seabay. The vessel he commanded was +bound for China, and was to sail in a few days. The thought that he +must leave the beautiful girl he loved so dearly and so deeply struck +him with unendurable pain; he seemed only to have lived since he had +met her, and he knew that life without her would be a burden too great +for him to bear. He asked himself a hundred times over: "Does she love +me?" He could not tell. He resolved to try. He dared not look that +future in the face which should take her from him. +</P> + +<P> +The time drew near; the day was settled on which the "Seagull" was to +set sail, and yet Hugh Fernely had won no promise from Beatrice Earle. +</P> + +<P> +One morning Hugh met her at the stile leading from the field into the +meadow lane—the prettiest spot in Knutsford. The ground was a +perfectly beautiful carpet of flowers—wild hyacinths, purple +foxgloves, pretty, pale strawberry blossoms all grew there. The hedges +were one mass of wild roses and woodbine; the tall elm trees that ran +along the lane met shadily overhead; the banks on either side were +radiant in different colored mosses; huge ferns surrounded the roots of +the trees. +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice liked the quiet, pretty, green meadow lane. She often walked +there, and on this eventful morning Hugh saw her sitting in the midst +of the fern leaves. He was by her side in a minute, and his dark, +handsome face lighted up with joy. +</P> + +<P> +"How the sun shines!" he said. "I wonder the birds begin to sing and +the flowers to bloom before you are out, Miss Earle." +</P> + +<P> +"But I am not their sun," replied Beatrice with a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"But you are mine," cried Hugh; and before she could reply he was +kneeling at her feet, her hands clasped in his, while he told her of +the love that was wearing his life away. +</P> + +<P> +No one could listen to such words unmoved; they were true and eloquent, +full of strange pathos. He told her how dark without her the future +would be to him, how sad and weary his life; whereas if she would only +love him, and let him claim her when he returned, he would make her as +happy as a queen. He would take her to the bright sunny lands—would +show her all the beauties and wonders she longed to see—would buy her +jewels and dresses such as her beauty deserved—would be her humble, +devoted slave, if she would only love him. +</P> + +<P> +It was very pleasant—the bright morning, the picturesque glade, the +warmth and brightness of summer all around. Beatrice looked at the +handsome, pale face with emotion, she felt Hugh's warm lips pressed to +her hand, she felt hot tears rain upon her fingers, and wondered at +such love. Yes, this was the love she had read of and thought about. +</P> + +<P> +"Beatrice," cried Hugh, "do not undo me with one word. Say you love +me, my darling—say I may return and claim you as my own. Your whole +life shall be like one long, bright summer's day." +</P> + +<P> +She was carried away by the burning torrent of passionate words. With +all her spirit and pride she felt weak and powerless before the mighty +love of this strong man. Almost unconscious of what she did, Beatrice +laid her white hands upon the dark, handsome head of her lover. +</P> + +<P> +"Hush, Hugh," she said, "you frighten me. I do love you; see, you +tears wet my hand." +</P> + +<P> +It was not a very enthusiastic response, but it satisfied him. He +clasped the young girl in his arms, and she did not resist; he kissed +the proud lips and the flushed cheek. Beatrice Earle said no word; he +was half frightened, half touched, and wholly subdued. +</P> + +<P> +"Now you are mine," cried Hugh—"mine, my own peerless one; nothing +shall part us but death!" +</P> + +<P> +"Hush!" cried Beatrice, again shuddering as with cold fear. "That is a +word I dislike and dread so much, Hugh—do not use it." +</P> + +<P> +"I will not," he replied; and then Beatrice forgot her fears. He was +so happy—he loved her so dearly—he was so proud of winning her. She +listened through the long hours of that sunny morning. It was the +fifteenth of July—he made her note the day and in two years he would +return to take her forever from the quiet house where her beauty and +grace alike were buried. +</P> + +<P> +That was the view of the matter that had seized upon the girl's +imagination. It was not so much love for Hugh—she liked him. His +flattery—the excitement of meeting him—his love, had become necessary +to her; but had any other means of escape from the monotony she hated +presented itself, she would have availed herself of it quite as +eagerly. Hugh was not so much a lover to her as a medium of escape +from a life that daily became more and more unendurable. +</P> + +<P> +She listened with bright smiles when he told her that in two years he +should return to fetch her; and she, thinking much of the romance, and +little of the dishonor of concealment, told him how her sad young +mother hated and dreaded all mention of love and lovers. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you must never tell her," he said—"leave that for me until I +return. I shall have money then, and perhaps the command of a fine +vessel. She will not refuse me when she knows how dearly I love you, +and even should your father—the father you tell of—come home, you +will be true to me, Beatrice, will you not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I will be true," she replied—and, to do her justice, she meant +it at the time. Her father's return seemed vague and uncertain; it +might take place in ten or twenty years—it might never be. Hugh +offered her freedom and liberty in two years. +</P> + +<P> +"If others should seek your love," he said, "should praise your beauty, +and offer you rank or wealth, you will say to yourself that you will be +true to Hugh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said, firmly, "I will do so." +</P> + +<P> +"Two years will soon pass away," said he. "Ah, Beatrice," he +continued, "I shall leave you next Thursday; give me all the hours you +can. Once away from you, all time will seem to me a long, dark night." +</P> + +<P> +It so happened that the farmer and his men were at work in a field +quite on the other side of Knutsford. Dora and Lillian were intent, +the one upon a box of books newly arrived, the other upon a picture; so +Beatrice had every day many hours at her disposal. She spent them all +with Hugh, whose love seemed to increase with every moment. +</P> + +<P> +Hugh was to leave Seabay on Thursday, and on Wednesday evening he +lingered by her side as though he could not part with her. To do Hugh +Fernely justice, he loved Beatrice for herself. Had she been a +penniless beggar he would have loved her just the same. The only dark +cloud in his sky was the knowledge that she was far above him. Still, +he argued to himself, the story she told of her father was an +impossible one. He did not believe that Ronald Earle would ever take +his daughters home—he did not quite know what to think, but he had no +fear on that score. +</P> + +<P> +On the Wednesday evening they wandered down the cliff and sat upon the +shore, watching the sun set over the waters. Hugh took from his pocket +a little morocco case and placed it in Beatrice's hands. She opened +it, and cried out with admiration; there lay the most exquisite ring +she had ever seen, of pure pale gold, delicately and elaborately +chased, and set with three gleaming opals of rare beauty. +</P> + +<P> +"Look at the motto inside," said Hugh. +</P> + +<P> +She held the ring in her dainty white fingers, and read: "Until death +parts us." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Hugh," she cried, "that word again? I dread it; why is it always +coming before me?" +</P> + +<P> +He smiled at her fears, and asked her to let him place the ring upon +her finger. +</P> + +<P> +"In two years," he said, "I shall place a plain gold ring on this +beautiful hand. Until then wear this, Beatrice, for my sake; it is our +betrothal ring." +</P> + +<P> +"It shall not leave my finger," she said. "Mamma will not notice it, +and every one else will think she has given it to me herself." +</P> + +<P> +"And now," said Hugh, "promise me once more, Beatrice, you will be true +to me—you will wait for me—that when I return you will let me claim +you as my own?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do promise," she said, looking at the sun shining on the opals. +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice never forgot the hour that followed. Proud, impetuous, and +imperial as she was, the young man's love and sorrow touched her as +nothing had ever done. The sunbeams died away in the west, the +glorious mass of tinted clouds fell like a veil over the evening sky, +the waves came in rapidly, breaking into sheets of white, creamy foam +in the gathering darkness, but still he could not leave her. +</P> + +<P> +"I must go, Hugh," said Beatrice, at length; "mamma will miss me." +</P> + +<P> +She never forgot the wistful eyes lingering upon her face. +</P> + +<P> +"Once more, only once more," he said. "Beatrice, my love, when I +return you will be my wife?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she replied, startled alike by his grief and his love. +</P> + +<P> +"Never be false to me," he continued. "If you were—" +</P> + +<P> +"What then?" she asked, with a smile, as he paused. +</P> + +<P> +"I should either kill myself or you," he replied, "perhaps both. Do not +make me say such terrible things. It could not be. The sun may fall +from the heavens, the sea rolling there may become dry land. +Nature—everything may prove false, but not you, the noblest, the +truest of women. Say 'I love you, Hugh,' and let those be your last +words to me. They will go with me over the wide ocean, and be my rest +and stay." +</P> + +<P> +"I love you, Hugh," she said, as he wished her. +</P> + +<P> +Something like a deep, bitter sob came from his white lips. Death +itself would have been far easier than leaving her. He raised her +beautiful face to his—his tears and kisses seemed to burn it—and then +he was gone. +</P> + +<P> +Gone! The romance of the past few weeks, the engrossing interest, all +suddenly collapsed. Tomorrow the old monotonous life must begin again, +without flattery, praise, or love. He had gone; the whole romance was +ended; nothing of it remained save the memory of his love and the ring +upon her finger. +</P> + +<P> +At first there fell upon Beatrice a dreadful blank. The monotony, the +quiet, the simple occupations, were more unendurable than ever; but in +a few days that feeling wore off, and then she began to wonder at what +she had done. The glamour fell from before her eyes; the novelty and +excitement, the romance of the stolen meetings, the pleasant homage of +love and worship no longer blinded her. Ah, and before Hugh Fernely +had been many days and nights upon the wide ocean, she ended by growing +rather ashamed of the matter, and trying to think of it as little as +she could! Once she half tried to tell Lillian; but the look of horror +on the sweet, pure face startled her, and she turned the subject by +some merry jest. +</P> + +<P> +Then there came a letter from Mrs. Vyvian announcing her return. The +girls were warmly attached to the lady, who had certainly devoted the +ten best years of her life to them. She brought with her many +novelties, new books, new music, amusing intelligence from the outer +world. For some days there was no lack of excitement and amusement; +then all fell again into the old routine. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Vyvian saw a great change in Beatrice. Some of the old +impetuosity had died away; she was as brilliant as ever, full of life +and gayety, but in some way there was an indescribable change. At +times a strange calm would come over the beautiful face, a far-off, +dreamy expression steal into the dark, bright eyes. She had lost her +old frankness. Time was when Mrs. Vyvian could read all her thoughts, +and very rebellious thoughts they often were. But now there seemed to +be a sealed chamber in the girl's heart. She never spoke of the +future, and for the first time her watchful friend saw in her a nervous +fear that distressed her. Carefully and cautiously the governess tried +to ascertain the cause; she felt sure at last that, young as she was, +carefully as she had been watched, Beatrice Earle had a secret in her +life that she shared with no one else. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XIX +</H3> + +<P> +There were confusion and dismay in the stately home of the Earles. One +sultry morning in August Lord Earle went out into the garden, paying no +heed to the excessive heat. As he did not return to luncheon, the +butler went in search of him and found his master lying as one dead on +the ground. He was carried to his own room, doctors were summoned in +hot haste from far and near; everything that science or love, skill or +wisdom could suggest was done for him, but all in vain. The hour had +come when he must leave home, rank, wealth, position—whatever he +valued most—when he must answer for his life and what he had done with +it—when he must account for wealth, talent, for the son given to +him—when human likings, human passions, would seem so infinitely +little. +</P> + +<P> +But while Lord Earle lay upon the bed, pale and unconscious, Lady +Earle, who knelt by him and never left him, felt sure that his mind and +heart were both active. He could not speak; he did not seem to +understand. Who knows what passes in those dread moments of silence, +when the light of eternity shows so clearly all that we have done in +the past? It may be that while he lay there, hovering as it were +between two worlds, the remembrance of his son struck him like a +two-edged sword—his son, his only child given to him to train, not +only for earth but for heaven—the boy he had loved and idolized, then +cast off, and allowed to become a wanderer on the face of the earth. +It may be that his stern, sullen pride, his imperious self-will, his +resolute trampling upon the voice of nature and duty, confronted him in +the new light shining upon him. Perhaps his own words returned to him, +that until he lay dead Ronald should never see Earlescourt again; for +suddenly the voice they thought hushed forever sounded strangely in the +silence of that death chamber. +</P> + +<P> +"My son!" cried the dying man, clasping his hands—"my son!" +</P> + +<P> +Those who saw it never forgot the blank, awful terror that came upon +the dying face as he uttered his last words. +</P> + +<P> +They bore the weeping wife from the room. Lady Earle, strong, and +resolute though she was, could not drive that scene from her mind. She +was ill for many days, and so it happened that the lord of Earlescourt +was laid in the family vault long ere the family at the Elms knew of +the change awaiting them. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald was summoned home in all haste; but months passed ere letters +reached him, and many more before he returned to England. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle's will was brief, there was no mention of his son's name. +There was a handsome provision for Lady Earle, the pretty little estate +of Roslyn was settled upon her; the servants received numerous +legacies; Sir Harry Laurence and Sir Hugh Charteris were each to +receive a magnificent mourning ring; but there was no mention of the +once-loved son and heir. +</P> + +<P> +As the heir at law, everything was Ronald's—the large amount of money +the late lord had saved, title, estates, everything reverted to him. +But Ronald would have exchanged all for one line of forgiveness, one +word of pardon from the father he had never ceased to love. +</P> + +<P> +It was arranged that until Ronald's return his mother should continue +to reside at Earlescourt, and the management of the estates was +intrusted to Mr. Burt, the family solicitor. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Earle resolved to go to the Elms herself; great changes must be +made there. Ronald's wife and children must take their places in the +world; and she felt a proud satisfaction in thinking that, thanks to +her sensible and judicious management, Dora would fill her future +position with credit. She anticipated Ronald's delight when he should +see his beautiful and accomplished daughters. Despite her great +sorrow, the lady of Earlescourt felt some degree of hope for the +future. She wrote to the Elms, telling Dora of her husband's death, +and announcing her own coming; then the little household understood +that their quiet and solitude had ended forever. +</P> + +<P> +The first thing was to provide handsome mourning. Dora was strangely +quiet and sad through it all. The girls asked a hundred questions +about their father, whom they longed to see. They knew he had left home +in consequence of some quarrel with his father—so much Lady Earle told +them—but they never dreamed that his marriage had caused the fatal +disagreement; they never knew that, for their mother's sake, Lady Earle +carefully concealed all knowledge of it from them. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Earle reached the Elms one evening in the beginning of September. +She asked first to see Dora alone. +</P> + +<P> +During the long years Dora had grown to love the stately, gentle lady +who was Ronald's mother. She could not resist her sweet, gracious +dignity and winning manners. So, when Lady Earle, before seeing her +granddaughters, went to Dora's room, wishing for a long consultation +with her, Dora received her with gentle, reverential affection. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish to see you first," said Lady Helena Earle, "so that we may +arrange our plans before the children know anything of them. Ronald +will return to England in a few months. Dora, what course shall you +adopt?" +</P> + +<P> +"None," she replied. "Your son's return has nothing whatever to do +with me." +</P> + +<P> +"But, surely," said lady Helena, "for the children's sake you will not +refuse at least an outward show of reconciliation?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Earle has not asked it," said Dora—"he never will do so, Lady +Helena. It is as far from his thoughts as from mine." +</P> + +<P> +Lady Earle sat for some moments too much astounded for speech. +</P> + +<P> +"I never inquired the cause of your separation, Dora," she said, +gently, "and I never wish to know it. My son told me you could live +together no longer. I loved my own husband; I was a devoted and +affectionate wife to him. I bore with his faults and loved his +virtues, so that I can not imagine what I should do were I in your +place. I say to you what I should say to Ronald—they are solemn +words—'What therefore God hath joined together, let no man put +asunder.' Now let me tell you my opinion. It is this, that nothing +can justify such a separation as yours—nothing but the most outrageous +offenses or the most barbarous cruelty. Take the right course, Dora; +submit to your husband. Believe me, woman's rights are all fancy and +nonsense; loving, gentle submission is the fairest ornament of woman. +Even should Ronald be in the wrong, trample upon all pride and temper, +and make the first advances to him." +</P> + +<P> +"I can not," said Dora gravely. +</P> + +<P> +"Ronald was always generous and chivalrous," continued Lady Earle. +"Oh, Dora, have you forgotten how my son gave up all the world for you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," she replied, bitterly; "nor has he forgotten it, Lady Earle." +</P> + +<P> +The remembrance of what she thought her wrongs rose visibly before her. +She saw again the magnificent face of Valentine Charteris, with its +calm, high-bred wonder. She saw her husband's white, angry, indignant +countenance—gestures full of unutterable contempt. Ah, no, never +again! Nothing could heal that quarrel. +</P> + +<P> +"You must take your place in the world," continued Lady Earle. "You are +no longer simply Mrs. Earle of the Elms; you are Lady Earle, of +Earlescourt, wife of its lord, the mother of his children. You have +duties too numerous for me to mention, and you must not shrink from +them." +</P> + +<P> +"I refuse all," she replied, calmly; "I refuse to share your son's +titles, his wealth, his position, his duties; I refuse to make any +advances toward a reconciliation; I refuse to be reconciled." +</P> + +<P> +"And why?" asked Lady Helena, gravely. +</P> + +<P> +A proud flush rose to Dora's face—hot anger stirred in her heart. +</P> + +<P> +"Because your son said words to me that I never can and never will +forget," she cried. "I did wrong—Lady Helena, I was mad, jealous, +blind—I did wrong—I did what I now know to be dishonorable and +degrading. I knew no better, and he might have pardoned me, +remembering that. But before the woman I believe to be my rival he +bitterly regretted having made me his wife." +</P> + +<P> +"They were hard words," said Lady Earle. +</P> + +<P> +"Very hard," replied Dora; "they broke my heart—they slew me in my +youth; I have never lived since then." +</P> + +<P> +"Can you never forgive and forget them, Dora?" asked Lady Helena. +</P> + +<P> +"Never," she replied; "they are burned into my heart and on my brain. +I shall never forget them; your son and I must be strangers, Lady +Earle, while we live." +</P> + +<P> +"I can say no more," sighed Lady Earle. "Perhaps a mightier voice will +call to you, Dora, and then you will obey." +</P> + +<P> +A deep silence fell upon them. Lady Helena was more grieved and +disconcerted than she cared to own. She had thought of taking her +son's wife and children home in triumph, but it was not to be. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall we speak of the children now?" she asked at length. "Some +arrangements must be made for them." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Dora, "their father has claims upon them. I am ready to +yield to them. I do not believe he will ever love them or care for +them, because they are mine. At the same time, I give them up to him +and to you, Lady Earle. The sweetest and best years of their lives +have been spent with me; I must therefore not repine. I have but one +stipulation to make, and it is that my children shall never hear one +word against me." +</P> + +<P> +"You know little of me," said Lady Helena, "if you think such a thing +is possible. You would rather part with your children than accompany +them?" +</P> + +<P> +"Far rather," she replied. "I know you will allow them to visit me, +Lady Earle. I have known for many years that such a time must come, +and I am prepared for it." +</P> + +<P> +"But, my dear Dora," said Lady Earle, warmly, "have you considered what +parting with your children implies—the solitude, the desolation?" +</P> + +<P> +"I know it all," replied Dora. "It will be hard, but not so hard nor +so bitter as living under the same roof with their father." +</P> + +<P> +Carefully and quietly Dora listened to Lady Earle's plans and +arrangements—how her children were to go to Earlescourt and take the +position belonging to them. Mrs. Vyvian was to go with them and remain +until Lord Earle returned. Until then they were not to be introduced +into society; it would take some time to accustom them to so great a +change. When Lord Earl returned he could pursue what course he would. +</P> + +<P> +"He will be so proud of them!" said Lady Earle. "I have never seen a +girl so spirited and beautiful as Beatrice, nor one so fair and gentle +as Lillian. Oh, Dora, I should be happy if you were going with us." +</P> + +<P> +Never once during the few days of busy preparation did Dora's proud +courage give way. The girls at first refused to leave her; they +exhausted themselves in conjectures as to her continued residence at +the Elms, and were forced to be satisfied with Lady Earle's off-hand +declaration that their mother could not endure any but a private life. +</P> + +<P> +"Mamma has a title now," said Beatrice, wonderingly; "why will she not +assume it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Your mother's tastes are simple and plain," replied Lady Earle. "Her +wishes must be treated with respect." +</P> + +<P> +Dora did not give way until the two fair faces that had brightened her +house vanished. When they were gone, and a strange, hushed silence +fell upon the place, pride and courage gave way. In that hour the very +bitterness of death seemed to be upon her. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XX +</H3> + +<P> +It was a proud moment for Lady Earle when she led the two young girls +through the long line of servants assembled to receive them. They were +both silent from sheer wonder. They had left Florence at so early an +age that they had not the faintest remembrance of the pretty villa on +the banks of the Arno. All their ideas were centered in the Elms—they +had never seen any other home. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Earle watched the different effect produced upon them by the +glimpse of Earlescourt. Lillian grew pale; she trembled, and her +wondering eyes filled with tears. Beatrice, on the contrary, seemed +instantly to take in the spirit of the place. Her face flushed; a +proud light came into her glorious eyes; her haughty head was carried +more regally than ever. There was no timidity, no shyly expressed +wonder, no sensitive shrinking from new and unaccustomed splendor. +</P> + +<P> +They were deeply impressed with the magnificence of their new home. +For many long days Lady Earle employed herself in showing the numerous +treasures of art and vertu the house contained. The picture gallery +pleased Beatrice most; she gloried in the portraits of the grand old +ancestors, "each with a story to his name." One morning she stood +before Lady Helena's portrait, admiring the striking likeness. +Suddenly turning to the stately lady by her side, she said: "All the +Ladies Earle are here; where is my own mamma? Her face is sweet and +fair as any of these. Why is there no portrait of her?" +</P> + +<P> +"There will be one some day," said Lady Helena. "When your father +returns all these things will be seen to." +</P> + +<P> +"We have no brother," continued Beatrice. "Every baron here seems to +have been succeeded by his son—who will succeed my father?" +</P> + +<P> +"His next of kin," replied Lady Earle, sadly—"Lionel Dacre; he is a +third cousin of Lord Earle. He will have both title and estate." +</P> + +<P> +She signed deeply; it was a real trouble to Lady Helena that she should +never see her son's son, never love and nurse, never bless the heir of +Earlescourt. +</P> + +<P> +Lillian delighted most in the magnificent gardens, the thickly wild +wooded park, where every dell was filled with flowers and ferns, every +knoll crowned with noble trees. The lake, with white lilies sleeping +on its tranquil bosom and weeping willows touching its clear surface, +pleased her most of all. As they stood on its banks, Beatrice, looking +into the transparent depths, shuddered, and turned quickly away. +</P> + +<P> +"I am tired of water," she said; "nothing wearied me so much at +Knutsford as the wide, restless sea. I must have been born with a +natural antipathy to water." +</P> + +<P> +Many days passed before they were familiar with Earlescourt. Every day +brought its new wonders. +</P> + +<P> +A pretty suite of rooms had been prepared for each sister; they were in +the western wing, and communicated with each other. The Italian nurse +who had come with them from Florence had preferred remaining with Dora. +Lady Earle had engaged two fashionable ladies' maids, had also ordered +for each a wardrobe suitable to the daughters of Lord Earle. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Vyvian had two rooms near her charges. Knowing that some months +might elapse before Ronald returned, Lady Helena settled upon a course +of action. The young girls were to be kept in seclusion, and not to be +introduced to the gay world, seeing only a few old friends of the +family; they were to continue to study for a few hours every morning, +to drive or walk with Lady Earle after luncheon, to join her at the +seven o'clock dinner, and to pass the evening in the drawing room. +</P> + +<P> +It was a new and delightful life. Beatrice reveled in the luxury and +grandeur that surrounded her. She amused Lady Earle by her vivacious +description of the quiet home at the Elms. +</P> + +<P> +"I feel at home here," she said, "and I never did there. At times I +wake up, half dreading to hear the rustling of the tall elm trees, and +old Mrs. Thorne's voice asking about the cows. Poor mamma! I can not +understand her taste." +</P> + +<P> +When they became more accustomed to the new life, the strange +incongruity in their family struck them both. On one side a grand old +race, intermarried with some of the noblest families in England—a +stately house, title, wealth, rank, and position; on the other a simple +farmer and his homely wife, the plain old homestead, and complete +isolation from all they considered society. +</P> + +<P> +How could it be? How came it that their father was lord of Earlescourt +and their mother the daughter of a plain country farmer? For the first +time it struck them both that there was some mystery in the life of +their parents. Both grew more shy of speaking of the Elms, feeling +with the keen instinct peculiar to youth that there was something +unnatural in their position. +</P> + +<P> +Visitors came occasionally to Earlescourt. Sir Harry and Lady Laurence +of Holtham often called; Lady Charteris came from Greenoke, and all +warmly admired the lovely daughters of Lord Earle. +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice, with her brilliant beauty, her magnificent voice, and gay, +graceful manner, was certainly the favorite. Sir Harry declared she +was the finest rider in the county. +</P> + +<P> +There was an unusual stir of preparation once when Lady Earle told them +that the daughter of her devoted friend, Lady Charteris, was coming to +spend a few days at Earlescourt. Then, for the first time, they saw +the beautiful and stately lady whose fate was so strangely interwoven +with theirs. +</P> + +<P> +Valentine Charteris was no longer "the queen of the county." Prince di +Bergezi had won the beautiful English woman. He had followed her to +Greenoke and repeated his question. There was neither coquetry nor +affectation in Valentine—she had thought the matter over, and decided +that she was never likely to meet with any one else she liked and +respected so much as her Italian lover. He had the virtues, without +the faults, of the children of the South; a lavishly generous, princely +disposition; well-cultivated artistic tastes; good principles and a +chivalrous sense of honor. Perhaps the thing that touched her most was +his great love for her. In many respects he resembled Ronald Earle +more nearly than any one else she had ever met. +</P> + +<P> +To the intense delight of both parents, Miss Charteris accepted him. +For her sake the prince consented to spend every alternate year in +England. +</P> + +<P> +Three times had the whole country side welcomed the stately Italian and +his beautiful wife. This was their fourth visit to England, and, when +the princess heard from Lady Charteris that Ronald's two daughters, +whom she remembered as little babes, were at Earlescourt, nothing would +satisfy her but a visit there. +</P> + +<P> +The young girls looked in admiring wonder at the lady. They had never +seen any one so dazzling or so bright. The calm, grand, Grecian face +had gained in beauty; the magnificent head, with its wealth of golden +hair, the tall, stately figure, charmed them. And when Valentine took +them in her arms and kissed them her thoughts went back to the white, +wild face in the garden and the dark eyes that had flamed in hot anger +upon her. +</P> + +<P> +"I knew your mother years ago," she said; "has she never mentioned my +name? I used to nurse you both in the little villa at Florence. I was +one of your father's oldest friends." +</P> + +<P> +No, they had never heard her name; and Beatrice wondered that her +mother could have known and forgotten one so beautiful as the princess. +</P> + +<P> +The week she remained passed like a long, bright dream. Beatrice almost +worshiped Valentine; this was what she had dreamed of long ago; this +was one of the ideal ladies living in the bright, gay world she was +learning to understand. +</P> + +<P> +When the prince and princess left Earlescourt they made Lady Helena +promise that Beatrice and Lillian should visit them at Florence. They +spoke of the fair and coquettish Countess Rosali, still a reigning +belle, and said how warmly she would welcome them for their father's +sake. +</P> + +<P> +"You talk so much of Italy," said Valentine to Beatrice. "It is just +the land for the romance you love. You shall see blue skies and sunny +seas, vines, and myrtles, and orange trees in bloom; you shall see such +luxuriance and beauty that you will never wish to return to this cold, +dreary England." +</P> + +<P> +It was thus arranged that, when Lord Earle returned, the visit should +be paid. The evening after their guests' departure seemed long and +triste. +</P> + +<P> +"I will write to mamma," said Beatrice; "it is strange she never told +us anything of her friend. I must tell her all about the visit." +</P> + +<P> +Not daring to ask the girls to keep any secret from Dora, Lady Earle +was obliged to let the letter go. The passionate, lonely heart brooded +over every word. Beatrice dwelt with loving admiration on the calm, +grand beauty of the princess, her sweet and gracious manner, her kindly +recollection of Dora, and her urgent invitation to them. Dora read it +through calmly, each word stabbing her with cruel pain. The old, +fierce jealousy rose in her heart, crushing every gentle thought. She +tore the letter, so full of Valentine, into a thousand shreds. +</P> + +<P> +"She drew my husband from me," she cried, "with the miserable beauty of +her fair face, and now she will win my children." +</P> + +<P> +Then across the fierce tempest of jealous anger came one thought like a +ray of light. Valentine was married; she had married the wealthy, +powerful prince who had been Ronald's patron; so that, after all, even +if she had lured Ronald from her, he had not cared for her, or she had +soon ceased to care for him. +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice thought it still more strange when her mother's reply to that +long, enthusiastic letter came. Dora said simply that she had never +named the Princess di Borgesi because she was a person whom she did not +care to remember. +</P> + +<P> +Fifteen months passed, and at length came a letter from Lord Earle, +saying that he hoped to reach England before Christmas, and in any case +would be with them by Christmas day. It was a short letter, written in +the hurry of traveling; the words that touched his children most, were +"I am glad you have the girls at Earlescourt; I am anxious to see what +they are like. Make them happy, mother; let hem have all they want; +and, if it be possible, after my long neglect, teach them to love me." +</P> + +<P> +The letter contained no mention of their mother; no allusion was made +to her. The girls marked the weeks go by in some little trepidation. +What if, after all, this father, whom they did not remember, should not +like them: Beatrice did not think such a thing very probable, but +Lillian passed many an hour in nervous, fanciful alarm. +</P> + +<P> +It was strange how completely all the old life had died away. Both had +felt a kind of affection for the homely farmer and his wife—they sent +many presents to them—but Beatrice would curl her proud lip in scorn +when she read aloud that "Mr. And Mrs. Thorne desired their humble duty +to Lady Earle." +</P> + +<P> +Lady Earle felt no anxiety about her son's return; looking at his +daughters, she saw no fault in them. Beautiful, accomplished, and +graceful, what more could he desire? She inwardly thanked Providence +that neither of them bore the least resemblance to the Thornes. +Beatrice looked like one of the Ladies Earle just stepped out from a +picture; Lillian, in her fair, dove-like loveliness, was quite as +charming. What would Lady Earle—so truthful, so honorable—have +thought or said had she known that their bright favorite with the Earle +face had plighted her troth, unknown to any one, to the captain of a +trading vessel, who was to claim her in two years for his wife? +</P> + +<P> +Lady Earl had formed her own plans for Beatrice; she hoped the time +would come when she would be Lady Earle of Earlescourt. Nothing could +be more delightful, nothing easier, provided Beatrice would marry the +young heir, Lionel Dacre. +</P> + +<P> +One morning, as the sisters sat in Lillian's room, Lady Earle entered +with an unusual expression of emotion on her fair, high-bred face. She +held an open letter in her hand. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear children," she said, "you must each look your very best this +evening. I have a note here—your father will be home tonight." +</P> + +<P> +The calm, proud voice faltered then, and the stately mistress of +Earlescourt wept at the thought of her son's return as she had never +wept since he left her. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap21"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XXI +</H3> + +<P> +Once more Ronald Earle stood upon English shores; once again he heard +his mother tongue spoken all around him, once again he felt the charm +of quiet, sweet English scenery. Seventeen years had passed since he +had taken Dora's hand in his and told her he cared nothing for all he +was leaving behind him, nothing for any one in the world save +herself—seventeen years, and his love-dream had lasted but two! Then +came the cruel shock that blinded him with anger and shame; then came +the rude awakening from his dream when, looking his life bravely in the +face, he found it nothing but a burden—hope and ambition gone—the +grand political mission he had once believed to be his own impossible +nothing left to him of his glorious dreams but existence—and all for +what? For the mad, foolish love of a pretty face. He hated himself +for his weakness and folly. For that—for the fair, foolish woman who +had shamed him so sorely—he had half broken his mother's heart, and +had imbittered his father's life. For that he had made himself an +exile, old in his youth, worn and weary, when life should have been all +smiling around him. +</P> + +<P> +These thoughts flashed through his mind as the express train whirled +through the quiet English landscape. Winter snows had fallen, the +great bare branches of the tall trees were gaunt and snow-laden, the +fields were one vast expanse of snow, the frost had hardened the +icicles hanging from hedges and trees. The scene seemed strange to him +after so many years of the tropical sun. Yet every breath of the +sharp, frosty air invigorated him and brought him new life and energy. +</P> + +<P> +At length the little station was reached, and he saw the carriage with +his liveried servants awaiting him. A warm flush rose to Lord Earle's +face; for a moment he felt almost ashamed of meeting his old domestics. +They must all know now why he had left home. His own valet, Morton, was +there. Lord Earle had kept him, and the man had asked permission to go +and meet his old master. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald was pleased to see him; there were a few words of courteous +greeting from Lord Earle to all around, and a few still kinder words to +Morton. +</P> + +<P> +Once again Ronald saw the old trees of which he had dreamed so often, +the stately cedars, the grand spreading oaks, the tall aspens, the lady +beeches, the groves of poplars—every spot was familiar to him. In the +distance he saw the lake shining through the trees; he drove past the +extensive gardens, the orchards now bare and empty. He was not ashamed +of the tears that rushed warmly to his eyes when the towers and turrets +of Earlescourt came in sight. +</P> + +<P> +A sharp sense of pain filled his heart—keen regret, bitter remorse, a +longing for power to undo all that was done, to recall the lost +miserable years—the best of his life. He might return; he might do +his best to atone for his error; but neither repentance nor atonement +would give him back the father whose pride he had humbled in the dust. +</P> + +<P> +As the carriage rolled up the broad drive, a hundred instances of his +father's love and indulgence flashed across him—he had never refused +any request save one. He wisely and tenderly tried to dissuade him +from the false step that could never be retraced but all in vain. +</P> + +<P> +He remembered his father's face on that morning when, with outstretched +hands, he bade him leave his presence and never seek it more—when he +told him that whenever he looked upon his dead face he was to remember +that death itself was less bitter than the hour in which he had been +deceived. +</P> + +<P> +Sad, bitter memories filled his heart when the carriage stopped at the +door and Ronald caught sight of the old familiar faces, some in smiles, +some in tears. +</P> + +<P> +The library door was thrown open. Hardly knowing whither he went, Lord +Earle entered, and it was closed behind him. His eyes, dimmed with +tears, saw a tall, stately lady, who advanced to meet him with open +arms. +</P> + +<P> +The face he remembered so fair and calm bore deep marks of sorrow; the +proud, tender eyes were shadowed; the glossy hair was threaded with +silver; but it was his mother's voice that cried to him, "My son, my +son, thank Heaven you have returned!" +</P> + +<P> +He never remembered how long his mother held him clasped in her arms. +Earth has no love like a mother's love—none so tender, so true, so +full of sweet wisdom, so replete with pity and pardon. It was her own +son whom Lady Earle held in her arms. She forgot that he was a man who +had incurred just displeasure. He was her boy, her own treasure, and so +it was that her words of greeting were all of loving welcome. +</P> + +<P> +"How changed you are," she said, drawing him nearer to the fast-fading +light. "Your face is quite bronzed, and you look so many years +older—so sad, so worn! Oh, Ronald, I must teach you to grow young and +happy again!" +</P> + +<P> +He sighed deeply, and his mother's heart grew sad as she watched his +restless face. +</P> + +<P> +"Old-fashioned copy-books say, mother, that 'to be happy one must be +good.' I have not been good," he said with a slight smile, "and I +shall never be happy." +</P> + +<P> +In the faint waning light, through which the snow gleamed strangely, +mother and son sat talking. Lady Earle told Ronald of his father's +death—of the last yearning cry when all the pent-up love of years +seemed to rush forth and overpower him with its force. It was some +comfort to him, after all, that his father's last thoughts and last +words had been of him. +</P> + +<P> +His heart was strangely softened; a new hope came to him. Granted that +the best part of his life was wasted, he would do his best with the +remainder. +</P> + +<P> +"And my children," he said, "my poor little girls! I will not see them +until I am calm and refreshed. I know they are well and happy with +you." +</P> + +<P> +Then, taking advantage of his mood, Lady Helena said what she had been +longing to say. +</P> + +<P> +"Ronald," she began, "I have had much to suffer. You will never know +how my heart has been torn between my husband and my son. Let my last +few years be spent in peace." +</P> + +<P> +"They shall, mother," he said. "Your happiness shall be my study." +</P> + +<P> +"There can be no rest for me," continued his mother, "unless all +division in our family ends. Ronald, I, who never asked you a favor +before, ask one now. Seek Dora and bring her home reconciled and +happy." +</P> + +<P> +A dark angry frown such as she had never seen there before came into +Lord Earle's face. +</P> + +<P> +"Anything but that," he replied, hastily; "I can not do it, mother. I +could not, if I lay upon my death bed." +</P> + +<P> +"And why?" asked Lady Helena, simply, as she had asked Dora. +</P> + +<P> +"For a hundred reasons, the first and greatest of which is that she has +outraged all my notions of honor, shamed and disgraced me in the +presence of one whom I esteemed and revered; she has—But no, I will +not speak of my wife's errors, it were unmanly. I can not forgive her, +mother. I wish her no harm; let her have every luxury my wealth can +procure, but do not name her to me. I should be utterly devoid of all +pride if I could pardon her." +</P> + +<P> +"Pride on your side," said Lady Earle, sadly, "and temper on hers! Oh, +Ronald, how will it end? Be wise in time; the most honest and noble +man is he who conquers himself. Conquer yourself, my son, and pardon +Dora." +</P> + +<P> +"I could more easily die," he replied, bitterly. +</P> + +<P> +"Then," said Lady Earle, sorrowfully, "I must say to you as I said to +Dora—beware; pride and temper must bend and break. Be warned in time." +</P> + +<P> +"Mother," interrupted Ronald, bending over the pale face so full of +emotion, "let this be the last time. You distress yourself and me; do +not renew the subject. I may forgive her in the hour of death—not +before." +</P> + +<P> +Lady Helena's last hope died away; she had thought that in the first +hour of his return, when old memories had softened his heart, she would +prevail on him to seek his wife whom he had ceased to love, and for +their children's sake bring her home. She little dreamed that the +coming home, the recollection of his father, the ghost of his lost +youth and blasted hopes rising every instant, had hardened him against +the one for whom he had lost all. +</P> + +<P> +"You will like to see the children now," said Lady Helena. "I will +ring for lights. You will be charmed with both. Beatrice is much like +you—she has the Earle face, and, unless I am mistaken, the Earle +spirit, too." +</P> + +<P> +"Beatrice," said Lillian, as they descended the broad staircase, "I am +frightened. I wish I could remember something of papa his voice or his +smile; it is like going to see a stranger. And suppose, after all, he +does not like us!" +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose what is of greater importance," said Beatrice proudly "that we +do not like him!" +</P> + +<P> +But, for all her high spirits and hauteur, Beatrice almost trembled as +the library door opened and Lady Earle came forward to met them. +Beatrice raised her eyes dauntlessly and saw before her a tall, stately +gentleman with a handsome face, the saddest and noblest she had ever +seen—clear, keen eyes that seemed to pierce through all disguise and +read all thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +"There is Beatrice," said Lady Helena, as she took her hand gently; and +Ronald looked in startled wonder at the superb beauty of the face and +figure before him. +</P> + +<P> +"Beatrice," he said, kissing the proud, bright face, "can it be +possible? When I saw you last you were a little, helpless child." +</P> + +<P> +"I am not helpless now," she replied, with a smile; "and I hope you are +going to love me very much, papa. You have to make up for fifteen +years of absence. I think it will not be very difficult to love you." +</P> + +<P> +He seemed dazzled by her beauty—her frank, high spirit and fearless +words. Then he saw a golden head, with sweet, dove-like eyes, raised +to his. +</P> + +<P> +"I am Lillian, papa," said a clear, musical voice. "Look at me, +please—and love me too." +</P> + +<P> +He did both, charmed with the gentle grace of her manner, and the fair, +pure face. Then Lord Earle took both his children in his arms. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish," he said, in a broken voice and with tears in his eyes, "that +I had seen you before. They told me my little twin children had grown +into beautiful girls, but I did not realize it." +</P> + +<P> +And again, when she saw his proud happiness, Lady Helena longed to +plead for the mother of his children, that she might also share in his +love; but she dared not. His words haunted her. Dora would be forgiven +only in the hour of death. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap22"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XXII +</H3> + +<P> +The evening of his return was one of the happiest of Lord Earle's life. +He was charmed with his daughters. Lady Helena thought, with a smile, +that it was difficult to realize the relationship between them. +Although her son looked sad and care-worn, he seemed more like an elder +brother than the father of the two young girls. +</P> + +<P> +There was some little restraint between them at first. Lord Earle +seemed at a loss what to talk about; then Lady Helena's gracious tact +came into play. She would not have dinner in the large dining room, +she ordered it to be served in the pretty morning room, where the fire +burned cheerfully and the lamps gave a flow of mellow light. It was a +picture of warm, cozy English comfort, and Lord Earle looked pleased +when he saw it. +</P> + +<P> +Then, when dinner was over, she asked Beatrice to sing, and she, only +pleased to show Lord Earle the extent of her accomplishments, obeyed. +Her superb voice, with its clear, ringing tones, amazed him. Beatrice +sang song after song with a passion and fire that told how deep the +music lay in her soul. +</P> + +<P> +Then Lady Helena bade Lillian bring out her folio of drawings, and +again Lord Earle was pleased and surprised by the skill and talent he +had not looked for. He praised the drawings highly. One especially +attracted his attention—it was the pretty scene Lillian had sketched +on the May day now so long passed—the sun shining upon the distant +white sails, and the broad, beautiful sweep of sea at Knutsford. +</P> + +<P> +"That is an excellent picture," he said; "it ought to be framed. It is +too good to be hidden in a folio. You have just caught the right +coloring, Lillian; one can almost see the sun sparkling on the water. +Where is this sea-view taken from?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you not know it?" she asked, looking at him with wonder in her +eyes. "It is from Knutsford—mamma's home." +</P> + +<P> +Ronald looked up in sudden, pained surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Mamma's home!" The words smote him like a blow. He remembered Dora's +offense—her cold letter, her hurried flight, his own firm resolve +never to receive her in his home again—but he had not remembered that +the children must love her—that she was part of their lives. He could +not drive her memory from their minds. There before him lay the pretty +picture of "mamma's home." +</P> + +<P> +"This," said Lillian, "is the Elms. See those grand old trees, papa! +This is the window of Mamma's room, and this was our study." +</P> + +<P> +He looked with wonder. This, then, was Dora's home—the pretty, quaint +homestead standing in the midst of the green meadows. As he gazed, he +half wondered what the Dora who for fifteen years had lived there could +be like. Did the curling rings of black hair fall as gracefully as +ever? Had the blushing dimpled face grown pale and still? And then, +chasing away all softened thought, came the remembrance of that hateful +garden scene. Ah, no, he could never forgive—he could not speak of +her even to these, her children! The two pictures were laid aside, and +no more was said of framing them. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle said to himself, after his daughters had retired, that both +were charming; but, though he hardly owned it to himself, if he had a +preference, it was for brilliant, beautiful Beatrice. He had never seen +any one to surpass her. After Lady Helena had left him, he sat by the +fire dreaming, as his father long years ago had done before him. +</P> + +<P> +It was not too late yet, he thought, to retrieve the fatal mistake of +his life. He would begin at once. He would first give all his +attention to his estate; it should be a model for all others. He would +interest himself in social duties; people who lamented his foolish, +wasted youth should speak with warm admiration of his manhood; above +all matters he dreamed of great things for his daughters, especially +Beatrice. With her beauty and grace, her magnificent voice, her frank, +fearless spirit, and piquant, charming wit, she would be a queen of +society; through his daughter his early error would be redeemed. +Beatrice was sure to marry well; she would bring fresh honors to the +grand old race ha had shamed. When the annals of the family told, in +years to come, the story of his mistaken marriage, it would be amply +redeemed by the grand alliance Beatrice would be sure to contract. +</P> + +<P> +His hopes rested upon her and centered in her. As he sat watching the +glowing embers, there came to him the thought that what Beatrice was to +him he had once been to the father he was never more to see. Ah! If +his daughter should be like himself if she should ruin his hopes, throw +down the air castle he had built—should love unworthily, marry beneath +her, deceive and disappoint him! But no, it should not be—he would +watch over her. Lord Earle shuddered at the thought. +</P> + +<P> +During breakfast on the morning following his return Lady Helena asked +what his plans were for the day—whether he intended driving the girls +over to Holte. +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Lord Earle. "I wish to have a long conversation with my +daughters. We shall be engaged during the morning. After luncheon we +will go to Holte." +</P> + +<P> +Ronald, Lord Earle, had made up his mind. In the place where his +father had warned him, and made the strongest impression upon him, he +would warn his children, and in the same way; so he took them to the +picture gallery, where he had last stood with his father. +</P> + +<P> +With gentle firmness he said: "I have brought you here as I have +something to say to you which is best said here. Years ago, children, +my father brought me, as I bring you, to warn and advise me—I warn and +advise you. We are, though so closely related, almost strangers. I am +ready to love you and do love you. I intend to make your happiness my +chief study. But there is one thing I must have—that is, perfect +openness, one thing I must forbid—that is, deceit of any kind, on any +subject. If either of you have in your short lives a secret, tell it +to me now; if either of you love any one, even though it be one +unworthy, tell me now. I will pardon any imprudence, any folly, any +want of caution—everything save deceit. Trust me, and I will be +gentle as a tender woman; deceive me, and I will never forgive you." +</P> + +<P> +Both fair faces had grown pale—Beatrice's from sudden and deadly fear; +Lillian's from strong emotion. +</P> + +<P> +"The men of our race," said Lord Earle, "have erred at times, the women +never. You belong to a long line of noble, pure, and high-bred woman; +there must be nothing in your lives less high, and less noble than in +theirs; but if there had been—if, from want of vigilance, of training, +and of caution there should be anything in this short past, tell it to +me now, and I will forget it." +</P> + +<P> +Neither spoke to him one word, and a strange pathos came into his voice. +</P> + +<P> +"I committed one act of deceit in my life," continued Lord Earle; "it +drove me from home, and it made me an exile during the best years of my +life. It matters little what it was—you will never know; but it has +made me merciless to all deceit. I will never spare it; it has made me +harsh and bitter. You will both find in me the truest, the best of +friends; if in everything you are straightforward and honorable; but, +children, dearly as I love you, I will never pardon a lie or an act of +deceit." +</P> + +<P> +"I never told a lie in my life," said Lillian, proudly. "My mother +taught us to love the truth." +</P> + +<P> +"And you, my Beatrice?" he asked, gently as he turned to the beautiful +face half averted from him. +</P> + +<P> +"I can say with my sister," was the haughty reply, "I have never told a +lie." +</P> + +<P> +Even as she spoke her lips grew pale with fear, as she remembered the +fatal secret of her engagement to Hugh Fernely. +</P> + +<P> +"I believe it," replied Lord Earle. "I can read truth in each face. +Now tell me—have no fear—have you any secret in that past life? +Remember, no matter what you may have done, I shall freely pardon it. +If you should be in any trouble or difficulty, as young people are at +times, I will help you. I will do anything for you, if you will trust +me." +</P> + +<P> +And again Lillian raised her sweet face to his. +</P> + +<P> +"I have no secret," she said, simply. "I do not think I know a secret, +or anything like one. My past life is an open book, papa, and you can +read every page in it." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank Heaven!" said Lord Earle, as he placed his hand caressingly upon +the fair head. +</P> + +<P> +It was strange, and he remembered the omission afterward, that he did +not repeat the question to Beatrice—he seemed to consider that +Lillian's answer included her. He did not know her heart was beating +high with fear. +</P> + +<P> +"I know," he continued, gently, "that some young girls have their +little love secrets. You tell me you have none. I believe you. I have +but one word more to say. You will be out in the great world soon, and +you will doubtless both have plenty of admirers. Then will come the +time of trial and temptation; remember my words—there is no curse so +great as a clandestine love, no error so great or degrading. One of +our race was so cursed, and his punishment was great. No matter whom +you love and who loves you, let all be fair, honorable, and open as the +day. Trust me, do not deceive me. Let me in justice say I will never +oppose any reasonable marriage, but I will never pardon a clandestine +attachment. +</P> + +<P> +"However dearly I might love the one who so transgressed," continued +Lord Earle, "even if it broke my heart to part from her, I should send +her from me at once; she should never more be a child of mine. Do not +think me harsh or unkind; I have weighty reasons for every word I have +uttered. I am half ashamed to speak of such things to you, but it must +be done. You are smiling, Lillian, what is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I should laugh, papa," she replied, "if you did not look so very +grave. We must see people in order to love them. Beatrice, how many +do we know in the world? Farmer Leigh, the doctor at Seabay, Doctor +Goode, who came to the Elms when mamma was ill, two farm laborers, and +the shepherd—that was the extent of our acquaintance until we came to +Earlescourt. I may now add Sir Henry Holt and Prince Borgesi to my +list. You forget, papa, we have lived out of the world." +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle remembered with pleasure that it was true. "You will soon +be in the midst of a new world," he said, "and before you enter society +I thought it better to give you this warning. I place no control over +your affections; the only thing I forbid, detest, and will never +pardon, is any underhand, clandestine love affair. You know not what +they would cost." +</P> + +<P> +He remembered afterward how strangely silent Beatrice was, and how her +beautiful, proud face was turned from him. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a disagreeable subject," said Lord Earle, "and I am pleased to +have finished with it—it need never be renewed. Now I have one more +thing to say—I shall never control or force your affections, but in my +heart there is one great wish." +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle paused for a few minutes; he was looking at the face of Lady +Alicia Earle, whom Beatrice strongly resembled. +</P> + +<P> +"I have no son," he continued, "and you, my daughters, will not inherit +title or estate—both go to Lionel Dacre. If ever the time should come +when Lionel asks either of you to be his wife, my dearest wish will be +accomplished. And now, as my long lecture is finished, and the bell +has rung, we will prepare for a visit to Sir Harry and Lady Laurence." +</P> + +<P> +There was not much time for thought during the rest of the day; but +when night came, and Beatrice was alone, she looked the secret of her +life in the face. +</P> + +<P> +She had been strongly tempted, when Lord Earle had spoken so kindly, to +tell him all. She now wished she had done so; all would have been +over. He would perhaps have chided her simple, girlish folly, and have +forgiven her. He would never forgive her now that she had deliberately +concealed the fact; the time for forgiveness was past. A few words, +and all might have been told; it was too late now to utter them. Proud +of her and fond of her as she saw Lord Earle was, there would be no +indulgence for her if her secret was discovered. +</P> + +<P> +She would have to leave the magnificent and luxurious home, the +splendor that delighted her, the glorious prospects opening to her, and +return to the Elms, perhaps never to leave it again. Ah, no! The +secret must be kept! She did not feel much alarmed; many things might +happen. Perhaps the "Seagull" might be lost she thought, without pain +or sorrow, of the possible death of the man who loved her as few love. +</P> + +<P> +Even if he returned, he might have forgotten her or never find her. +She did not feel very unhappy or ill at ease—the chances, she thought, +were many in her favor. She had but one thing to do to keep all +knowledge of her secret from Lord Earle. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap23"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XXIII +</H3> + +<P> +As time passed on all constraint between Lord Earle and his daughters +wore away; Ronald even wondered himself at the force of his own love +for them. He had made many improvements since his return. He did +wonders upon the estate; model cottages seemed to rise by magic in +place of the wretched tenements inhabited by poor tenants; schools, +almshouses, churches, all testified to his zeal for improvement. +People began to speak with warm admiration of the Earlescourt estate +and of their master. +</P> + +<P> +Nor did he neglect social duties; old friends were invited to +Earlescourt; neighbors were hospitably entertained. His name was +mentioned with respect and esteem; the tide of popularity turned in his +favor. As the spring drew near, Lord Earle became anxious for his +daughters to make their debut in the great world. They could have no +better chaperone than his own mother. Lady Helena was speaking to him +one morning of their proposed journey, when Lord Earle suddenly +interrupted her. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother," he said, "where are all your jewels? I never see you wearing +any." +</P> + +<P> +"I put them all away," said Lady Earle, "when your father died. I shall +never wear them again. The Earle jewels are always worn by the wife of +the reigning lord, not by the widow of his predecessor. Those jewels +are not mine." +</P> + +<P> +"Shall we look them over?" asked Ronald. "Some of them might be reset +for Beatrice and Lillian." +</P> + +<P> +Lady Helena rang for her maid, and the heavy cases of jewelry were +brought down. Beatrice was in raptures with them, and her sister +smiled at her admiration. +</P> + +<P> +The jewels might have sufficed for a king's ransom; the diamonds were +of the first water; the rubies flashed crimson; delicate pearls gleamed +palely upon their velvet beds; there were emeralds of priceless value. +One of the most beautiful and costly jewels was an entire suite of +opals intermixed with small diamonds. +</P> + +<P> +"These," said Lord Earle, raising the precious stones in his hands, +"are of immense value. Some of the finest opals ever seen are in this +necklace; they were taken from the crown of an Indian price and +bequeathed to one of our ancestors. So much is said about the unlucky +stone—the pierre du malheur, as the French call the opal—that I did +not care so much for them." +</P> + +<P> +"Give me the opals, papa," said Beatrice, laughing; "I have no +superstitious fears about them. Bright and beautiful jewels always +seemed to me one of the necessaries of life. I prefer diamonds, but +these opals are magnificent." +</P> + +<P> +She held out her hands, and for the first time Lord Earle saw the opal +ring upon her finger. He caught the pretty white hand in his own. +</P> + +<P> +"That is a beautiful ring," he said. "These opals are splendid. Who +gave it to you, Beatrice?" +</P> + +<P> +The question came upon her suddenly like a deadly shock; she had +forgotten all about the ring, and wore it only from habit. +</P> + +<P> +For a moment her heart seemed to stand still and her senses to desert +her. Then with a self-possession worthy of a better cause, Beatrice +looked up into her father's face with a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"It was given to me at the Elms," she said, so simply that the same +thought crossed the minds of her three listeners—that it had been +given by Dora and her daughter did not like to say so. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle looked on in proud delight while his beautiful daughters +chose the jewels they liked best. The difference in taste struck and +amused him. Beatrice chose diamonds, fiery rubies, purple amethysts; +Lillian cared for nothing but the pretty pale pearls and bright +emeralds. +</P> + +<P> +"Some of those settings are very old-fashioned," said Lord Earle. "We +will have new designs from Hunt and Boskell. They must be reset before +you go to London." +</P> + +<P> +The first thing Beatrice did was to take off the opal ring and lock it +away. She trembled still from the shock of her father's question. The +fatal secret vexed her. How foolish she had been to risk so much for a +few stolen hours of happiness—for praise and flattery—she could not +say for love. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +The time so anxiously looked for came at last. Lord Earle took +possession of his town mansion, and his daughters prepared for their +debut. It was in every respect a successful one. People were in +raptures with the beautiful sisters, both so charming yet so unlike. +Beatrice, brilliant and glowing, her magnificent face haunted those who +saw it like a beautiful dream—Lillian, fair and graceful, as unlike +her sister as a lily to a rose. +</P> + +<P> +They soon became the fashion. No ball or soiree, no dance or concert +was considered complete without them. Artists sketched them together as +"Lily and Rose," "Night and Morning," "Sunlight and Moonlight." Poets +indited sonnets to them; friends and admirers thronged around them. As +Beatrice said, with a deep-drawn sigh of perfect contentment, "This is +life"—and she reveled in it. +</P> + +<P> +That same year the Earl of Airlie attained his majority, and became the +center of all fashionable interest. Whether he would marry and whom he +would be likely to marry were two questions that interested every +mother and daughter in Belgravia. There had not been such an eligible +parti for many years. The savings of a long minority alone amounted to +a splendid fortune. +</P> + +<P> +The young earl had vast estates in Scotland. Lynnton Hall and Craig +Castle, two of the finest seats in England, were his. His mansion in +Belgravia was the envy of all who saw it. +</P> + +<P> +Young, almost fabulously wealthy, singularly generous and amiable, the +young Earl of Airlie was the center of at least half a hundred of +matrimonial plots; but he was not easily managed. Mammas with blooming +daughters found him a difficult subject. He laughed, talked, danced, +walked, and rode, as society wished him to do; but no one had touched +his heart, or even his fancy. Lord Airlie was heart-whole, and there +seemed no prospect of his ever being anything else. Lady Constance +Tachbrook, the prettiest, daintiest coquette in London, brought all her +artillery of fascination into play, but without success. The beautiful +brunette, Flora Cranbourne, had laid a wager that, in the course of two +waltzes, she would extract three compliments from him, but she failed +in the attempt. Lord Airlie was pronounced incorrigible. +</P> + +<P> +The fact was that his lordship had been sensibly brought up. He +intended to marry when he could find some one to love him for himself, +and not for his fortune. This ideal of all that was beautiful, noble, +and true in woman the earl was always searching for, but as yet had not +found. +</P> + +<P> +On all sides he had heard of the beauty of Lord Earle's daughters, but +it did not interest him. He had been hearing of, seeing, and feeling +disappointed in beautiful women for some years. Many people made the +point of meeting the "new beauties," but he gave himself no particular +trouble. They were like every one else, he supposed. +</P> + +<P> +One morning, having nothing else to do, Lord Airlie went to a fete +given in the beautiful grounds of Lady Downham. He went early, +intending to remain only a short time. He found but a few guests had +arrived. After paying the proper amount of homage to Lady Downham, the +young earl wandered off into the grounds. +</P> + +<P> +It was all very pretty and pleasant, but he had seen the same before, +and was rather tired of it. The day was more Italian than English, +bright and sunny, the sky blue, the air clear and filled with +fragrance, the birds singing as they do sing under bright, warm skies. +</P> + +<P> +Flags were flying from numerous tents, bands of music were stationed in +different parts of the grounds, the fountains played merrily in the +sunlit air. Lord Airlie walked mechanically on, bowing in reply to the +salutations he received. +</P> + +<P> +A pretty little bower, a perfect thicket of roses, caught his +attention. From it one could see all over the lake, with its gay +pleasure boats. Lord Airlie sat down, believing himself to be quite +alone; but before he had removed a large bough that interfered with the +full perfection of the view he heard voices on the other side of the +thick, sheltering rose bower. +</P> + +<P> +He listened involuntarily, for one of the voices was clear and pure, +the other more richly musical than any he had ever heard at times sweet +as the murmur of the cushat dove, and again ringing joyously and +brightly. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope we shall not have to wait here long, Lillian," the blithe voice +was saying. "Lady Helena promised to take us on the lake." +</P> + +<P> +"It is very pleasant," was the reply; "but you always like to be in the +very center of gayety." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Beatrice; "I have had enough solitude and quiet to last me +for life. Ah, Lillian, this is all delightful. You think so, but do +not admit it honestly as I do." +</P> + +<P> +There was a faint, musical laugh, and then the sweet voice resumed: +</P> + +<P> +"I am charmed, Lillian, with this London life; this is worth calling +life—every moment is a golden one. If there is a drawback, it +consists in not being able to speak one's mind." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean?" asked Lillian. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you not understand?" was the reply. "Lady Helena is always talking +to me about cultivating what she calls 'elegant repose.' Poor, dear +grandmamma! Her perfect idea of good manners seems to me to be a +simple absence—in society, at least—of all emotion and all feeling. +I, for one, do not admire the nil admirari system." +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure Lady Helena admires you, Bee," said her sister. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," was the careless reply. "Only imagine, Lillian, yesterday, when +Lady Cairn told me some story about a favorite young friend of hers the +tears came to my eyes. I could not help it, although the drawing room +was full. Lady Helena told me I should repress all outward emotion. +Soon after, when Lord Dolchester told me a ridiculous story about Lady +Everton, I laughed—heartily, I must confess, though not loudly—and +she looked at me. I shall never accomplish 'elegant repose.'" +</P> + +<P> +"You would not be half so charming if you did," replied her sister. +</P> + +<P> +"Then it is so tempting to say at times what one really thinks! I can +not resist it. When Lady Everton tells me, with that tiresome simper +of hers, that she really wonders at herself, I long to tell her other +people do the same thing. I should enjoy, for once, the luxury of +telling Mrs. St. John that people flatter her, and then laugh at her +affectation. It is a luxury to speak the truth at all times, is it +not, Lily? I detest everything false, even a false word; therefore I +fear Lady Helena will never quite approve of my manner." +</P> + +<P> +"You are so frank and fearless! At the Elms, do you remember how every +one seemed to feel that you would say just the right thing at the right +time?" asked Lillian. +</P> + +<P> +"Do not mention that place," replied Beatrice; "this life is so +different. I like it so much, Lily—all the brightness and gayety. I +feel good and contented now. I was always restless and longing for +life; now I have all I wish for." +</P> + +<P> +There was a pause then, and Lord Airlie longed to see who the speakers +were—who the girl was that spoke such frank, bright words—that loved +truth, and hated all things false—what kind of face accompanied that +voice. Suddenly the young earl remembered that he was listening, and +he started in horror from his seat. He pushed aside the clustering +roses. At first he saw nothing but the golden blossoms of a drooping +laburnum; then, a little further on, he saw a fair head bending over +some fragrant flowers; then a face so beautiful, so perfect, that +something like a cry of surprise came from Lord Airlie's lips. +</P> + +<P> +He had seen many beauties, but nothing like this queenly young girl. +Her dark, bright eyes were full of fire and light; the long lashes +swept her cheek, the proud, beautiful lips, so haughty in repose, so +sweet when smiling, were perfect in shape. From the noble brow a waving +mass of dark hair rippled over a white neck and shapely shoulders. It +was a face to think and dream of, peerless in its vivid, exquisite +coloring and charmingly molded features. He hardly noticed the +fair-haired girl. +</P> + +<P> +"Who can she be?" thought Lord Airlie. "I believed that I had seen +every beautiful woman in London." +</P> + +<P> +Satisfied with having seen what kind of face accompanied the voice, the +young earl left the pretty rose thicket. His friends must have thought +him slightly deranged. He went about asking every one, "Who is here +today?" Among others, he saluted Lord Dolchester with that question. +</P> + +<P> +"I can scarcely tell you," replied his lordship. "I am somewhat in a +puzzle. If you want to know who is the queen of the fete, I can tell +you. It is Lord Earle's daughter, Miss Beatrice Earle. She is over +there, see with Lady Downham." +</P> + +<P> +Looking in the direction indicated, Lord Airlee saw the face that +haunted him. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Lord Dolchester, with a gay laugh; "and if I were young and +unfettered, she would not be Miss Earle much longer." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap24"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XXIV +</H3> + +<P> +Lord Airlie gazed long and earnestly at the beautiful girl who looked +so utterly unconscious of the admiration she excited. +</P> + +<P> +"I must ask Lady Downham to introduce me," he said to himself, +wondering whether the proud face would smile upon him, and, if she +carried into practice her favorite theory of saying what she thought, +what she would say to him. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Downham smiled when the young earl made his request. +</P> + +<P> +"I have been besieged by gentlemen requesting introductions to Miss +Earle," she said. "Contrary to your general rule, Lord Airlie, you go +with the crowd." +</P> + +<P> +He would have gone anywhere for one word from those perfect lips. Lady +Downham led him to the spot where Beatrice stood, and in a few +courteous words introduced him to her. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Airlie was celebrated for his amiable, pleasing manner. He always +knew what to say and how to say it, but when those magnificent eyes +looked into his own, the young earl stood silent and abashed. In vain +he tried confusedly to utter a few words; his face flushed, and +Beatrice looked at him in wonder.—Could this man gazing so ardently at +her be the impenetrable Lord Airlie? +</P> + +<P> +He managed at length to say something about the beauty of the grounds +and the brightness of the day. Plainly as eyes could speak, hers +asked: Had he nothing to say? +</P> + +<P> +He lingered by her side, charmed and fascinated by her grace; she +talked to Lillian and to Lady Helena; she received the homage offered +to her so unconscious of his presence and his regard that Lord Airlie +was piqued. He was not accustomed to being overlooked. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you never grow tired of flowers and fetes, Miss Earle?" he asked at +length. +</P> + +<P> +"No," replied Beatrice, "I could never grow tired of flowers—who +could? As for fetes, I have seen few, and have liked each one better +than the last." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps your life has not been, like mine, spent among them," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"I have lived among flowers," she replied, "but not among fetes; they +have all the charm of novelty for me." +</P> + +<P> +"I should like to enjoy them as you do," he said. "I wish you would +teach me, Miss Earle." +</P> + +<P> +She laughed gayly, and the sound of that laugh, like a sweet, silvery +chime, charmed Lord Airlie still more. +</P> + +<P> +He found out the prettiest pleasure boat, and persuaded Beatrice to let +him row her across the lake. He gathered a beautiful water lily for +her. When they landed, he found out a seat in the prettiest spot and +placed her there. +</P> + +<P> +Her simple, gay manner delighted him. He had never met any one like +her. She did not blush, or look conscious, or receive his attentions +with the half-fluttered sentimental air common to most young ladies of +his acquaintance. +</P> + +<P> +She never appeared to remember that he was Lord Airlie, nor sought by +any artifice to keep him near her. The bright, sunny hours seemed to +pass rapidly as a dream. Long before the day ended, the young earl +said to himself that he had met his fate; that if it took years to win +her he would count them well spent that in all the wide world she was +the wife for him. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle was somewhat amused by the solicitude the young nobleman +showed in making his acquaintance and consulting his tastes. After +Lady Downham's fete he called regularly at the house. Lady Helena +liked him, but could hardly decide which of her grandchildren it was +that attracted him. +</P> + +<P> +The fastidious young earl, who had smiled at the idea of love and had +disappointed half the fashionable mothers in Belgravia, found himself a +victim at last. +</P> + +<P> +He was diffident of his own powers, hardly daring to hope that he +should succeed in winning the most beautiful and gifted girl in London. +He was timid in her presence, and took refuge with Lillian. +</P> + +<P> +All fashionable London was taken by surprise when Lord Airlie threw +open his magnificent house, and, under the gracious auspices of his +aunt, Lady Lecomte, issued invitations for a grand ball. +</P> + +<P> +Many were the conjectures, and great was the excitement. Lord Earle +smiled as he showed Lady Helena the cards of invitation. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course you will go," he said. "We have no engagement for that day. +See that the girls look their best, mother." +</P> + +<P> +He felt very proud of his daughters—Lillian, looking so fair and sweet +in her white silk dress and favorite pearls! Beatrice, like a queen, +in a cloud of white lace, with coquettish dashes of crimson. The Earle +diamonds shone in her dark hair, clasped the fair white throat, and +encircled the beautiful arms. A magnificent pomegranate blossom lay in +the bodice of her dress, and she carried a bouquet of white lilies +mixed with scarlet verbena. +</P> + +<P> +The excitement as to the ball had been great. It seemed like a step in +the right direction at last. The great question was, with whom would +Lord Airlie open the ball? Every girl was on the qui vive. +</P> + +<P> +The question was soon decided. When Beatrice Earle entered the room, +Lord Airlie went straight to meet her and solicited her hand for the +first dance. She did not know how much was meant by that one action. +</P> + +<P> +He wondered, as he looked upon her, the queen of the most brilliant +ball of the season, whether she would ever love him if it was within +the bounds of possibility that she should ever care for him. That +evening, for the first time, he touched the proud heart of Beatrice +Earle. On all sides she had heard nothing but praises of Lord Airlie +his wealth, his talents, his handsome person and chivalrous manner. +The ladies were eloquent in praise of their young host. She looked at +him, and for the first time remarked the noble, dignified carriage, the +tall, erect figure, the clear-cut patrician face—not handsome +according to the rules of beauty, but from the truth and honor written +there in nature's plainest hand. +</P> + +<P> +Then she saw—and it struck her with surprise how Lord Airlie, so +courted and run after, sought her out. She saw smiles on friendly +faces, and heard her name mingled with his. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Miss Earle," said Lady Everton, "you have accomplished +wonders—conquered the unconquerable. I believe every eligible young +lady in London has smiled upon Lord Airlie, and all in vain. What +charm have you used to bring him to your feet?" +</P> + +<P> +"I did not know that he was at my feet," replied Beatrice. "You like +figurative language, Lady Everton." +</P> + +<P> +"You will find I am right," returned lady Everton. "Remember I was the +first to congratulate you." +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice wondered, in a sweet, vague way, if there could be anything in +it. She looked again at Lord Airlie. Surely any one might be proud of +the love of such a man. He caught her glance, and her face flushed. +In a moment he was by her side. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Earle," he said, eagerly, "you told me the other day you liked +flowers. If you have not been in the conservatory, may I escort you +there?" +</P> + +<P> +She silently accepted his arm, and they went through the magnificent +suite of rooms into the cool, fragrant conservatory. +</P> + +<P> +The pretty fountain in the midst rippled musically, and the lamps +gleamed like pale stars among masses of gorgeous color. +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice was almost bewildered by the profusion of beautiful plants. +Tier upon tier of superb flowers rose until the eye was dazzled by the +varied hues and brightness—delicate white heaths of rare perfection, +flaming azaleas, fuchsias that looked like showers of purple-red wine. +The plant that charmed Beatrice most was one from far-off Indian +climes—delicate, perfumed blossoms, hanging like golden bells from +thick, sheltering green leaves. Miss Earle stood before it, silent in +sheer admiration. +</P> + +<P> +"You like that flower?" said Lord Airlie. +</P> + +<P> +"It is one of the prettiest I ever saw," she replied. +</P> + +<P> +In a moment he gathered the fairest sprays from the precious tree. She +cried out in dismay at the destruction. +</P> + +<P> +"Nay," said Lord Airlie, "if every flower here could be compressed into +one blossom, it would hardly be a fitting offering to you." +</P> + +<P> +She smiled at the very French compliment, and he continued—"I shall +always have a great affection for that tree." +</P> + +<P> +"Why?" she asked, unconsciously. +</P> + +<P> +"Because it has pleased you," he replied. +</P> + +<P> +They stood by the pretty plant, Beatrice touching the golden bells +softly with her fingers. Something of the magic of the scene touched +her. She did not know why the fountain rippled so musically, why the +flowers seemed doubly fair as her young lover talked to her. She had +been loved. She had heard much of love, but she herself had never +known what it really meant. She did not know why, after a time, her +proud, bright eyes drooped, and had never met Lord Airlie's gaze, why +her face flushed and grew pale, why his words woke a new, strange, +beautiful music in her heart—music that never died until— +</P> + +<P> +"I ask for one spray—only one—to keep in memory of this pleasant +hour," said Lord Airlie, after a pause. +</P> + +<P> +She gave him a spray of the delicate golden bells. +</P> + +<P> +"I should like to be curious and rude," he said, "and ask if you ever +gave any one a flower before?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," she replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I shall prize this doubly," he assured her. +</P> + +<P> +That evening Lord Airlie placed the golden blossom carefully away. The +time came when he would have parted with any treasure on earth rather +than that. +</P> + +<P> +But his question had suddenly disturbed Beatrice. For a moment her +thoughts flew to the sea shore at Knutsford. The present faded from +her; she saw Hugh Fernely's face as it looked when he offered her the +beautiful lily. The very remembrance of it made her shudder as though +seized with deathly cold—and Lord Airlie saw it. +</P> + +<P> +"You are cold," he said; "how careless I am to keep you standing here!" +He helped her to draw the costly lace shawl around her shoulders, and +Beatrice was quickly herself again, and they returned to the ball room; +but Lord Airlie lingered by Miss Earle. +</P> + +<P> +"You have enjoyed the ball, Beatrice," said Lord Earle, as he bade his +daughters good night. +</P> + +<P> +"I have, indeed, papa," she replied. "This has been the happiest +evening of my life." +</P> + +<P> +"I can guess why," thought Lord Earle, as he kissed the bright face +upraised to him; "there will be no wretched underhand love business +there." +</P> + +<P> +He was not much surprised on the day following when Lord Airlie was the +first morning caller, and the last to leave, not going until Lady +Helena told him that they should all be at the opera that evening and +should perhaps see him there. He regretted that he had promised Lady +Morton his box for the night, when Lady Earle felt herself bound to ask +him to join them in theirs. +</P> + +<P> +All night Beatrice had dreamed of the true, noble face which began to +haunt her. She, usually so regardless of all flattery, remembered +every word Lord Airlie had spoken. Could it be true, as Lady Everton +had said, that he cared for her? +</P> + +<P> +Her lover would have been spared many anxious hours could he have seen +how the golden blossoms were tended and cared for. Long afterward they +were found with the little treasures which young girls guard so +carefully. +</P> + +<P> +When Lord Airlie had taken his departure and Lord Earle found himself +alone with his mother, he turned to her with the happiest look she had +ever seen upon his face. +</P> + +<P> +"That seems to me a settled affair," he said. "Beatrice will make a +grand countess—Lady Airlie of Lynnton. He is the finest young fellow +and the best match in England. Ah, mother, my folly might have been +punished more severely. There will no mesalliance there." +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Lady Earle, "I have no fears for Beatrice; she is too proud +ever to do wrong." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap25"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XXV +</H3> + +<P> +It was a pretty love story, although told in crowded London ball rooms +instead of under the shade of green trees. Beatrice Earle began by +wondering if Lord Airlie cared for her; she ended by loving him herself. +</P> + +<P> +It was no child's play this time. With Beatrice, to love once was to +love forever, with fervor and intensity which cold and worldly natures +can not even understand. +</P> + +<P> +The time came when Lord Airlie stood out distinct from all the world, +when the sound of his name was like music, when she saw no other face, +heard no other voice, thought of nothing else save him. He began to +think there might be some hope for him; the proud, beautiful face +softened and brightened for him as it did for no other, and the +glorious dark eyes never met his own, the frank, bright words died away +in his presence. Seeing all these things, Lord Airlie felt some little +hope. +</P> + +<P> +For the first time he felt proud and pleased with the noble fortune and +high rank that were his by birthright. He had not cared much for them +before; now he rejoiced that he could lavish wealth and luxury upon one +so fair and worthy as Beatrice Earle. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Airlie was not a confident lover. There were times when he felt +uncertain as to whether he should succeed. Perhaps true and +reverential love is always timid. Lord Earle had smiled to himself +many long weeks at the "pretty play" enacted before him, and Lady +Helena had wondered when the young man would "speak out" long before +Lord Airlie himself presumed to think that the fairest and proudest +girl in London would accept him. +</P> + +<P> +No day ever passed during which he did not manage to see her. He was +indefatigable in finding out the balls, soirees, and operas she would +attend. He was her constant shadow, never happy out of her sight, +thinking of her all day, dreaming of her all night, yet half afraid to +risk all and ask her to be his wife, lest he should lose her. +</P> + +<P> +To uninterested speculators Lord Airlie was a handsome, kindly, +honorable young man. Intellectual, somewhat fastidious, lavishly +generous, a great patron of fine arts; to Beatrice Earle he was the +ideal of all that was noble and to be admired. He was a prince among +men. The proud heart was conquered. She loved him and said to herself +that she would rather love him as a neglected wife than be the +worshiped wife of any other man. +</P> + +<P> +She had many admirers; "the beautiful Miss Earle" was the belle of the +season. Had she been inclined to coquetry or flirtation she would not +have been so eagerly sought after. The gentlemen were quite as much +charmed by her utter indifference and haughty acceptance of their +homage as by her marvelous beauty. +</P> + +<P> +At times Beatrice felt sure that Lord Airlie loved her; then a sudden +fit of timidity would seize her young lover, and again she would doubt +it. One thing she never doubted—her own love for him. If her dreams +were all false, and he never asked her to be his wife, she said to +herself that she would never be the wife of any other man. +</P> + +<P> +The remembrance of Hugh Fernely crossed her mind at times—not very +often, and never with any great fear or apprehension. It seemed to her +more like a dark, disagreeable dream than a reality. Could it be +possible that she, Beatrice Earle, the daughter of that proud, noble +father, so sternly truthful, so honorable, could ever have been so mad +or so foolish? The very remembrance of it made the beautiful face +flush crimson. She could not endure the thought, and always drove it +hastily from her. +</P> + +<P> +The fifteenth of July was drawing near; the two years had nearly +passed, yet she was not afraid. He might never return, he might forget +her, although, remembering his looks and words, that, she feared, could +not be. +</P> + +<P> +If he went to Seabay—if he went to the Elms, it was not probable that +he would ever discover her whereabouts, or follow her to claim the +fulfillment of her absurd promise. At the very worst, if he discovered +that she was Lord Earle's daughter, she believed that her rank and +position would dazzle and frighten him. Rarely as those thoughts came +to her, and speedily as she thrust them from her, she considered them a +dear price for the little novelty and excitement that had broken the +dead level calm of life at the Elms. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Airlie, debating within himself whether he should risk, during the +whirl and turmoil of the London season, the question upon which the +happiness of his life depended, decided that he would wait until Lord +Earle returned to Earlescourt, and follow him there. +</P> + +<P> +The summer began to grow warm; the hawthorn and apple blossoms had all +died away; the corn waved in the fields, ripe and golden; the hay was +all gathered in; the orchards were all filled with fruit. The +fifteenth of July—the day that in her heart Beatrice Earle had half +feared—was past and gone. She had been nervous and half frightened +when it came, starting and turning deathly pale at the sound of the +bell or of rapid footsteps. She laughed at herself when the day ended. +How was it likely he would find her? What was there in common between +the beautiful daughter of Lord Earle and Hugh Fernely, the captain of a +trading vessel? Nothing, save folly and a foolish promise rashly asked +and rashly given. +</P> + +<P> +Three days before Lord Earle left London, he went by appointment to +meet some friends at Brookes's. While there, a gentleman entered the +room who attracted his attention, most forcibly—a young man of tall +and stately figure, with a noble head, magnificently set upon broad +shoulders; a fine, manly face, with proud, mobile features—at times +all fire and light, the eyes clear and glowing, again, gentle as the +face of a smiling woman. Lord Earle looked at him attentively; there +seemed to be something familiar in the outline of the head and face, +the haughty yet graceful carriage. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is that?" he inquired of his friend, Captain Langdon. "I have seen +that gentleman before, or have dreamed of him." +</P> + +<P> +"Is it possible that you do not know him?" cried the captain. "That is +Lionel Dacre, 'your next of kin,' if I am not mistaken." +</P> + +<P> +Pleasure and pain struggled in Lord Earle's heart. He remembered +Lionel many years ago, long before he committed the foolish act that +had cost him so much. Lionel had spent some time with him at +Earlescourt; he remembered a handsome and high-spirited boy, proud and +impetuous, brave to rashness, generous to a fault; a fierce hater of +everything mean and underhand; truthful and honorable—his greatest +failing, want of cool, calm thought. +</P> + +<P> +Lionel Dacre was poor in those days; now he was heir to Earlescourt, +heir to the title that, with all his strange political notions, Ronald +Earle ever held in high honor; heir to the grand old mansion and fair +domain his father had prized so highly. Pleasure and pain were +strangely intermingled in his heart when he remembered that no son of +his would every succeed him, that he should never train his successor. +The handsome boy that had grown into so fine a man must take his place +one day. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle crossed the room, and going up to the young man, laid one +hand gently upon his shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Lionel," he said, "it is many years since we met. Have you no +remembrance of me?" +</P> + +<P> +The frank, clear eyes looked straight into his. Lord Earle's heart +warmed as he gazed at the honest, handsome face. +</P> + +<P> +"Not the least in the world," replied Mr. Dacre, slowly. "I do not +remember ever to have seen you before." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I must have changed," said Lord Earle. "When I saw you last, +Lionel, you were not much more than twelve years old, and I gave you a +'tip' the day you went back to Eton. Charlie Villiers was with you." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you are Lord Earle," returned Lionel. "I came to London purposely +to see you," and his frank face flushed, and he held out his hand in +greeting. +</P> + +<P> +"I have been anxious to see you," said Lord Earle; "but I have not been +long in England. We must be better acquainted; you are my heir at law." +</P> + +<P> +"Your what?" said Mr. Dacre, wonderingly. +</P> + +<P> +"My heir," replied Lord Earle. "I have no son; my estates are +entailed, and you are my next of kin." +</P> + +<P> +"I thought you had half a dozen heirs and heiresses," said Lionel. "I +remember some story of a romantic marriage. Today I hear of nothing +but the beautiful Miss Earle." +</P> + +<P> +"I have no son," interrupted Lord Earle, sadly. "I wrote to you last +week, asking you to visit me. Have you any settled home?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," replied the young man gayly. "My mother is at Cowes, and I have +been staying with her." +</P> + +<P> +"Where are you now?" asked Lord Earle. +</P> + +<P> +"I am with Captain Poyntz, at his chambers; I promised to spend some +days with him," replied Lionel, who began to look slightly bewildered. +</P> + +<P> +"I must not ask you to break an engagement," said Lord Earle, "but will +you dine with us this evening, and, when you leave Captain Poyntz, come +to us?" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall be very pleased," said Lionel, and the two gentlemen left +Brookes's together. +</P> + +<P> +"I must introduce you to Lady Earle and my daughters," said Ronald, as +they walked along. "I have been so long absent from home and friends +that it seems strange to claim relationship with any one." +</P> + +<P> +"I could never understand your fancy for broiling in Africa, when you +might have been happier at home," said Lionel. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you not know? Have you not heard why I went abroad?" asked Lord +Earle, gravely. +</P> + +<P> +"No," replied Lionel. "Your father never invited me to Earlescourt +after you left." +</P> + +<P> +In a few words Lord Earle told his heir that he had married against his +father's wish, and in consequence had never been pardoned. +</P> + +<P> +"And you gave up everything," said Lionel Dacre—"home, friends, and +position, for the love of a woman. She must have been well worth +loving." +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle grew pale, as with sudden pain. Had Dora been so well worth +loving? Had she been worth the heavy price? +</P> + +<P> +"You are my heir," he said gravely—"one of my own race; before you +enter our circle, Lionel, and take your place there, I must tell you +that my wife and I parted years ago, never to meet again. Do not +mention her to me—it pains me." +</P> + +<P> +Lionel looked at the sad face; he could understand the shadows there +now. +</P> + +<P> +"I will not," he said. "She must have been—" +</P> + +<P> +"Not one word more," interrupted Lord Earle. "In your thoughts lay no +unjust blame on her. She left me of her own free will. My mother lives +with me; she will be pleased to see you. Remember—seven sharp." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall not forget," said Lionel, pained at the sad words and the sad +voice. +</P> + +<P> +As Lord Earle went home for the first time during the long years, a +softer and more gentle thought of Dora came to him. "She must have +been—" What—what did Lionel suspect of her? Could it be that, +seeing their divided lives, people judged as his young kinsman had +judged—that they thought Dora to blame—criminal, perhaps? And she +had never in her whole life given one thought to any other than +himself; nay, her very errors—the deed he could not pardon—sprung +from her great affection for him. Poor Dora! The pretty, blushing +face, with its sweet, shy eyes, and rosy lips, came before him—the +artless, girlish love, the tender worship. If it had been anything +else, any other fault, Ronald must have forgiven her in that hour. But +his whole heart recoiled again as the hated scene rose before him. +</P> + +<P> +"No," he said, "I can not forgive it. I can not forget it. Men shall +respect Dora; no one must misjudge her; but I can not take her to my +heart or my home again. In the hour of death," he murmured, "I will +forgive her." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap26"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XXVI +</H3> + +<P> +Lady Earle thought her son looked graver and sadder that day than she +had ever seen him. She had not the clew to his reflections; she did +not know how he was haunted by the thought of the handsome, gallant +young man who must be his heir—how he regretted that no son of his +would ever succeed him—how proud he would have been of a son like +Lionel. He had but two children, and they must some day leave +Earlescourt for homes of their own. The grand old house, the fair +domain, must all pass into the hands of strangers unless Lionel married +one of the beautiful girls he loved so dearly. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Helena understood a little of what was passing in his mind when he +told her that he had met Lionel Dacre, who was coming to dine with him +that day. +</P> + +<P> +"I used to hope Beatrice might like him," said Lady Earle; "but that +will never be—Lord Airlie has been too quick. I hope he will not fall +in love with her; it would only end in disappointment." +</P> + +<P> +"He may like Lillian," said Lord Earle. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," assented Lady Helena. "Sweet Lily—she seems almost too pure +and fair for this dull earth of ours." +</P> + +<P> +"If they both marry, mother," said Ronald, sadly, "we shall be quite +alone." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she returned, "quite alone," and the words smote her with pain. +She looked at the handsome face, with its sad, worn expression. Was +life indeed all over for her son—at the age, too, when other men +sunned themselves in happiness, when a loving wife should have graced +his home, cheered and consoled him, shared his sorrows, crowned his +life with love? In the midst of his wealth and prosperity, how lonely +he was! Could it be possible that one act of disobedience should have +entailed such sad consequences? Ah, if years ago Ronald had listened +to reason, to wise and tender counsel—if he had but given up Dora and +married Valentine Charteris, how different his life would have been, +how replete with blessings and happiness, how free from care! +</P> + +<P> +Lady Earle's eyes grew dim with tears as these thoughts passed through +her mind. She went up to him and laid her hand upon his shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"Ronald," she said, "I will do my best to make home happy after our +bonny birds are caged. For your sake, I wish things had been +different." +</P> + +<P> +"Hush, mother," he replied gently. "Words are all useless. I must +reap as I have sown; the fruits of disobedience and deceit could never +beget happiness. I shall always believe that evil deeds bring their +own punishment. Do not pity me—it unnerves me. I can bear my fate." +</P> + +<P> +Lady Helena was pleased to see Lionel again. She had always liked him, +and rejoiced now in his glorious manhood. He stood before the two +sisters, half dazzled by their beauty. The fair faces smiled upon him; +pretty, white hands were outstretched to meet his own. +</P> + +<P> +"I am bewildered by my good fortune," he said. "I shall be the envy of +every man in London; people will no longer call me Lionel Dacre. I +shall be known as the cousin of 'Les Demoiselles Earle.' I have +neither brother nor sister of my own. Fancy the happiness of falling +into the midst of such a family group." +</P> + +<P> +"And being made welcome there!" interrupted Beatrice. Lionel bowed +profoundly. At first he fancied he preferred this brilliant, beautiful +girl to her fair, gentle sister. Her frank, fearless talk delighted +him. After the general run of young ladies—all fashioned, he thought, +after one model—it was refreshing to meet her. Her ideas were so +original. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Airlie joined the little dinner party, and then Lionel Dacre read +the secret which Beatrice hardly owned even to herself. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall not be shipwrecked on that rock," he said to himself. "When +Beatrice Earle speaks to me her eyes meet mine; she smiles, and does +not seem afraid of me; but when Lord Airlie speaks she turns from him, +and her beautiful eyes droop. She evidently cares more for him than +for all the world besides." +</P> + +<P> +But after a time the fair, spirituelle loveliness of Lillian stole into +his heart. There was a marked difference between the two sisters. +Beatrice took one by storm, so to speak; her magnificent beauty and +queenly grace dazzled and charmed one. With Lillian it was different. +Eclipsed at first sight by her more brilliant sister, her fair beauty +grew upon one by degrees. The sweet face, the thoughtful brow, the deep +dreamy eyes, the golden ripples of hair, the ethereal expression on the +calm features, seemed gradually to reveal their charm. Many who at +first overlooked Lillian, thinking only of her brilliant sister, ended +by believing her to be the more beautiful of the two. +</P> + +<P> +They stood together that evening, the two sisters, in the presence of +Lord Airlie and Lionel Dacre. Beatrice had been singing, and the air +seemed still to vibrate with the music of her passionate voice. +</P> + +<P> +"You sing like a siren," said Mr. Dacre; he felt no diffidence in +offering so old a compliment to his kins-woman. +</P> + +<P> +"No," replied Beatrice; "I may sing well—in fact, I believe I do. My +heart is full of music, and it overflows on my lips; but I am no siren, +Mr. Dacre. No one ever heard of a siren with dusky hair and dark brows +like mine." +</P> + +<P> +"I should have said you sing like an enchantress," interposed Lord +Airlie, hoping that he was apter in his compliments. +</P> + +<P> +"You have been equally wrong, my lord," she replied, but she did not +laugh at him as she had done at Lionel. "If I were an enchantress," +she continued, "I should just wave my wand, and that vase of flowers +would come to me; as it is, I must go to it. Who can have arranged +those flowers? They have been troubling me for the last half hour." +She crossed the room, and took from a small side table an exquisite +vase filled with blossoms. +</P> + +<P> +"See," she cried, turning to Lionel, "white heath, white roses, white +lilies, intermixed with these pale gray flowers! There is no contrast +in such an arrangement. Watch the difference which a glowing +pomegranate blossom or a scarlet verbena will make." +</P> + +<P> +"You do not like such quiet harmony?" said Lionel, smiling, thinking +how characteristic the little incident was. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she replied; "give me striking contrasts. For many years the web +of my life was gray-colored, and I longed for a dash of scarlet in its +threads." +</P> + +<P> +"You have it now," said Mr. Dacre, quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said, as she turned her beautiful, bright fact to him; "I +have it now, never to lose it again." +</P> + +<P> +Lord Airlie, looking on and listening, drinking in every word that fell +from her lips, wondered whether love was the scarlet thread interwoven +with her life. He sighed deeply as he said to himself that it would +not be; this brilliant girl could never care for him. Beatrice heard +the sigh and turned to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Does your taste resemble mine, Lord Airlie?" +</P> + +<P> +"I," interrupted Lord Airlie—"I like whatever you like, Miss Earle." +</P> + +<P> +"Yourself best of all," whispered Lionel to Beatrice with a smile. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +As Mr. Dacre walked home that evening, he thought long and anxiously +about the two young girls, his kins-women. What was the mystery? he +asked himself—what skeleton was locked away in the gay mansion? Where +was Lord Earle's wife—the lady who ought to have been at the head of +his table—the mother of his children? Where was she? Why was her +place empty? Why was her husband's face shadowed and lined with care? +</P> + +<P> +"Lillian Earle is the fairest and sweetest girl I have ever met," he +said to himself. "I know there is danger for me in those sweet, true +eyes, but if there be anything wrong—if the mother is blameworthy—I +will fly from the danger. I believe in hereditary virtue and in +hereditary vice. Before I fall in love with Lillian, I must know her +mother's story." +</P> + +<P> +So he said, and he meant it. There was no means of arriving at the +knowledge. The girls spoke at times of their mother, and it was always +with deep love and respect. Lady Helena mentioned her, but her name +never passed the lips of Lord Earle. Lionel Dacre saw no way of +obtaining information in the matter. +</P> + +<P> +There was no concealment as to Dora's abode. Once, by special +privilege, he was invited into the pretty room where the ladies sat in +the morning—a cozy, cheerful room, into which visitors never +penetrated. There, upon the wall, he saw a picture framed a beautiful +landscape, a quiet homestead in the midst of rich, green meadows; and +Lillian told him, with a smile, that was the Elms, at Knutsford, "where +mamma lived." +</P> + +<P> +Lionel was too true a gentleman to ask why she lived there; he praised +the painting, and then turned the subject. +</P> + +<P> +As Lady Earle foresaw, the time had arrived when Dora's children partly +understood there was a division in the family, a breach never to be +healed. "Mamma was quite different from papa," they said to each +other; and Lady Helena told them their mother did not like fashion and +gayety, that she had been simply brought up, used always to quietness +and solitude, so that in all probability she would never come to +Earlescourt. +</P> + +<P> +But as time went on, and Beatrice began to understand more of the great +world, she had an instinctive idea of the truth. It came to her by +slow degrees. Her father had married beneath him, and her mother had +no home in the stately hall of Earlescourt. At first violent +indignation seized her; then calmer reflection told her she could not +judge correctly. She did not know whether Lord Earle had left his +wife, or whether her mother had refused to live with him. +</P> + +<P> +It was the first cloud that shadowed the life of Lord Earle's beautiful +daughter. The discovery did not diminish her love for the quiet, sad +mother, whose youth and beauty had faded so soon. If possible, she +loved her more; there was a pitying tenderness in her affection. +</P> + +<P> +"Poor mamma!" thought the young girl—"poor, gentle mamma! I must be +doubly kind to her, and love her better than ever." +</P> + +<P> +Dora did not understand how it happened that her beautiful Beatrice +wrote so constantly and so fondly to her—how it happened that week +after week costly presents found their way to the Elms. +</P> + +<P> +"The child must spend all her pocket money on me," she said to herself. +"How well and dearly she loves me—my beautiful Beatrice!" +</P> + +<P> +Lady Helena remembered the depth of her mother's love. She pitied the +lonely, unloved wife, deprived of husband and children. She did all in +her power to console her. She wrote long letters, telling Dora how +greatly her children were admired, and how she would like their mother +to witness their triumph. She told how many conquests Beatrice had +made; how the proud and exclusive Lord Airlie was always near her, and +that Beatrice, of her own fancy, liked him better than any one else. +</P> + +<P> +"Neither Lord Earle nor myself could wish a more brilliant future for +Beatrice," wrote Lady Helena. "As Lady Airlie of Lynnton, she will be +placed as her birth and beauty deserve." +</P> + +<P> +But even Lady Helena was startled when she read Dora's reply. It was a +wild prayer that her child should be saved—spared the deadly perils of +love and marriage—left to enjoy her innocent youth. +</P> + +<P> +"There is no happy love," wrote poor Dora, "and never can be. Men can +not be patient, gentle, and true. It is ever self they +worship—self-reflected in the woman they love. Oh, Lady Helena, let +my child be spared! Let no so-called love come near her! Love found +me out in my humble home, and wrecked all my life. Do not let my +bright, beautiful Beatrice suffer as I have done. I would rather fold +my darlings in my arms and lie down with them to die than live to see +them pass through the cruel mockery of love and sorrow which I have +endured. Lady Helena, do not laugh; your letter distressed me. I +dreamed last night, after reading it, that I placed a wedding veil on +my darling's head, when, as it fell round her, it changed suddenly into +a shroud. A mother's love is true, and mine tells me that Beatrice is +in danger." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap27"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XXVII +</H3> + +<P> +"I have been abroad long enough," said Lord Earle, in reply to some +remark made by Lady Helena. "The girls do not care for the +sea—Beatrice dislikes it even; so I think we can not do better than to +return to Earlescourt. It may not be quite fashionable, but it will be +very pleasant." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Lady Earle; "there is no place I love so well as home. We +owe our neighbors something, too. I am almost ashamed when I remember +how noted Earlescourt once was for its gay and pleasant hospitality. +We must introduce the girls to our neighbors. I can foresee quite a +cheerful winter." +</P> + +<P> +"Let us get over the summer and autumn," said Ronald with a smile, +"then we will look the winter bravely in the face. I suppose, mother, +you can guess who has managed to procure an invitation to Earlescourt!" +</P> + +<P> +"Lord Airlie?" asked Lady Helena. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," was the laughing reply. "It did me good, mother—it made me +feel young and happy again to see and hear him. His handsome, frank +face clouded when I told him we were going; then he sighed said London +would be like a desert—declared he could not go to Lynnton, the place +was full of work-people. He did not like Scotland, and was as homeless +as a wealthy young peer with several estates could well be. I allowed +him to bewilder himself with confused excuses and blunders, and then +asked him to join us at Earlescourt. He almost 'jumped for joy,' as +the children say. He will follow us in a week or ten days. Lionel will +come with us." +</P> + +<P> +"I am very pleased," said Lady Earle. "Next to you, Ronald, I love +Lionel Dacre; his frank, proud, fearless disposition has a great charm +for me. He is certainly like Beatrice. How he detests everything +false, just as she does!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Ronald, gravely; "I am proud of my children. There is no +taint of untruth or deceit there, mother; they are worthy of their +race. I consider Beatrice the noblest girl I have ever known; and I +love my sweet Lily just as well." +</P> + +<P> +"You would not like to part with them now?" said Lady Earle. +</P> + +<P> +"I would sooner part with my life!" he replied. "I am not given to +strong expressions, mother, but even you could never guess how my life +is bound up in theirs." +</P> + +<P> +"Then let me say one word, Ronald," said his mother; "remember Dora +loves them as dearly and as deeply as you do. Just think for a moment +what it has cost her to give them up to you! She must see them soon, +with your full consent and permission. They can go to her if you will." +</P> + +<P> +"You are right, mother," he said, after a few minutes. "They are +Dora's children, and she ought to see them; but they must not return to +that farm house—I can not bear the thought of it. Surely they can meet +on neutral ground—at your house, say, or in London; and let it be at +Christmas." +</P> + +<P> +"It had better be in London," said Lady Helena. "I will write to Dora, +and tell her. The very anticipation of it will make her happy until +the time arrives—she loves the children so dearly." +</P> + +<P> +And again a softened thought of Dora came to her husband. Of course +she loved them. The little villa at Florence rose before him; he saw +vividly, as though he had left it but yesterday, the pretty vine-shaded +room where Dora used to sit nursing the little ones. He remembered her +sweet patience, her never-failing, gentle love. Had he done right to +wound that sad heart afresh by taking those children from her? Was it +a just and fitting reward for the watchful love and care of those +lonely years? +</P> + +<P> +He would fain have pardoned her, but he could not; and he said to +himself again: "In the hour of death! I will forgive her then." +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +The glowing August, so hot and dusty in London, was like a dream of +beauty at Earlescourt. The tall trees gave grateful shelter, baffling +the sun's warm rays; the golden corn stood in the broad fields ready +for the sickle; the hedge-rows were filled with flowers. The beech +trees in the park were in full perfection. Fruit hung ripe and heavy in +the orchards. It was no longer the blossoming promise of spring, but +the perfect glory of summer. +</P> + +<P> +For many long years Earlescourt had not been so gay. The whole +country-side rang with fashionable intelligence. The house was filled +with visitors, Lord Airlie heading the list. Lionel Dacre, thinking +but little of the time when the grand old place would be his own, was +full of life and spirits. +</P> + +<P> +Long arrears of hospitalities and festivities had to be repaid to the +neighborhood. Beatrice and Lillian had to make their debut there. +Lady Helena decided upon commencing the programme with a grand dinner +party, to be followed by a ball in the evening. Ronald said something +about the weather being warm for dancing. +</P> + +<P> +"We danced in London, papa," said Beatrice, "when the heat was so great +that I should not have felt any surprise if the whole roomful of people +had dissolved. Here we have space—large, cool rooms, fresh air, a +conservatory as large as a London house; it will be child's play in +comparison with what we have gone through." +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Earle is quite right," said Lord Airlie. "A ball during the +season in London is a toil; here it would be nothing but a pleasure." +</P> + +<P> +"Then a ball let it be," said Lord Earle. "Lillian, make out a list of +invitations, and head it with Sir Harry and Lady Laurence of Holtham +Hall. That reminds me, their eldest son, Gaspar, came home yesterday +from Germany; do not forget to include him." +</P> + +<P> +"Little Gaspar," cried Lady Helena—"has he returned? I should like to +see him." +</P> + +<P> +"Little Gaspar," said Lord Earle, laughing, "is six feet high now, +mother. You forget how time flies; he is taller than Lionel, and a +fine, handsome young fellow he is. He will be quite an acquisition." +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle was too much engrossed to remark the uneasiness his few +words had caused. Lord Airlie winced at the idea of a rival a handsome +man, and sentimental, too, as all those people educated in Germany are! +</P> + +<P> +"I can not understand what possesses English people to send their sons +abroad for education," he said to Beatrice—"and to Germany of all +places in the world." +</P> + +<P> +"Why should they not?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"The people are so absurdly sentimental," he replied. "Whenever I see +a man with long hair and dreamy eyes, I know he is a German." +</P> + +<P> +"You are unjust," said Beatrice, as she left him to join Lillian. +</P> + +<P> +"You are jealous," said Lionel, who had overheard the conversation. +"Look out for a rival in the lists, my lord." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish this tiresome ball were over," sighed Lord Airlie. "I shall +have no chance of speaking while it is on the tapis." +</P> + +<P> +But he soon forgot his chagrin. The formidable Gaspar appeared that +very morning, and, although Lord Airlie could perceive that he was at +once smitten with Beatrice's charms, he also saw that she paid no heed +whatever to the new-comer; indeed, after a few words of courteous +greeting, she returned to the point under discussion—what flowers +would look best in the ball room. +</P> + +<P> +"If we have flowers at all," she said, imperiously, "let them be a +gorgeous mass of bloom—something worth looking at; not a few pale +blossoms standing here and there like 'white sentinels'; let us have +flowers full of life and fragrance. Lillian, you know what I mean; you +remember Lady Manton's flowers—tier after tier of magnificent color." +</P> + +<P> +"You like to do everything en reine, Beatrice," said Lady Helena, with +a well-pleased smile. +</P> + +<P> +"If you have not flowers sufficient, Miss Earle," said Lord Airlie, "I +will send to Lynnton. My gardener considers himself a past master of +his art." +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Lord Airlie," said Lady Earle, "we have flowers in profusion. +You have not been through the conservatories. It would while away the +morning pleasantly for you all. Beatrice, select what flowers you +will, and have them arranged as you like." +</P> + +<P> +"See," said the triumphant beauty, "what a grand thing a strong will +is! Imagine papa's saying he thought thirty or forty plants in full +flower would be sufficient! We will surprise him. If the gardener +loses his reason, as Lady Earle seems to think probable, he must be +taken care of." +</P> + +<P> +Lord Airlie loved Beatrice best in such moods; imperious and piquant, +melting suddenly into little gleams of tenderness, then taking refuge +in icy coldness and sunny laughter. Beautiful, dazzling, capricious, +changing almost every minute, yet charming as she changed, he would not +have bartered one of her proudest smiles or least words for anything on +earth. +</P> + +<P> +He never forgot that morning spent among the flowers. It was a glimpse +of elysium to him. The way in which Beatrice contrived to do as she +liked amused him; her face looked fairer than ever among the blooming +flowers. +</P> + +<P> +"There is the bell for lunch," she said at last. "We have been here +nearly three hours." +</P> + +<P> +"Most of your attendants look slightly deranged," said Lionel. "I am +sure I saw poor Donald weeping over his favorite plants. He told me +confidentially they would be fit for nothing after the heat of the ball +room." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall invent some means of consolation for him," she replied. "I +like dancing among the bright flowers. Why should we not have +everything gay and bright and beautiful, if we can?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" said Lionel, gravely. "Ah, Miss Earle, why are we not +always young and beautiful and happy? Why must flowers die, beauty +fade, love grow old? Ask a philosopher—do not ask me. I know the +answer, but let some one else give it to you." +</P> + +<P> +"Philosophy does not interest me at present," she said. "I like +flowers, music, and dancing better. I hope I shall never tire of them; +sometimes—but that is only when I am serious or tired—I feel that I +shall never live to grow old. I can not imagine my eyes dim or my hair +gray. I can not imagine my heart beating slowly. I can not realize a +day when the warmth and beauty of life will have changed into cold and +dullness." +</P> + +<P> +Even as she spoke a gentle arm stole round her, a fair, spirituelle +face, eyes full of clear, saintly light looked into hers, and a soft +voice whispered to her of something not earthly, not of flowers and +music, not of life and gayety, something far beyond these, and the +proud eyes for a moment grew dim with tears. +</P> + +<P> +"Lily," she said, "I am not so good as you, but I will endeavor to be. +Let me enjoy myself first, just for a short time; I will be good, dear." +</P> + +<P> +Her mood changed then, and Lord Airlie thought her more entrancing than +ever. +</P> + +<P> +"That is the kind of wife I want," thought Lionel Dacre to himself, +looking at Lillian—"some one to guide me, to teach me. Ah, if women +only understood their mission! That girl looked as I can imagine only +guardian angels look—I wish she would be mine." +</P> + +<P> +Lord Airlie left the conservatory, with its thousand flowers, more in +love than ever. +</P> + +<P> +He would wait, he said to himself, until the ball was over; then he +would ask Beatrice Earle to be his wife. If she refused him, he would +go far away where no one knew him; if she accepted him, he would be her +devoted slave. She should be a queen, and he would be her knight. +</P> + +<P> +Ah! What thanks would he return to Heaven if so great a blessing +should be his. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap28"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XXVIII +</H3> + +<P> +Lord Airlie muttered something that was not a benediction when, on the +morning following, Gaspar Laurence made his appearance at Earlescourt. +</P> + +<P> +"We can not receive visitors this morning," said Beatrice, half +impatiently. "Mr. Laurence must have forgotten the ball tonight." +</P> + +<P> +But Mr. Laurence had forgotten nothing of the kind. It was a delicious +morning, the sun shining brightly and clearly, the westerly breeze +blowing fresh and cool. He had thought it likely that the young ladies +would spend the morning out-of-doors, and begged permission to join +them. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Earle was pleased with the idea. Lord Airlie mentioned something +about fatigue, but he was overruled. +</P> + +<P> +"Stroll in the grounds," said Lady Helena; "go down by the lake; I will +join you there afterward. A few hours in the fresh air will be the +best preparation for the ball." +</P> + +<P> +They went together. Gaspar's preference soon became apparent he would +not leave Beatrice, and Lord Airlie devotedly wished him at the +antipodes. +</P> + +<P> +They sat down under the shade of a tall lady-birch, the deep, sunlit +lake shining through the trees. Then Gaspar, taking a little book in +his hands, asked: +</P> + +<P> +"Have you read 'Undine,' Miss Earle—Fouque's 'Undine?'" +</P> + +<P> +"No," she replied; "I am half ashamed to say so." +</P> + +<P> +"It is the sweetest, saddest story ever written," he continued. "This +is just the morning for it. May I read it to you?" +</P> + +<P> +There was a general and pleased murmur of assent. Lord Airlie muttered +to himself that he knew the fellow would air his German sentiment—at +their expense. +</P> + +<P> +Still it was very pleasant. There was a gentle ripple on the deep +lake, the water washed among the tall reeds, and splashed with a faint, +musical murmur on the stones; the thick leafy branches rustled in the +wind; the birds sang in the trees. +</P> + +<P> +Gaspar Laurence read well; his voice was clear and distinct; not a word +of the beautiful story was lost. +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice listened like one in a dream. Her proud, bright face +softened, her magnificent eyes grew tender and half sad. Gaspar read +on—of the fair and lovely maiden, of the handsome young knight and his +love, of the water sprite, grim old Kuhlehorn, and the cottage where +Undine dwelt, of the knight's marriage, and then of proud, beautiful +Bertha. +</P> + +<P> +The rippling of the lake and the singing of the birds seemed like an +accompaniment to the words, so full of pathos. Then Gaspar came to +Bertha's love for the knight—their journey on the river to the huge +hand rising and snatching the jewel from Undine's soft fingers, while +the knight's love grew cold. +</P> + +<P> +Even the waters of the lake seemed to sob and sigh as Gaspar read on of +sweet, sad Undine and of her unhappy love, of Bertha's proud triumph, +her marriage with the knight, and the last, most beautiful scene of +all—Undine rising from the unsealed fountain and going to claim her +love. +</P> + +<P> +"How exquisite!" said Beatrice, drawing a long, deep breath. "I did not +know there was such a story in the world. That is indeed a creation of +genius. I shall never forget Undine." +</P> + +<P> +Her eyes wandered to the sweet spirituelle face and fair golden hair of +her sister. Lionel Dacre's glance followed hers. +</P> + +<P> +"I know what you are thinking of," he said—"Miss Lillian is a perfect +Undine. I can fancy her, with clasped hands and sad eyes, standing +between the knight and Bertha, or rising with shadowy robes from the +open fountain." +</P> + +<P> +"It is a beautiful creation," said Beatrice, gently. "Lillian would be +an ideal Undine—she is just as gentle, as fair, as true. I am like +Bertha, I suppose; at least I know I prefer my own way and my own will." +</P> + +<P> +"You should give some good artist a commission to paint a picture," +said Lord Airlie. "Choose the scene in the boat Undine bending over +the water, a dreamy expression on her fair face; Bertha sitting by the +knight, proud, bright, and half scornful of her companion. Imagine the +transparent water Undine's little hand half lost in it, and the giant +fingers clasping hers. I wonder that an artist has never painted that +scene." +</P> + +<P> +"Who would do for the knight?" said Beatrice. "Lillian and I will +never dispute over a knight." +</P> + +<P> +"Artists would find some difficulty in that picture," said Lillian. +"How could one clothe a beautiful ideal like Undine? Sweeping robes and +waving plumes might suit Bertha; but how could one depict Undine?" +</P> + +<P> +"The knight is the difficulty," laughed Lionel. +</P> + +<P> +"Why should we not go out on the lake now?" said Gaspar; "I will row." +</P> + +<P> +"I have been wishing for the last ten minutes," replied Beatrice, "to +be upon the lake. I want to put my hand in the water and see what +comes." +</P> + +<P> +Gaspar was not long in getting a pleasure boat out of the boat house. +Lionel managed to secure a seat near his Undine, and Lord Airlie by his +Beatrice. +</P> + +<P> +It was even more pleasant on the water than on the land; the boat moved +easily along, the fresh, clear breeze helping it. +</P> + +<P> +"Steer for those pretty water lilies," said Beatrice, "they look so +fresh and shining in the sun." +</P> + +<P> +And as they floated over the water, her thoughts went back to that May +morning when Lillian sat upon the cliffs and sketched the white far-off +sails. How distant it seemed! She longed then for life. Now every +sweet gift which life could bestow was here, crowned with love. Yet +she sighed as Hugh Fernely's face rose before her. If she could but +forget it! After all it had been on her side but a mockery of love. +Yet another sigh broke from her lips, and then Lord Airlie looked +anxiously at her. +</P> + +<P> +"Does anything trouble you, Miss Earle?" he asked. "I never remember +to have seen you so serious before." +</P> + +<P> +She looked for a moment wistfully into his face. Ah, if he could help +her, if he could drive this haunting memory from her, if ever it could +be that she might tell him of this her trouble and ask him to save her +from Hugh Fernely! But that was impossible. Almost as though in answer +to her thought, Gaspar Laurence began to tell them of an incident that +had impressed him. A gentleman, a friend of his, after making +unheard-of sacrifices to marry a lady who was both beautiful and +accomplished, left her suddenly, and never saw her again, the reason +being that he discovered that she had deceived him by telling him a +willful lie before her marriage. Gaspar seemed to think she had been +hardly used. Lord Airlie and Lionel differed from him. +</P> + +<P> +"I am quite sure," said Lord Airlie, "that I could pardon anything +sooner than a lie; all that is mean, despicable, and revolting to me is +expressed in the one word, 'liar.' Sudden anger, passion, hot +revenge—anything is more easily forgiven. When once I discover that a +man or woman has told me a lie, I never care to see their face again." +</P> + +<P> +"I agree with you," said Lionel; "perhaps I even go further. I would +never pardon an air of deceit; those I love must be straightforward, +honest, and sincere always." +</P> + +<P> +"Such a weight of truth might sink the boat," said Beatrice, +carelessly; but Lord Airlie's words had gone straight to her heart. If +he only knew. But he never would. And again she wished that in reply +to her father's question she had answered truthfully. +</P> + +<P> +The time came when Lillian remembered Mr. Dacre's words, and knew they +had not been spoken in vain. +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice had taken off her glove, and drew her hand trough the cool, +deep water; thinking intently of the story she had just heard—of +Undine and the water-sprites—she leaned over the boat's side and gazed +into the depths. The blue sky and white fleecy clouds, the tall green +trees and broad leaves, were all reflected there. There was a strange, +weird fascination in the placid water—what went on in the depths +beneath? What lay beneath the ripples? Suddenly she drew back with a +startled cry a cry that rang out in the clear summer air, and haunted +Lord Airlie while he lived. He looked at her; her face had grown +white, even to the very lips, and a nameless, awful dread lay in her +dark eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" he asked, breathlessly. She recovered herself with a +violent effort, and tried to smile. +</P> + +<P> +"How foolish I am!" she said; "and what is worse you will all laugh at +me. It was sheer fancy and nonsense, I know; but I declare that +looking down into the water, I saw my own face there with such a +wicked, mocking smile that it frightened me." +</P> + +<P> +"It was the simple reflection," said Lionel Dacre. "I can see mine. +Look again, Miss Earle." +</P> + +<P> +"No," she replied, with a shudder; "it is only nonsense, I know, but it +startled me. The face seemed to rise from the depths and smile—oh, +oh, such a smile! When shall I forget it?" +</P> + +<P> +"It was only the rippling of the water which distorted the reflection," +said Lord Airlie. +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice made no reply, but drew her lace shawl around her as though +she were cold. +</P> + +<P> +"I do not like the water," she said presently; "it always frightens me. +Let us land, Mr. Laurence, please. I will never go on the lake again." +</P> + +<P> +Gaspar laughed, and Mr. Dacre declared Beatrice had had too strong a +dose of Undine and the water-sprites. Lord Airlie felt her hand +tremble as he helped her to leave the boat. He tried to make her +forget the incident by talking of the ball and the pleasure it would +bring. She talked gayly, but every now and then he saw that she +shuddered as though icily cold. +</P> + +<P> +When they were entering the house she turned round, and, in her +charming, imperious way, said: +</P> + +<P> +"None of you must tell papa about my fright. I should not like him to +think that an Earle could be either fanciful or a coward. I am brave +enough on land." +</P> + +<P> +The heat had tried both girls, and Lady Helena said they must rest +before dinner. She made Beatrice lie down upon the cosy little couch +in her dressing room. She watched the dark eyes close, and thought how +beautiful the young face looked in repose. +</P> + +<P> +But the girl's sleep was troubled. Lady Earle, bending over her, heard +her sigh deeply and murmur something about the "deep water." She awoke, +crying out that she saw her own face, and Lady Earle saw great drops of +perspiration standing in beads upon her brow. +</P> + +<P> +"What have you been dreaming of, child?" she asked. "Young girls like +you ought to sleep like flowers." +</P> + +<P> +"Flowers never quite close their eyes," said Beatrice, with a smile. +"I shut mine, but my brain is active, it seems, even in sleep. I was +dreaming of the lake, Lady Helena. Dreams are very wonderful; do they +ever come true?" +</P> + +<P> +"I knew one that did," replied Lady Earle. "When I was young, I had a +friend whom I loved very dearly—Laura Reardon. A gentleman, a Captain +Lemuel, paid great attention to her. She loved him—my poor Laura—as +I hope few people love. For many months he did everything but make an +offer—saw her ever day, sent her flowers, books, and music, won her +heart by a thousand sweet words and gentle deeds. She believed he was +in earnest, and never suspected him of being a male flirt. He left +London, suddenly, saying goodbye to her in the ordinary way, and +speaking of his return in a few weeks. +</P> + +<P> +"She came to me one morning and told me a strange dream. She dreamed +she was dead, and lay buried in the center aisle of an old country +church. At the same time, and in the usual vague manner of dreams, she +was conscious of an unusual stir. She heard carriages drive up to the +church door; she heard the rustling of dresses, the sound of footsteps +above her head, the confused murmur of a crowd of people; then she +became aware that a marriage was going on. She heard the minister ask: +</P> + +<P> +"'George Victor Lemuel, will you have this woman for your lawful wedded +wife?' +</P> + +<P> +"The voice she knew and loved best in the world replied: +</P> + +<P> +"'I will.' +</P> + +<P> +"'Alice Ferrars, will you take this man for your lawful wedded husband?" +</P> + +<P> +"'I will,' replied the clear, low voice. +</P> + +<P> +"She heard the service finished, the wedding bells peal, the carriages +drive away. I laughed at her, Beatrice; but the strange thing is, +Captain George Lemuel was married on the very day Laura dreamed the +dream. He married a young lady, Alice Ferrars, and Laura had never +heard of the name before she dreamed it. The marriage took place in an +old country church. That dream came true, Beatrice; I never heard of +another dream like it." +</P> + +<P> +"Did your friend die?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No," replied Lady Helena; "she did not die, but her life was spoiled +by her unhappy love." +</P> + +<P> +"I should have died had it been my disappointment," said Beatrice; "the +loss of what one loves must be more bitter than death." +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +Far and near nothing was spoken of but the ball at Earlescourt. +Anything so brilliant or on so grand a scale had not been given in the +county for many years. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle felt proud of the arrangements as he looked through the ball +room and saw the gorgeous array of flowers, tier upon tier of +magnificent bloom, a sight well worth coming many miles to see. Here +and there a marble statue stood amid the flowers. Little fountains of +scented water rippled musically. He stopped for a few moments looking +at the blossoms and thinking of his beautiful child. +</P> + +<P> +"How she loves everything bright and gay!" he said to himself. "She +will be queen of the ball tonight." +</P> + +<P> +As Lord Earle stood alone in his library that evening, where he had +been reading, stealing a quiet half hour, there came a gentle knock at +the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Come in," he said, and there stood before him something that he +thought must be a vision. +</P> + +<P> +"Grandmamma sent me," said Beatrice, blushing, "to see if I should do. +You are to notice my diamonds, papa, and tell me if you approve of the +setting." +</P> + +<P> +As he looked at the radiant figure a sense of wonder stole over him. +Could this magnificent beauty really be Dora's daughter—Dora who had +stained her pretty hand with strawberry juice so many years ago? +</P> + +<P> +He knew nothing of the details of the dress, he saw only the beautiful +face and glorious eyes, the crowns of waving hair, the white, stately +neck and exquisite arms. Before him was a gleam of pale pink satin, +shrouded with lace so fine and delicate that it looked like a fairy +web; and the Earle diamonds were not brighter than the dark eyes. They +became the wearer well. They would have eclipsed a fair, faded beauty; +they added radiance to Beatrice's. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is Lillian?" he asked; and she knew from the tone of his voice +how proud and satisfied he was. +</P> + +<P> +"I am here, papa," said a gentle voice. "I wanted you to see Beatrice +first." +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle hardly knew which to admire the more. Lillian looked so +fair and graceful; the pure, spiritual face and tender eyes had new +beauty; the slender, girlish figure contrasted well with the stately +dignity of Beatrice. +</P> + +<P> +"I hope it will be a happy evening for you both," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"I feel sure it will for me," said Beatrice, with a smile. "I am +thoroughly happy, and am looking forward to the ball with delight." +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle smiled half sadly as he gazed at her bright face, wondering +whether, in years to come, it would be clouded or shadowed. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you dance, papa?" asked Beatrice, with a gleam of mischief in her +dark eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"I think not," he replied; and Ronald Earle's thoughts went back to the +last time he had ever danced—with Valentine Charteris. He remembered +it well. Ah, no! All those pleasant, happy days were over for him. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap29"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XXIX +</H3> + +<P> +The dinner party was over, and carriage after carriage rolled up to the +Hall; the rooms began to fill; there was a faint sound of music, a +murmur of conversation and laughter. +</P> + +<P> +"You have not forgotten your promise to me, Miss Earle?" said Lord +Airlie. "I am to have the first dance and the last, certainly, and as +many more as you can spare." +</P> + +<P> +"I have not forgotten," replied Beatrice. She was never quite at her +ease with him, although she loved him better than any one else on +earth. There was ever present with her the consciousness that she did +so love him, and the wonder whether he cared for her. +</P> + +<P> +They opened the ball, and many significant comments were made upon the +fact. Gaspar Laurence was present. He was deeply engaged for more +than two hours in making up his mind whether he should ask Beatrice to +dance with him or not—she looked so beautiful, so far above him. +Gaspar could not help loving her—that was impossible; the first moment +he saw her he was entranced. But his was a humble, hopeless kind of +adoration. He would sooner have dreamed of wooing and winning a royal +princess than of ever asking Beatrice to be his wife. +</P> + +<P> +At length he summoned up courage, and was rewarded by a bright smile +and kind words. Poor Gaspar! When the beautiful face was near him, +and her hand rested on his shoulder, he thought he must be dreaming. +</P> + +<P> +"There," he said, when the dance was over; "I shall not dance again. I +should not like to lose the memory of that waltz." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" she asked, wonderingly. +</P> + +<P> +"I must be candid with you," said Gaspar, sadly. "Perhaps my +confession is a vain one; but I love you, Miss Earle—so dearly that +the ground on which you stand is sacred to me." +</P> + +<P> +"That is not a very timid declaration," said Beatrice with a smile. +"You are courageous, Mr. Laurence. I have only seen you three times." +</P> + +<P> +"It would make no difference," said Gaspar, "whether I had seen you +only once, or whether I met you every day. I am not going to pain you, +Miss Earle. Think kindly of me—I do not ask more; only remember that +living in this world there is one who would stand between you and all +peril—who would sacrifice his life for you. You will not forget?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will not," said Beatrice, firmly. "Never could I forget such words. +I am willing to be your friend—I know how to value you." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall be happier with your friendship than with the love of any +other woman," said Gaspar, gratefully. +</P> + +<P> +Just then Lord Earle came and took Mr. Laurence away. Beatrice stood +where he had left her, half screened from sight by the luxuriant +foliage and magnificent flowers of a rare American plant. There was a +thoughtful, tender expression on her face that softened it into +wondrous beauty. She liked Gaspar, and was both pleased and sorry that +he loved her. Very pleasant was this delicious homage of +love—pleasant was it to know that strong, brave, gifted men laid all +they had in the world at her feet—to know that her looks, smiles, and +words moved them as nothing else could. +</P> + +<P> +Yet she was sorry for Gaspar. It must be sad to give all one's love +and expect no return. She would be his friend, but she could never be +anything more. She could give him her sincere admiration and esteem, +but not her love. +</P> + +<P> +The proud, beautiful lips quivered, and the bright eyes grew dim with +tears. No, not her love—that was given, and could never be recalled; +in all the wide world, from among all men's, Lord Airlie's face stood +out clear and distinct. Living or dying, Lord Earle's daughter knew +she could care for no other man. +</P> + +<P> +She had taken in her hand one of the crimson flowers of the plant above +her, and seemed lost in contemplating it. She saw neither the blossom +nor the leaves. She was thinking of Lord Airlie's face, and the last +words he had said to her, when suddenly a shadow fell before her, and +looking up hastily, she saw him by her side. He appeared unlike +himself, pale and anxious. +</P> + +<P> +"Beatrice," said he, "I must speak with you. Pray come with me, away +from all these people. I can bear this suspense no longer." +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him, and would have refused; but she saw in his face that +which compelled obedience. For Lord Airlie had watched Gaspar +Laurence—he had watched the dance and the interview that followed it. +He saw the softened look on her face, and it half maddened him. For +the first time in his life Lord Airlie was fiercely jealous. He +detested this fair-haired Gaspar, with his fund of German romance and +poetry. +</P> + +<P> +Could it be that he would win the prize he himself would have died to +secure? What was he saying to her that softened the expression on her +face? What had he said that left her standing there with a tender +light in her dark eyes which he had never seen before? He could not +bear the suspense; perhaps a ball room might not be the most +appropriate place for an offer of marriage, but he must know his fate, +let it be what it might. He went up to her and made his request. +</P> + +<P> +"Where are you going?" asked Beatrice, suddenly, for Lord Airlie had +walked rapidly through the suite of rooms, crowded with people, and +through the long conservatory. +</P> + +<P> +"We are not alone," he replied. "See, Lady Laurence and Mr. Gresham +prefer the rose garden here to those warm rooms. I must speak with +you, Miss Earle. Let me speak now." +</P> + +<P> +They stood in the pretty garden, where roses of varied hues hung in +rich profusion; the air was heavy with perfume. The moon shone +brightly in the evening sky; its beams fell upon the flowers, bathing +them in floods of silver light. +</P> + +<P> +A little rustic garden seat stood among the sleeping roses; and there +Beatrice sat, wondering at the strong emotion she read in her lover's +face. +</P> + +<P> +"Beatrice," he said, "I can bear it no longer. Why did Gaspar Laurence +bend over you? What was he saying? My darling, do you not know how I +love you—so dearly and so deeply that I could not live without you? +Do you not know that I have loved you from the first moment I ever +beheld you? Beatrice, my words are weak. Look at me—read the love in +my face that my lips know not how to utter." +</P> + +<P> +But she never raised her eyes to him; the glorious golden light of love +that had fallen upon her dazzled her. +</P> + +<P> +"You must not send me from you, Beatrice," he said, clasping her hands +in his. "I am a strong man, not given to weakness; but, believe me, if +you send me from you, it will kill me. Every hope of my life is +centered in you. Beatrice, will you try to care for me?" +</P> + +<P> +She turned her face to his—the moonlight showed clearly the bright +tears in her dark eyes. For answer she said, simply: +</P> + +<P> +"Do not leave me—I care for you now; my love—my love—did you not +know it?" +</P> + +<P> +The sweet face and quivering lips were so near him that Lord Airlie +kissed the tears away; he also kissed the white hands that clasped his +own. +</P> + +<P> +"You are mine—my own," he whispered, "until death; say so, Beatrice." +</P> + +<P> +"I am yours," she said, "even in death." +</P> + +<P> +It was a stolen half hour, but so full of happiness that it could never +fade from memory. +</P> + +<P> +"I must go," said Beatrice, at length, unclasping the firm hand that +held her own. "Oh, Lord Airlie, how am I to meet all my friends? Why +did you not wait until tomorrow?" +</P> + +<P> +"I could not," he said; "and you perhaps would not then have been so +kind." +</P> + +<P> +He loved her all the more for her simplicity. As they left the garden, +Lord Airlie gathered a white rose and gave it to Beatrice. Long +afterward, when the leaves had become yellow and dry, the rose was +found. +</P> + +<P> +They remained in the conservatory a few minutes, and then went back to +the ball room. +</P> + +<P> +"Every waltz must be mine now," said Lord Airlie. "And, Beatrice, I +shall speak to Lord Earle tonight. Are you willing?" +</P> + +<P> +Yes, she was willing. It was very pleasant to be taken possession of +so completely. It was pleasant to find a will stronger than her own. +She did not care how soon all the world knew that she loved him. The +only thing she wondered at was why he should be so unspeakably happy. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap30"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XXX +</H3> + +<P> +Beatrice never recollected how the ball ended; to her it was one long +trance of happiness. She heard the music, the murmur of voices, as +though in a dream. There were times when everything seemed brighter +than usual—that was when Lord Airlie stood by her side. Her heart was +filled with unutterable joy. +</P> + +<P> +It was strange, but in that hour of happiness she never even thought of +Hugh Fernely; the remembrance of him never once crossed her mind. +Nothing marred the fullness of her content. +</P> + +<P> +She stood by Lord Earle's side as guest after guest came up to say +adieu. She saw Lord Airlie waiting for her father. +</P> + +<P> +"Lord Earle will be engaged for some time, I fear," he said; "I must +see him tonight. Beatrice, promise me you will not go to rest until +your father has given us his consent." +</P> + +<P> +She could not oppose him. When girls like Beatrice Earle once learn to +love, there is something remarkable in the complete abandonment of +their will. She would fain have told him, with gay, teasing words, +that he had won concession enough for one night; as it was, she simply +promised to do as he wished. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle received the parting compliments of his guests, wondering at +the same time why Lord Airlie kept near him and seemed unwilling to +lose sight of him. The happy moment arrived when the last carriage +rolled away, and the family at Earlescourt were left alone. Lady Earle +asked the two young girls to go into her room for half an hour to "talk +over the ball." Lionel, sorry the evening was over, retired to his +room; then Hubert Airlie went to Lord Earle and asked if he might speak +with him for ten minutes. +</P> + +<P> +"Will it not do tomorrow?" inquired Ronald, smiling, as he held up his +watch. "See, it is past three o'clock." +</P> + +<P> +"No," replied Lord Airlie; "I could not pass another night in suspense." +</P> + +<P> +"Come with me, then," said the master of Earlescourt, as he led the way +to the library, where the lamps were still alight. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, what is it?" he asked, good-humoredly, turning to the excited, +anxious lover. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps I ought to study my words," said Lord Airlie; "but I can not. +Lord Earle, I love your daughter Beatrice. Will you give her to me to +be my wife?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sooner than to any one else in the world," replied Ronald. "Is she +willing?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think so," was the answer, Lord Airlie's heart thrilling with +happiness as he remembered her words. +</P> + +<P> +"Let us see," said Lord Earle. He rang the bell, and sent for his +daughter. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Airlie never forgot the beautiful, blushing face half turned from +him as Beatrice entered the room. +</P> + +<P> +"Beatrice," said her father, clasping her in his arms, "is this true? +Am I to give you to Lord Airlie?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you please, papa," she whispered. +</P> + +<P> +"I do please," he cried. "Hubert, I give you a treasure beyond all +price. You may judge of my daughter's love from her own word. I know +it has never been given to any one but you. You are my daughter's +first lover, and her first love. You may take her to your heart, well +satisfied that she has never cared for any one else. It is true, +Beatrice, is it not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said, faltering for a moment as, for the first time, she +remembered Hugh. +</P> + +<P> +"Tomorrow," continued Lord Earle, "we will talk of the future; we are +all tired tonight. You will sleep in peace, Airlie, I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +"If I sleep at all," he replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you understand clearly that, had the choice rested with me I +should have selected you from all others to take charge of my +Beatrice," said Lord Earle. "Do not wait to thank me. I have a faint +idea of how much a grateful lover has to say. Good night." +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +"What is it, Beatrice?" asked Lillian, as the two sisters stood alone +in the bright little dressing room. +</P> + +<P> +"I can hardly tell you in sober words," she replied. "Lord Airlie has +asked me to be his wife—his wife; and oh, Lily, I love him so dearly!" +</P> + +<P> +Pride and dignity all broke down; the beautiful face was laid upon +Lillian's shoulder, and Beatrice wept happy tears. +</P> + +<P> +"I love him so, Lily," she went on; "but I never thought he cared for +me. What have I ever done that I should be so happy?" +</P> + +<P> +The moonbeams never fell upon a sweeter picture than these fair young +sisters; Lillian's pure, spirituelle face bent over Beatrice. +</P> + +<P> +"I love him, Lily," she continued, "for himself. He is a king among +men. Who is so brave, so generous, so noble? If he were a beggar, I +should care just as much for him." +</P> + +<P> +Lillian listened and sympathized until the bright, dark eyes seemed to +grow weary; then she bade her sister goodnight, and went to her own +room. +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice Earle was alone at last—alone with her happiness and love. +It seemed impossible that her heart and brain could ever grow calm or +quiet again. It was all in vain she tried to sleep. Lord Airlie's +face, his voice, his words haunted her. +</P> + +<P> +She rose, and put on a pretty pink dressing gown. The fresh air, she +thought, would make her sleep, so she opened the long window gently, +and looked out. +</P> + +<P> +The night was still and clear; the moon hung over the dark trees; +floods of silvery light bathed the far-off lake, the sleeping flowers, +and the green grass. There was a gentle stir amid the branches; the +leaves rustled in the wind; the blue, silent heavens above bright and +calm. The solemn beauty of the starlit sky and the hushed murmur +appealed to her. Into the proud, passionate heart there came some +better, nobler thoughts. Ah, in the future that lay so brilliant and +beautiful before her she would strive to be good, she would be true and +steadfast, she would think more of what Lily loved and spoke about at +times. Then her thoughts went back to her lover, and that happy half +hour in the rose garden. From her window she could see it—the moon +shone full upon it. The moonlight was a fair type of her life that was +to be, bright, clear, unshadowed. Even as the thought shaped itself in +her mind, a shadow fell among the trees. She looked, and saw the figure +of a tall man walking down the path that divided the little garden from +the shrubbery. He stood still there, gazing long and earnestly at the +windows of the house, and then went out into the park, and disappeared. +</P> + +<P> +She was not startled. A passing wonder as to who it might be struck +her. Perhaps it was one of the gamekeepers or gardeners, but she did +not think much about it. A shadow in the moonlight did not frighten +her. +</P> + +<P> +Soon the cool, fresh air did its work; the bright, dark eyes grew tired +in real earnest, and at length Beatrice retired to rest. +</P> + +<P> +The sun was shining brightly when she awoke. By her side lay a +fragrant bouquet of flowers, the dew-drops still glistening upon them, +and in their midst a little note which said: +</P> + +<P> +"Beatrice, will you come into the garden for a few minutes before +breakfast, just to tell me all that happened last night was not a +dream?" +</P> + +<P> +She rose quickly. Over her pretty morning-dress she threw a light +shawl, and went down to meet Lord Airlie. +</P> + +<P> +"It was no dream," she said, simply, holding out her hand in greeting +to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear Beatrice, how very good of you!" replied Lord Airlie; adding +presently: "we have twenty minutes before the breakfast bell will ring; +let us make the best of them." +</P> + +<P> +The morning was fresh, fair, and calm, a soft haze hanging round the +trees. +</P> + +<P> +"Beatrice," said Lord Airlie, "you see the sun shining there in the +high heavens. Three weeks ago I should have thought it easier for that +same sun to fall than for me to win you. I can scarcely believe that +my highest ideal of woman is realized. It was always my ambition to +marry some young girl who had never loved any one before me. You never +have. No man ever held your hand as I hold it now, no man ever kissed +your face as I kissed it last night." +</P> + +<P> +As he spoke, a burning flush covered her face. She remembered Hugh +Fernely. He loved her better for the blush, thinking how pure and +guileless she was. +</P> + +<P> +"I fear I shall be a very jealous lover," he continued. "I shall envy +everything those beautiful eyes rest upon. Will you ride with me this +morning? I want to talk to you about Lynnton—my home, you know. You +will be Lady Airlie of Lynnton, and no king will be so proud as I +shall." +</P> + +<P> +The breakfast bell rang at last. When Beatrice entered the room, Lady +Earle went up to her. +</P> + +<P> +"Your papa has told me the news," she said. "Heaven bless you, and +make you happy, dear child!" +</P> + +<P> +Lionel Dacre guessed the state of affairs, and said but little. The +chief topic of conversation was the ball, interspersed by many +conjectures on the part of Lord Earle as to why the post-bag was so +late. +</P> + +<P> +It did not arrive until breakfast was ended. Lord Earle distributed +the letters; there were three for Lord Airlie, one to Lady Earle from +Dora, two for Lionel, none for Lillian. Lord Earle held in his hand a +large common blue envelope. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Beatrice Earle," he said; "from Brookfield. What large writing! +The name was evidently intended to be seen." +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice took the letter carelessly from him; the handwriting was quite +unknown to her; she knew no one in Brookfield, which was the nearest +post-town—it was probably some circular, some petition for charity, +she thought. Lord Airlie crossed the room to speak to her, and she +placed the letter carelessly in the pocket of her dress, and in a few +minutes forgot all about it. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Airlie was waiting; the horses had been ordered for an early hour. +Beatrice ran upstairs to put on her riding habit, and never gave a +thought to the letter. +</P> + +<P> +It was a pleasant ride; in the after-days she looked back upon it as +one of the brightest hours she had ever known. Lord Airlie told her +all about Lynnton, his beautiful home—a grand old castle, where every +room had a legend, every tree almost a tradition. +</P> + +<P> +For he intended to work wonders; a new and magnificent wing should be +built, and on one room therein art, skill, and money should be lavished +without stint. +</P> + +<P> +"Her boudoir" he said, "should be fit for a queen and for a fairy." +</P> + +<P> +So they rode through the pleasant, sunlit air. A sudden thought struck +Beatrice. +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder," she said, "what mamma will think? You must go to see her, +Hubert. She dreaded love and marriage so much. Poor mamma!" +</P> + +<P> +She asked herself, with wondering love, what could have happened that +her mother should dread what she found so pleasant? Lord Airlie +entered warmly into all her plans and wishes. Near the grand suite of +rooms that were to be prepared for his beautiful young wife, Lord +Airlie spoke of rooms for Dora, if she would consent to live with them. +</P> + +<P> +"I must write and tell mamma today," said Beatrice. "I should not like +her to hear it from any one but myself." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps you will allow me to inclose a note," suggested Lord Airlie, +"asking her to tolerate me." +</P> + +<P> +"I do not think that will be very difficult," laughingly replied his +companion. +</P> + +<P> +Their ride was a long one. On their return Beatrice was slightly +tired, and went straight to her own room. She wrote a long letter to +Dora, who must have smiled at her description of Lord Airlie. He was +everything that was true, noble, chivalrous, and grand. The world did +not hold such another. When the letter was finished it was time to +dress for dinner. +</P> + +<P> +"Which dress will you wear, miss?" asked the attentive maid. +</P> + +<P> +"The prettiest I have," said the young girl, her bright face glowing +with the words she had just written. +</P> + +<P> +What dress could be pretty enough for him? One was found at last that +pleased her—a rich, white crepe. But she would wear no +jewels—nothing but crimson roses. One lay in the thick coils of her +dark hair, another nestled against her white neck, others looped up the +flowing skirt. +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice's toilet satisfied her—this, too, with her lover's fastidious +taste to please. She stood before the large mirror, and a pleased +smile overspread her face as she saw herself reflected therein. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly she remembered the letter. The morning-dress still hung upon +a chair. She took the envelope from the pocket. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall you want me again, Miss Earle?" asked her maid. +</P> + +<P> +"No," replied Beatrice, breaking the seal; "I am ready now." +</P> + +<P> +The girl quitted the room, and Beatrice, standing before the mirror, +drew out a long, closely written letter, turning presently, in +amazement, to the signature, wondering who could be the writer. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap31"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XXXI +</H3> + +<P> +The sun shone brightly upon the roses that gleamed in her hair and +nestled against the white neck. Could it be lingering in cruel mockery +upon the pale face and the dark eyes so full of wild horror? As +Beatrice Earle read that letter, the color left even her lips, her +heart seemed to stand still, a vague, nameless dread took hold of her, +the paper fell from her hands, and with a long, low cry she fell upon +her knees, hiding her face in her hands. +</P> + +<P> +It had fallen at last—the cruel blow that even in her dreams and +thoughts she had considered impossible. Hugh Fernely had found her +out, and claimed her as his own! +</P> + +<P> +This letter, which had stricken joy and beauty from the proud face and +left it white and cold almost as the face of the dead was from him; and +the words it contained were full of such passionate love that they +terrified her. The letter ran as follows: +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"My own Beatrice,—From peril by sea and land I have returned to claim +you. Since we parted I have stood face to face with death in its most +terrible form. Each time I conquered because I felt I must see you +again. It is a trite saying that death is immortal. Death itself +would not part me from you—nay, if I were buried, and you came to my +grave and whispered my name, it seems to me I must hear you. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"Beatrice, you promised to be my wife—you will not fail me? Ah, no, it +can not be that the blue heavens above will look on quietly and witness +my death blow! You will come to me, and give me a word, a smile to +show how true you have been. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"Last evening I wandered round the grounds, wondering which were the +windows of my love's chamber, and asking myself whether she was +dreaming of me. Life has changed for you since we sat upon the cliffs +at Knutsford and you promised to be my wife. I heard at the farm all +about the great change, and how the young girl who wandered with me +through the bonny green woods is the daughter of Lord Earle. Your +home, doubtless, is a stately one. Rank and position like yours might +frighten some lovers—they do not daunt me. You will not let them +stand between us. You can not, after the promises you uttered. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"Beatrice, my voyage has been a successful one; I am not a rich man, +but I have enough to gratify every wish to your heart. I will take you +away to sunny lands over the sea where life shall be so full of +happiness that you will wish it never to end. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"I wait your commands. Rumor tells me Lord Earl is a strange, +disappointed man. I will not yet call upon you at your own home; I +shall await your reply at Brookfield. Write at once, Beatrice, and +tell me how and when I may meet you. I will go anywhere, at any time. +Do not delay—my heart hungers and thirsts for one glance of your +peerless face. Appoint an hour soon. How shall I live until it comes? +Until then think of me as +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> + "Your devoted lover, Hugh Fernely.<BR> + "Address Post Office, Brookfield."<BR> +</P> + +<P> +She read every word carefully and then slowly turned the letter over +and read it again. Her white lips quivered with indignant passion. +How dared he presume so far? His love! Ah, if Hubert Airlie could have +read those words! Fernely's love! She loathed him; she hated, with +fierce, hot hatred, the very sound of his name. Why must this most +wretched folly of her youth rise up against her now? What must she do? +Where could she turn for help and counsel? +</P> + +<P> +Could it be possible that this man she hated so fiercely had touched +her face and covered her hands with kisses and tears? She struck the +little white hands which held the letter against the marble stand, and +where Hugh Fernely's tears had fallen a dark bruise purpled the fair +skin; white hard, fierce words came from the beautiful lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Was I blind, foolish, mad?" she cried. "Dear Heaven, save me from the +fruits of my own folly!" +</P> + +<P> +Then hot anger yielded to despair. What should she do? Look which way +she might, there was no hope. If Lord Earle once discovered that she +had dealt falsely with him, she would be driven from the home she had +learned to love. He would never pardon such concealment, deceit, and +folly as hers. She knew that. If Lord Airlie ever discovered that any +other man had called her his love, had kissed her face, and claimed her +as his own, she would lose his affection. Of that she was also quite +sure. +</P> + +<P> +If she would remain at Earlescourt, if she would retain her father's +affection and Lord Airlie's love, they must never hear of Hugh Fernely. +There could be no doubt on that head. +</P> + +<P> +What should she do with him? Could she buy him off? Would money +purchase her freedom? Remembering his pride and his love, she thought +not. Should she appeal to his pity—tell him all her heart and life +were centered in Lord Airlie? Should she appeal to his love for pity's +sake? +</P> + +<P> +Remembering his passionate words, she knew it would be useless. Had she +but been married before he returned—were she but Lady Airlie of +Lynnton—he could not have harmed her. Was the man mad to think he +could win her—she who had had some of the most noble-born men in +England at her feet? Did he think she would exchange her grand old +name for his obscure one—her magnificence for his poverty. +</P> + +<P> +There was no more time for thought; the dinner bell had sounded for the +last time, and she must descend. She thrust the letter hastily into a +drawer, and locked it, and then turned to her mirror. She was startled +at the change. Surely that pale face, with its quivering lips and +shadowed eyes could not be hers. What should she do to drive away the +startled fear, the vague dread, the deadly pallor? The roses she wore +were but a ghastly contrast. +</P> + +<P> +"I must bear it better," she said to herself. "Such a face as this +will betray my secret. Let me feel that I do not care that it will all +come right in the end." +</P> + +<P> +She said the words aloud, but the voice was changed and hoarse. +</P> + +<P> +"Women have faced more deadly peril than this," she continued, "and +have won. Is there any peril I would not brave for Hubert Airlie's +sake?" +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice Earle left the room. She swept, with her beautiful head +erect, through the wide corridors and down the broad staircase. She +took her seat at the sumptuous table, whereon gold and silver shone, +whereon everything recherche and magnificent was displayed. But she +had with her a companion she was never again to lose, a haunting fear, +a skeleton that was never more to quit her side, a miserable +consciousness of folly that was bringing sore wretchedness upon her. +Never again was she to feel free from fear and care. +</P> + +<P> +"Beatrice," said Lady Earle when dinner was over, "you will never learn +prudence." +</P> + +<P> +She started, and the beautiful bloom just beginning to return, vanished +again. +</P> + +<P> +"Do not look alarmed, my dear," continued Lady Helena; "I am not angry. +I fear you were out too long today. Lord Airlie must take more care of +you; the sun was very hot, and you look quite ill. I never saw you +look as you do tonight." +</P> + +<P> +"We had very little sun," replied Beatrice, with a laugh as she tried +to make a gay one; "we rode under the shade in the park. I am tired, +but not with my ride." +</P> + +<P> +It was a pleasant evening, and when the gentlemen joined the ladies in +the drawing room, the sunbeams still lingered on flower and tree. The +long windows were all open, and the soft summer wind that came in was +laden with the sweet breath of the flowers. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Airlie asked Beatrice to sing. It was a relief to her; she could +not have talked; all the love and sorrow, all the fear and despair that +tortured her, could find vent in music. So she sat in the evening +gloaming, and Lord Airlie, listening to the superb voice, wondered at +the pathos and sadness that seemed to ring in every note. +</P> + +<P> +"What weird music, Beatrice!" he said, at length. "You are singing of +love, but the love is all sorrow. Your songs are generally so bright +and happy. What has come over you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing," was the reply, but he, bending over her, saw the dark eyes +were dim with tears. +</P> + +<P> +"There," cried Lord Airlie, "you see I am right. You have positively +sung yourself to tears." +</P> + +<P> +He drew her from the piano, and led her to the large bay window where +the roses peeped in. He held her face up to the mellow evening light, +and looked gravely into her beautiful eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me," he said, simply, "what has saddened you, Beatrice you have +no secrets from me. What were you thinking of just now when you sang +that dreamy 'Lebenwold?' Every note was like a long sigh." +</P> + +<P> +"Shall you laugh if I tell you?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"No," he replied; "I can not promise to sigh, but I will not smile." +</P> + +<P> +"I was thinking what I should do if—if anything happened to part us." +</P> + +<P> +"But nothing ever will happen," he said; "nothing can part us but +death. I know what would happen to me if I lost you, Beatrice." +</P> + +<P> +"What?" she asked, looking up into the handsome, kindly face. +</P> + +<P> +"I should not kill myself," he said, "for I hold life to be a sacred +gift; but I should go where the face of no other woman would smile upon +me. Why do you talk so dolefully, Beatrice? Let us change the subject. +Tell me where you would like to go when we are married—shall it be +France, Italy, or Spain?" +</P> + +<P> +"Would nothing ever make you love me less, Hubert?" she asked. "Neither +poverty nor sickness?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," he replied; "nothing you can think of or invent." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor disgrace?" she continued; but he interrupted her half angrily. +</P> + +<P> +"Hush!" he said, "I do not like such a word upon your lips; never say +it again. What disgrace can touch you? You are too pure, too good." +</P> + +<P> +She turned from him, and he fancied a low moan came from her trembling +lips. +</P> + +<P> +"You are tired, and—pray forgive me, Beatrice—nervous too," said Lord +Airlie; "I will be your doctor. You shall lie down here upon this +couch. I will place it where you can see the sun set in the west, and +I will read to you something that will drive all fear away. I thought +during dinner that you looked ill and worn." +</P> + +<P> +Gently enough he drew the couch to the window, Lady Earle watching him +the while with smiling face. He induced Beatrice to lie down, and then +turned her face to the garden where the setting sun was pleasantly +gilding the flowers. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, you have something pleasant to look at," said Lord Airlie, "and +you shall have something pleasant to listen to. I am going to read +some of Schiller's 'Marie Stuart.'" +</P> + +<P> +He sat at her feet, and held her white hands in his. He read the +grand, stirring words that at times seemed like the ring of martial +music, and again like the dirge of a soul in despair. +</P> + +<P> +His clear, rich voice sounded pleasantly in the evening calm. +Beatrice's eyes lingered on the western sky all aflame, but her +thoughts were with Hugh Fernely. +</P> + +<P> +What could she do? If she could but temporize with him, if she could +but pacify him, for a time, until she was married, all would be safe. +He would not dare to talk of claiming Lady Airlie it would be vain if +he did. Besides, she would persuade Lord Airlie to go abroad; and, +seeing all pursuit useless, Hugh would surely give her up. Even at the +very worst, if Hubert and she were once married, she would not fear; if +she confessed all to him, he would forgive her. He might be very +angry, but he would pardon his wife. If he knew all about it before +marriage, there was no hope for her. +</P> + +<P> +She must temporize with Fernely—write in a style that would convey +nothing, and tell him that he must wait. He could not refuse. She +would write that evening a letter that should give him no hope, nor yet +drive him to despair. +</P> + +<P> +"That is a grand scene, is it not?" said Lord Airlie suddenly; then he +saw by Beatrice's startled look that she had not listened. +</P> + +<P> +"I plead guilty at once," she replied. "I was thinking—do not be +angry—I was thinking of something that relates to yourself. I heard +nothing of what you read, Hubert. Will you read it again?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly not," he said, with a laugh of quiet amusement. "Reading +does not answer; we will try conversation. Let us resume the subject +you ran away from before—where shall we go for our wedding trip?" +</P> + +<P> +Only three days since she would have suggested twenty different places; +she would have smiled and blushed, her dark eyes growing brighter at +every word. Now she listened to her lover's plans as if a ghostly hand +had clutched her heart and benumbed her with fear. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +That evening it seemed to Beatrice Earle as though she would never be +left alone. In the drawing room stood a dainty little escritoire used +by the ladies of Earlescourt. Here she dared not write lest Lord +Airlie should, as he often did, linger by her, pretending to assist +her. If she went into the library, Lord Earle would be sure to ask to +whom she was writing. There was nothing to be done but to wait until +she retired to her own room. +</P> + +<P> +First came Lady Earle, solicitous about her health, recommending a long +rest and a quiet sleep; then Lillian, full of anxiety, half longing to +ask Beatrice if she thought Lionel Dacre handsomer and kinder than any +one else; then the maid Suzette, who seemed to linger as though she +would never go. +</P> + +<P> +At length she was alone, the door locked upon the outer world. She was +soon seated at her little desk, where she speedily wrote the following +cold letter, that almost drove Hugh Fernely mad: +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Hugh,—Have you really returned? I thought you were lost in +the Chinese Seas, or had forgotten the little episode at Knutsford. I +can not see you just yet. As you have heard, Lord Earle has peculiar +notions—I must humor them. I will write again soon, and say when and +where I can see you. Yours sincerely, Beatrice Earle." +</P> + +<P> +She folded the letter and addressed it as he wished; then she left her +room and went down into the hall, where the post-bag lay open upon the +table. She placed the missive inside, knowing that no one would take +the trouble to look at the letters; then she returned, as she had come, +silently. +</P> + +<P> +The letter reached Brookfield at noon the following day. When Hugh +Fernely opened it he bit his lips with rage. Cold, heartless lines! +Not one word was there of welcome. Not one of sorrow for his supposed +death; no mention of love, truth, or fidelity; no promise that she +would be his. What could such a letter mean? +</P> + +<P> +He almost hated the girl whom he had loved so well. Yet he could not, +would not, believe anything except that perhaps during his long absence +she had grown to think less kindly of him. She had promised to be his +wife, and let come what might, he would make her keep her word. +</P> + +<P> +So he said, and Hugh Fernely meant it. His whole life was centered in +her and he would not tamely give her up. +</P> + +<P> +The letter dispatched, Beatrice awaited the reply with a suspense no +words can describe. A dull wonder came over her at times why she must +suffer so keenly. Other girls had done what she had done—nay, fifty +times worse—and no Nemesis haunted them. Why was this specter of fear +and shame to stand by her side every moment and distress her? +</P> + +<P> +It was true it had been very wrong of her to meet this tiresome Hugh +Fernely in the pleasant woods and on the sea shore; but it had broken +the monotony that had seemed to be killing her. His passionate love +had been delicious flattery; still she had not intended anything +serious. It had only been a novelty and an amusement to her, although +to him perhaps it had been a matter of life or death. But she had +deceived Lord Earle. If, when he had questioned her, and sought with +such tender wisdom to win her confidence, if she had told him her story +then, he would have saved her from further persecution and from the +effects of her own folly; if she had told him then, it would not have +mattered there would have been no obstacle to her love for Lord Airlie. +</P> + +<P> +It was different now. If she were to tell Lord Earle, after his +deliberate and emphatic words, she could expect no mercy; yet, she said +to herself, other girls have done even worse, and punishment had not +overtaken them so swiftly. +</P> + +<P> +At last she slept, distressed and worn out with thought. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap32"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XXXII +</H3> + +<P> +For the first time in her life, when the bright sun shone into her +room, Beatrice turned her face to the wall and dreaded the sight of +day. The post-bag would leave the hall at nine in the morning—Hugh +would have the letter at noon. Until then she was safe. +</P> + +<P> +Noon came and went, but the length of the summer's day brought nothing +save fresh misery. At every unusual stir, every loud peal of the bell, +every quick footstep, she turned pale, and her heart seemed to die +within her. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Earle watched her with anxious eyes. She could not understand the +change that had come over the brilliant young girl who had used to be +the life of the house. Every now and then she broke out into wild +feverish gayety. Lillian saw that something ailed her sister—she +could not tell what. +</P> + +<P> +For the fiftieth time that day, when the hall door bell sounded, +Beatrice looked up with trembling lips she vainly tried to still. At +last Lady Earle took the burning hands in her own. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear child," she said, "you will have a nervous fever if you go on +in this way. What makes you start at every noise? You look as though +you were waiting for something dreadful to happen." +</P> + +<P> +"No one ever called me nervous," replied Beatrice, with a smile, +controlling herself with an effort; "mamma's chief complaint against me +was that I had no nerves;" adding presently to herself: "This can not +last. I would rather die at once that live in this agony." +</P> + +<P> +The weary day came to a close, however, and it was well for Beatrice +that Lord Airlie had not spent it with her. The gentlemen at +Earlescourt had all gone to a bachelor's dinner, given by old Squire +Newton of the Grange. It was late when they returned, and Lord Airlie +did not notice anything unusual in Beatrice. +</P> + +<P> +"I call this a day wasted," he said, as he bade her goodnight; "for it +has been a day spent away from you. I thought it would never come to +an end." +</P> + +<P> +She sighed, remembering what a dreary day it had been to her. Could she +live through such another? Half the night she lay awake, wondering if +Hugh's answer to her letter would come by the first post, and whether +Lord Earle would say anything if he noticed another letter from +Brookfield. Fortune favored her. In the morning Lord Earle was deeply +engrossed by a story Lionel was telling, and asked Beatrice to open the +bag for him. She again saw a hated blue envelope bearing her own name. +When all the other letters were distributed, she slipped hers into the +pocket of her dress, without any one perceiving the action. +</P> + +<P> +Breakfast was over at last; and leaving Lord Airlie talking to Lillian, +Beatrice hastened to read the letter. None of Hugh's anger was there +set down; but if she had cared for him her heart must have ached at the +pathos of his simple words. He had received her note, he said—the +note so unworthy of her—and hastened to tell her that he was obliged +to go to London on some important business connected with his ship, and +that he should be absent three weeks. He would write to her at once on +his return, and he should insist upon seeing her then, as well as exact +the fulfillment of her promise. +</P> + +<P> +It was a respite; much might happen in three weeks. She tore the +letter into shreds, and felt as though relieved of a deadly weight. If +time could but be gained, she thought—if something could happen to +urge on her marriage with Hubert Airlie before Hugh returned! At any +rate, for the moment she was free. +</P> + +<P> +She looked like herself again when Lord Airlie came to ask her if she +would ride or walk. The beautiful bloom had returned to her face and +the light to her eyes. All day she was in brilliant spirits. There +was no need now to tremble at a loud ring or a rapid step. Three weeks +was a long time—much might happen. "Oh, if Lord Airlie would but force +me to marry him soon!" +</P> + +<P> +That very evening Lord Airlie asked her if she would go out with him. +He wanted to talk to her alone, for he was going away on the morrow, +and had much to say to her. +</P> + +<P> +"Where are you going?" she asked with sad, wondering eyes, her chance +of escaping seeming rapidly to diminish. +</P> + +<P> +"I am going to Lynnton," he replied, "to see about plans for the new +buildings. They should be begun at once. For even if we remain abroad +a whole year they will then be hardly finished. I shall be away ten +days or a fortnight. When I return, Beatrice, I shall ask you a +question. Can you guess what it will be?" +</P> + +<P> +There was no answering smile on her face. Perhaps he would be absent +three weeks. What chance of escape had she now? +</P> + +<P> +"I shall ask you when you will fulfill your promise," he +continued—"when you will let me make you in deed and in word my wife. +You must not be cruel to me, Beatrice. I have waited long enough. You +will think about it while I am gone, will you not?" +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle smiled as he noted his daughter's face. Airlie was going +away, and therefore she was dull—that was just as it should be. He +was delighted that she cared so much for him. He told Lady Helena that +he had not thought Beatrice capable of such deep affection. Lady +Helena told him she had never known any one who could love so well or +hate so thoroughly as Beatrice. +</P> + +<P> +The morning came, and Lord Airlie lingered so long over his farewell +that Lady Helena began to think he would alter his mind and remain +where he was. He started at last, however, promising to write every +day to Beatrice, and followed by the good wishes of the whole household. +</P> + +<P> +He was gone, and Hugh was gone; for three weeks she had nothing to +fear, nothing to hope, and a settled melancholy calm fell upon her. +Her father and Lady Helena thought she was dull because her lover was +away; the musical laugh that used to gladden Lord Earle's heart was +hushed; she became unusually silent; the beautiful face grew pale and +sad. They smiled and thought it natural. Lillian, who knew every +expression of her sister's face, grew anxious, fearing there was some +ailment either of body or mind of which none of them were aware. +</P> + +<P> +They believed she was thinking of her absent lover and feeling dull +without him. In reality her thoughts were centered upon one idea—what +could she do to get rid of Hugh Fernely? Morning, noon, and night that +one question was always before her. She talked when others did, she +laughed with them; but if there came an interval of silence the +beautiful face assumed a far-off dreamy expression Lillian had never +seen there before. Beatrice was generally on her guard, watchful and +careful, but there were times when the mask she wore so bravely fell +off, and Lillian, looking at her then, knew all was not well with her +sister. +</P> + +<P> +What was to be done to get free from Hugh? Every hour in the day fresh +plans came to her—some so absurd as to provoke feverish, unnatural +laughter, but none that were feasible. With all her daring wit, her +quick thought, her vivid fancy—with all her resource of mind and +intellect, she could do nothing. Day and night the one question was +still there—what could she do to get free from Hugh Fernely? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap33"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XXXIII +</H3> + +<P> +A whole week passed, and the "something" Beatrice longed for had not +happened. Life went on quietly and smoothly. Her father and Lady +Earle busied themselves in talking of preparations for the marriage. +Lionel Dacre and Lillian slowly drifted into the fairyland of hope, +Lord Airlie wrote every day. No one dreamed of the dark secret that +hung over Earlescourt. +</P> + +<P> +Every morning Beatrice, with the sanguine hopefulness of youth, said to +herself, "Something will happen today;" every night she thought, +"Something must happen tomorrow;" but days and nights went on calmly, +unbroken by any event or incident such as she wished. +</P> + +<P> +The time of reprieve was rapidly passing. What should she do if, at +the end of three weeks, Lord Airlie returned and Hugh Fernely came back +to Earlescourt? Through the long sunny hours that question tortured +her—the suspense made her sick at heart. There were times when she +thought it better to die at once than pass through this lingering agony +of fear. +</P> + +<P> +But she was young, and youth is ever sanguine; she was brave, and the +brave rarely despair. She did not realize the difficulties of her +position, and she did not think it possible that anything could happen +to take her from Hubert Airlie. +</P> + +<P> +Only one person noted the change in Beatrice, and that was her sister, +Lillian Earle. Lillian missed the high spirits, the brilliant +repartee, the gay words that had made home so bright; over and over +again she said to herself all was not well with her sister. +</P> + +<P> +Lillian had her own secret—one she had as yet hardly whispered to +herself. From her earliest childhood she had been accustomed to give +way to Beatrice. Not that there was any partiality displayed, but the +willful young beauty generally contrived to have her own way. By her +engaging manners and high spirits she secured every one's attention; +and thus Lillian was in part overlooked. +</P> + +<P> +She was very fair and gentle, this golden-haired daughter of Ronald +Earle. Her face was so pure and spirituelle that one might have +sketched it for the face of a seraph; the tender violet eyes were full +of eloquence, the white brow full of thought. Her beauty never +dazzled, never took any one by storm; it won by slow degrees a place in +one's heart. +</P> + +<P> +She was of a thoughtful, unobtrusive nature; nothing could have made +her worldly, nothing could have made her proud. +</P> + +<P> +Sweet, calm, serene, ignorant alike of all the height of happiness and +the depths of despair—gifted, too with a singularly patient +disposition and amiable temper, no one had ever seen Lillian Earle +angry or hasty; her very presence seemed full of rest and peace. +</P> + +<P> +Nature had richly endowed her. She had a quick, vivid fancy, a rare +and graceful imagination; and perhaps her grandest gift was a strong +and deep love for things not of this world. Not that Lillian was given +to "preaching," or being disagreeably "goody," but high and holy +thoughts came naturally to her. When Lord Earle wanted amusement, he +sent for Beatrice—no one could while away long hours as she could; +when he wanted comfort, advice, or sympathy, he sought Lillian. Every +one loved her, much as one loves the sunbeams that bring bright light +and warmth. +</P> + +<P> +Lionel Dacre loved her best of all. His only wonder was that any one +could even look at Beatrice when Lillian was near. He wondered +sometimes whether she had not been made expressly for him—she was so +strong where he was weak, her calm serene patience controlled his +impetuosity, her gentle thoughtfulness balanced his recklessness, her +sweet, graceful humility corrected his pride. +</P> + +<P> +She influenced him more than he knew—one word from her did wonders +with him. He loved her for her fair beauty, but most of all for the +pure, guileless heart that knew no shadow of evil upon which the world +had never even breathed. +</P> + +<P> +Lionel Dacre had peculiar ideas about women. His mother, who had been +a belle in her day, was essentially worldly. The only lessons she had +ever taught him were how to keep up appearance, how to study +fashionable life and keep pace with it. +</P> + +<P> +She had been a lady of fashion, struggling always with narrow means; +and there were times when her son's heart grew sick, remembering the +falseness, the meanness, the petty cunning maneuvers she had been +obliged to practice. +</P> + +<P> +As he grew older and began to look around the world, he was not +favorably impressed. The ladies of his mother's circle were all +striving together to get the foremost place. He heard of envy, +jealousy, scandal, untruth, until he wondered if all women were alike. +</P> + +<P> +He himself was of a singularly truthful, honorable nature—all deceit, +all false appearances were hateful to him. He had formed to himself an +ideal of a wife, and he resolved to live and die unmarried unless he +could find some one to realize it. +</P> + +<P> +Lillian Earle did. He watched her keenly; she was truthful and open as +the day. He never heard a false word from her not even one of the +trifling excuses that pass current in society for truth. He said to +himself, if any one was all but perfect, surely she was. To use his +own expression, he let his heart's desire rest in her; all he had ever +hoped for or dreamed of was centered in her. He set to work +deliberately and with all the ardor of his impetuous nature to win her +love. +</P> + +<P> +At first she did not understand him; then by degrees he watched the +pure young heart awaken to consciousness. It was as pretty a +development of love as ever was witnessed. At the sound of his +footsteps or his voice the faint color flushed into her face, light +came into her eyes; and when he stood by her side, bending his handsome +head to read her secret, she would speak a word or two, and then hurry +away from him. If he wished to join her in her walks or rides, she +begged to be excused with trembling lips and drooping eyes. +</P> + +<P> +She hardly knew herself what had come to her—why the world seemed +suddenly to have grown so fair—what made fresh luster in the sky +above. A vague, delicious happiness stirred in the gentle heart. She +longed for, yet half dreaded, Lionel's presence. When he was near her, +the little hands trembled and the sweet face grew warm and flushed. +Yet the measure of her content and happiness seemed full. +</P> + +<P> +Lionel saw it all, and he wondered why such a precious treasure as the +love of this pure, innocent girl should be his. What had he ever done +to deserve it? Through her he began to respect all other women, +through her he began to value the high and holy teachings he had +hitherto overlooked. She was his ideal realized. If ever the time +should come for him to be disappointed in her, then he would believe +all things false—but it never could be. +</P> + +<P> +How should he tell her of his love? It would be like trying to cage a +startled, timid bird. He stood abashed before her sweet innocence. +</P> + +<P> +But the time came when he resolved to woo and win her—when he felt +that his life would be unbearable without her; and he said to himself +that sweet Lillian Earle should be his wife, or he would never look +upon a woman's face again. +</P> + +<P> +Lionel felt some slight jealousy of Beatrice; he paid dearly enough for +it in the dark after-days. He fancied that she eclipsed Lillian. He +thought that if he spoke to Lord Earle of his love, he would insist +upon both marriages taking place on one day; and then his fair gentle +love would, as usual, be second to her brilliant sister. +</P> + +<P> +"That shall never be," he said to himself. "Lillian shall have a +wedding day of her own, the honors unshared. She shall be the one +center of attraction." +</P> + +<P> +He determined to say nothing to Lord Earle until Beatrice was married; +surely her wedding must take place soon—Lord Airlie seemed unable to +exist out of her presence. When they were married and gone, Lillian +should have her turn of admiration and love. It was nothing but proud, +jealous care for her that made him delay. +</P> + +<P> +And Lillian discovered her own secret at last. She knew she loved +Lionel. He was unlike every one else. Who was so handsome, so brave, +so good? She liked to look shyly at the frank, proud face and the +careless wave of hair thrown back from his brow; his voice made music +in her heart, and she wondered whether he really cared for her. +</P> + +<P> +In her rare sweet humility she never saw how far she was above him; she +never dreamed that he looked up to her as a captain to his queen. He +was always by her side, he paid her a thousand graceful attentions, he +sought her advice and sympathy, some unspoken words seemed ever on his +lips. Lillian Earle asked herself over and over again whether he loved +her. +</P> + +<P> +She was soon to know. From some careless words of Lord Earle's, Lionel +gathered that Beatrice's marriage would take place in November. Then +he decided, if he could win her consent, that Lillian's wedding should +be when the spring flowers were blooming. +</P> + +<P> +August, with its sunny days, was at an end. Early in September Lillian +stood alone on the shore of the deep, clear lake. Lionel saw her +there, and hastened to join her, wondering at the grave expression on +her face. +</P> + +<P> +"What are you thinking of, Lillian?" he asked. "You look sad and +anxious." +</P> + +<P> +"I was thinking of Beatrice," she replied. "She seems so changed, so +different. I can not understand it." +</P> + +<P> +"I can," said Lionel. "You forget that she will soon leave the old +life far behind her. She is going into a new world; a change so great +may well make one thoughtful." +</P> + +<P> +"She loves Lord Airlie," returned Lillian—she could hear even then the +musical voice saying, "I love him so dearly, Lily"—"she can not be +unhappy." +</P> + +<P> +"I do not mean that," he replied; "thought and silence are not always +caused by unhappiness. Ah, Lily," he cried, "I wonder if you guess +ever so faintly at the thoughts that fill my heart! I wonder if you +know how dearly I love you. Nay, do not turn from me, do not look +frightened. To me you are the truest, noblest, and fairest woman in +the world. I love you so dearly, Lily, that I have not a thought or +wish away from you. I am not worthy to win you, I know—you are as far +above me as the sun shining overhead but, if you would try, you might +make me what you would. Could you like me?" +</P> + +<P> +The sweet flushed face was raised to his; he read the happiness shining +in the clear eyes. But she could not speak to him; words seemed to die +upon her lips. Lionel took the little white hands and clasped them in +his own. +</P> + +<P> +"I knew I should frighten you, Lily," he said, gently. "Forgive me if +I have spoken too abruptly. I do not wish you to decide at once. Take +me on trial—see if you can learn to love me weeks, months, or years +hence. I am willing to wait a whole life time for you, my darling, and +should think the time well spent. Will it be possible for you ever to +like me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I like you now," she said, simply. +</P> + +<P> +"Then promise to endeavor to love me," he persisted; "will you, Lily? +I will do anything you wish me; I will try my best to be half as good +as you are. Promise me, darling—my life hangs on your answer." +</P> + +<P> +"I promise," she said; and he knew how much the words meant. +</P> + +<P> +On the little hand that rested in his own he saw a pretty ring; it was +a large pearl set in gold. Lionel drew it from her finger. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall take this, Lily," he said; "and, when Beatrice is married and +gone, I shall go to Lord Earle and ask him to give you to me. I will +not go now; we will keep our secret for a short time. Two love affairs +at once would be too much. You will learn to love me, and when the +spring time comes, perhaps you will make me happy as Beatrice will by +then have made Lord Airlie. I shall keep the ring. Lillian, you are +my pearl, and this will remind me of you. Just to make me very happy, +say you are pleased." +</P> + +<P> +"I will say more than that," she replied, a happy smile rippling over +her face; "I have more than half learned my lesson." +</P> + +<P> +He kissed the pretty hand, and looked at the fair, flushed face he +dared not touch with his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"I can not thank you," he said, his voice full of emotion. "I will +live for you, Lily, and my life shall prove my gratitude. I begin to +wish the spring were nearer. I wonder if you will have learned your +lesson then." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap34"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XXXIV +</H3> + +<P> +Lord Airlie's return to Earlescourt had been delayed. The changes to +take place at Lynnton involved more than he thought. It was quite three +weeks before he could leave the Hall and seek again the presence he +loved best on earth. +</P> + +<P> +Three weeks, yet nothing had happened. Beatrice had watched each day +begin and end until her heart grew faint with fear; she was as far as +ever from finding herself freed from Hugh Fernely. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Airlie, on his arrival, was startled by the change in her +brilliant face. Yet he was flattered by it. He thought how intensely +she must love him if his absence could affect her so strongly. He +kissed her pale face over and over again, declaring that he would not +leave her any more—no one else knew how to take care of her. +</P> + +<P> +They were all pleased to welcome him for every one liked Lord Airlie, +and the family circle did not seem complete without him. That very +night he had an interview with Lord Earle and besought him to allow the +marriage to take place as soon as possible. He had been miserable away +from Beatrice, he declared, and he thought she looked pale and grave. +Would Lord Earle be willing to say November, or perhaps the latter end +of October? +</P> + +<P> +"My daughter must arrange the time herself" said Lord Earle; "whatever +day she chooses will meet with my approval." +</P> + +<P> +Lord Airlie went to the drawing room where he had left Beatrice, and +told her Lord Earle's answer; she smiled, but he saw the white lips +quiver as she did so. +</P> + +<P> +Only one month since his passionate, loving words would have made the +sweetest music to her; she listened and tried to look like herself, but +her heart was cold with vague, unutterable dread. +</P> + +<P> +"The fourteenth of October"—clever Lord Airlie, by some system of +calculation known only to himself, persuaded Beatrice that that was the +"latter end of the month." +</P> + +<P> +"Not another word," he said, gayly. "I will go and tell Lord Earle. +Do not say afterward that you have changed your mind, as many ladies +do. Beatrice, say to me, 'Hubert, I promise to marry you on the +fourteenth of October.'" +</P> + +<P> +She repeated the words after him. +</P> + +<P> +"It will be almost winter," he added; "the flowers will have faded, the +leaves will have fallen from the trees; yet no summer day will ever be +so bright to me as that." +</P> + +<P> +She watched him quit the room, and a long, low cry came from her lips. +Would it ever be? She went to the window and looked at the trees. +When the green leaves lay dead she would be Lord Airlie's wife, or +would the dark cloud of shame and sorrow have fallen, hiding her +forever from his sight? +</P> + +<P> +Ah, if she had been more prudent! How tame and foolish, how +distasteful the romance she had once thought delightful seemed now! If +she had but told all to Lord Earle! +</P> + +<P> +It was too late now! Yet, despite the deadly fear that lay at her +heart, Beatrice still felt something like hope. Hope is the last thing +to die in the human breast—it was not yet dead in hers. +</P> + +<P> +At least for that one evening—the first after Lord Airlie's +return—she would be happy. She would throw the dark shadow away from +her, forget it, and enjoy her lover's society. He could see smiles on +her face, and hear bright words such as he loved. Let the morrow bring +what it would, she would be happy that night. And she kept her word. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Airlie looked back afterward on that evening as one of the +pleasantest of his life. There was no shadow upon the beautiful face +he loved so well. Beatrice was all life and animation; her gay, sweet +words charmed every one who heard them. Even Lionel forgot to be +jealous, and admired her more than he ever had before. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle smiled as he remarked to Lady Helena that all her fears for +her grandchild's health were vain—the true physician was come at last. +</P> + +<P> +When Lord Airlie bade Beatrice good night, he bent low over the white, +jeweled hand. +</P> + +<P> +"I forget all time when with you," he said; "it does not seem an hour +since I came to Earlescourt." +</P> + +<P> +The morrow brought the letter she had dreaded yet expected to see. +</P> + +<P> +It was not filled with loving, passionate words, as was the first Hugh +had written. He said the time had come when he must have an +answer—when he must know from her own lips at what period he might +claim the fulfillment of her promise—when she would be his wife. +</P> + +<P> +He would wait no longer. If it was to be war, let the war begin he +should win. If peace, so much the better. In any case he was tired of +suspense, and must know at once what she intended to do. He would +trust to no more promises; that very night he would be at Earlescourt, +and must see her. Still, though he intended to enforce his rights, he +would not wantonly cause her pain. He would not seek the presence of +her father until she had seen him and they had settled upon some plan +of action. +</P> + +<P> +"I know the grounds around Earlescourt well," he wrote. "I wandered +through them for many nights three weeks ago. A narrow path runs from +the gardens to the shrubbery—meet me there at nine; it will be dark +then, and you need not fear being seen. Remember, Beatrice, at nine +tonight I shall be there; and if you do not come, I must seek you in +the house, for see you I will." +</P> + +<P> +The letter fell from her hands; cold drops of fear and shame stood upon +her brow; hatred and disgust filled her heart. Oh, that she should +ever have placed herself in the power of such a man! +</P> + +<P> +The blow had fallen at last. She stood face to face with her shame and +fear. How could she meet Hugh Fernely? What should she say to him? +How must such a meeting end? It would but anger him the more. He +should not even touch her hand in greeting, she said to herself; and +how would he endure her contempt? +</P> + +<P> +She would not see him. She dared not. How could she find time? Lord +Airlie never left her side. She could not meet Hugh. The web seemed +closing round her, but she would break through it. +</P> + +<P> +She would send him a letter saying she was ill, and begging him to wait +yet a little longer. Despite his firm words, she knew he would not +refuse it if she wrote kindly. Again came the old hope something might +happen in a few days. If not, she must run away; if everything failed +and she could not free herself from him, then she would leave home; in +any case she would not fall into his hands—rather death than that. +</P> + +<P> +More than once she thought of Gaspar's words. He was so true, so +brave—he would have died for her. Ah, if he could but help her, if +she could but call him to her aid! In this, the dark hour of her life +by her own deed she had placed herself beyond the reach of all human +help. +</P> + +<P> +She would write—upon that she was determined; but who would take the +letter? Who could she ask to stand at the shrubbery gate and give to +the stranger a missive from herself? If she asked such a favor from a +servant, she would part with her secret to one who might hold it as a +rod of iron over her. She was too proud for that. There was only one +in the world who could help her, and that was her sister Lillian. +</P> + +<P> +She shrank with unutterable shame from telling her. She remembered how +long ago at Knutsford she had said something that had shocked her +sister, and the scared, startled expression of her face was with her +still. It was a humiliation beyond all words. Yet, if she could +undergo it, there would be comfort in Lillian's sympathy. Lillian +would take the letter, she would see Hugh, and tell him she was ill. +Ill she felt in very truth. Hugh would be pacified for a time if he saw +Lillian. She could think of no other arrangement. That evening she +would tell her sister—there was rest even in the thought. +</P> + +<P> +Long before dinner Lady Helena came in search of Beatrice—it was high +time, she said, that orders should be sent to London for her trousseau, +and the list must be made out at once. +</P> + +<P> +She sat calmly in Lady Helena's room, writing in obedience to her +words, thinking all the time how she should tell Lillian, how best make +her understand the deadly error committed, yet save herself as much as +she could. Lady Earle talked of laces and embroidery, of morning +dresses and jewels, while Beatrice went over in her mind every word of +her confession. +</P> + +<P> +"That will do," said Lady Earle, with a smile; "I have been very +explicit, but I fear it has been in vain. Have you heard anything I +have said, Beatrice?" +</P> + +<P> +She blushed, and looked so confused that Lady Helena said, laughingly: +</P> + +<P> +"You may go—do not be ashamed. Many years ago I was just as much in +love myself, and just as unable to think of anything else as you are +now." +</P> + +<P> +There was some difficulty in finding Lillian; she was discovered at +last in the library, looking over some fine old engravings with Mr. +Dacre. He looked up hastily when Beatrice asked her sister to spare +her half an hour. +</P> + +<P> +"Do not go, Lily," he said, jestingly; "it is only some nonsense about +wedding dresses. Let us finish this folio." +</P> + +<P> +But Beatrice had no gay repartee for him. She looked grave, although +she tried to force a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"I can not understand that girl," he said to himself, as the library +door closed behind the two sisters. "I could almost fancy that +something was distressing her." +</P> + +<P> +"Lily," said Beatrice, "I want you very much. I am sorry to take you +from Lionel; you like being with him, I think." +</P> + +<P> +The fair face of her sister flushed warmly. +</P> + +<P> +"But I want you, dear," said Beatrice. "Oh, Lily, I am in bitter +trouble! No one can help me but you." +</P> + +<P> +They went together into the little boudoir Beatrice called her own. +She placed her sister in the easy lounging chair drawn near the window, +and then half knelt, half sat at her feet. +</P> + +<P> +"I am in such trouble, Lily!" she cried. "Think how great it is when I +know not how to tell you." +</P> + +<P> +The sweet, gentle eyes looked wonderingly into her own. Beatrice +clasped her sister's hands. +</P> + +<P> +"You must not judge me harshly," she said, "I am not good like you, +Lily; I never could be patient and gentle like you. Do you remember, +long ago, at Knutsford, how I found you one morning upon the cliffs, +and told you that I hated my life? I did hate it, Lillian," she +continued. "You can never tell how much; its quiet monotony was +killing me. I have done wrong; but surely they are to blame who made +my life what it was then—who shut me out from the world, instead of +giving me my rightful share of its pleasures. I can not tell you what +I did, Lily." +</P> + +<P> +She laid her beautiful, sad face on her sister's hands. Lillian bent +over her, and whispered how dearly she loved her, and how she would do +anything to help her. +</P> + +<P> +"That very morning," she said, never raising her eyes to her sister's +face—"that morning, Lily, I met a stranger—a gentleman he seemed to +me—and he watched me with admiring eyes. I met him again, and he spoke +to me. He walked by my side through the long meadows, and told me +strange stories of foreign lands he had visited—such stories! I +forgot that he was a stranger, and talked to him as I am talking to you +now. I met him again and again. Nay, do not turn from me; I shall die +if you shrink away." +</P> + +<P> +The gentle arms clasped her more closely. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not turning from you," replied Lillian. "I can not love you more +than I do now." +</P> + +<P> +"I met him" continued Beatrice, "every day, unknown to every one about +me. He praised my beauty, and I was filled with joy; then he talked to +me of love, and I listened without anger. I swear to you," she said, +"that I did it all without thought; it was the novelty, the flattery, +the admiration that pleased me, not he himself, I believe Lily. I +rarely thought of him. He interested me; he had eloquent words at his +command, and seeing how I loved romance, he told me stories of +adventure that held me enchanted and breathless. I lost sight of him +in thinking of the wonders he related. They are to blame, Lily, who +shut me out from the living world. Had I been in my proper place here +at home, where I could have seen and judged people rightly, it would +not have happened. At first it was but a pleasant break in a life +dreary beyond words; then I looked for the daily meed of flattery and +homage. I could not do without it. Lily, will you hold me to have +been mad when I tell you the time came when I allowed that man to hold +my hands as you are doing, to kiss my face, and win from me a promise +that I would be his wife?" +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice looked up then and saw the fair, pitying face almost as white +as snow. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it worse than you thought?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes," said Lillian; "terrible, irretrievable, I fear!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap35"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XXXV +</H3> + +<P> +There was unbroken silence for some minutes; then Lillian bent over her +sister, and said: +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me all, darling; perhaps I can help you." +</P> + +<P> +"I promised to be his wife, Lily," continued Beatrice. "I am sure I +did not mean it. I was but a child. I did not realize all that the +words meant. He kissed my face, and said he should come to claim me. +Believe me, Lily, I never thought of marriage. Brilliant pictures of +foreign lands filled my mind; I looked upon Hugh Fernely only as a +means of escape from a life I detested. He promised to take me to +places the names of which filled me with wonder. I never thought of +leaving you or mamma—I never thought of the man himself as of a lover." +</P> + +<P> +"You did not care for him, then, as you do for Lord Airlie?" interposed +Lillian. +</P> + +<P> +"Do not pain me!" begged Beatrice. "I love Hubert with the love that +comes but once in life; that man was nothing to me except that his +flattery, and the excitement of contriving to meet him, made my life +more endurable. He gave me a ring, and said in two years' time he +should return to claim me. He was going on a long voyage. Lily, I +felt relieved when he was gone—the novelty was over—I had grown +tired. Besides, when the glamour fell from my eyes, I was ashamed of +what I had done. I tried to forget all about him; every time the +remembrance of him came to my mind I drove it from me. I did not think +it possible he would ever return. It was but a summer's pastime. That +summer has darkened my life. Looking back, I own I did very wrong. +There is great blame attaching to me, but surely they who shut me out +from the living world were blameworthy also. +</P> + +<P> +"Remember all through my story, darling, that I am not so good, not so +patient and gentle as you. I was restless at the Elms, like a bird in a +cage; you were content. I was vain, foolish, and willful; but, looking +back at the impetuous, imperious child, full of romance, untrained, +longing for the strife of life, longing for change, for excitement, for +gayety, chafing under restraint, I think there was some little excuse +for me. There was no excuse for what followed. When papa spoke to +us—you remember it, Lily—and asked so gently if we had either of us a +secret in our lives—when he promised to pardon anything, provided we +kept nothing from him—I ought to have told him then. There is no +excuse for that error. I was ashamed. Looking round upon the noble +faces hanging on the wall, looking at him, so proud, so dignified, I +could not tell him what his child had done. Oh, Lily, if I had told +him, I should not be kneeling here at your feet now." +</P> + +<P> +Lillian made no reply, but pressed the proud, drooping figure more +closely to her side. +</P> + +<P> +"I can hardly tell the rest," said Beatrice; "the words frighten me as +I utter them. This man, who has been the bane of my life, was going +away for two years. He was to claim me when he returned. I never +thought he would return; I was so happy, I could not believe it." Here +sobs choked her utterance. +</P> + +<P> +Presently she continued: "Lily, he is here; he claims me, and also the +fulfillment of my promise to be his wife." +</P> + +<P> +A look of unutterable dread came over the listener's fair, pitying face. +</P> + +<P> +"He wrote to me three weeks since; I tried to put him off. He wrote +again this morning, and swears he will see me. He will be here tonight +at nine o'clock. Oh, Lily, save me, save me, or I shall die!" +</P> + +<P> +Bitter sobs broke from the proud lips. +</P> + +<P> +"I never knelt to any one before," Beatrice said; "I kneel to you, my +sister. No one else can help me. You must see him for me, give him a +letter from me, and tell him I am very ill. It is no untruth, Lily. I +am ill, my brain burns, and my heart is cold with fear. Will you do +this for me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I would rather almost give you my life," said Lillian gently. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, do not say that, Lily! Do you know what there is at stake? Do you +remember papa's words—that, if ever he found one of us guilty of any +deceit, or involved in any clandestine love affair, even if it broke +his heart he would send the guilty one from him and never see her +again? Think, darling, what it would be for me to leave +Earlescourt—to leave all the magnificence I love so dearly, and drag +out a weary life at the Elms. Do you think I could brook Lord Earle's +angry scorn and Lady Helena's pained wonder? Knowing our father as you +know him, do you believe he would pardon me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do not," replied Lily, sadly. +</P> + +<P> +"That is not all," continued Beatrice. "I might bear anger, scorn, and +privation, but, Lily, if this miserable secret is discovered, Lord +Airlie will cease to love me. He might have forgiven me if I had told +him at first; he would not know that I had lied to him and deceived +him. I can not lose him—I can not give him up. For our mother's +sake, for my sake, help me, Lily. Do what I have asked!" +</P> + +<P> +"If I do it," said Lillian, "it will give you but a few days' reprieve; +it will avail nothing; he will be here again." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall think of some means of escape in a few days," answered +Beatrice wistfully. "Something must happen, Lily, fortune could not be +so cruel to me; it could not rob me of my love. If I can not free +myself, I shall run away. I would rather suffer anything than face +Lord Airlie or my father. Say you will help me for my love's sake! Do +not let me lose my love!" +</P> + +<P> +"I will help you," said Lillian; "it is against my better +judgment—against my idea of right—but I can not refuse you. I will +see the man, and give him your letter. Beatrice, let me persuade you. +You can not free yourself. I see no way—running away is all +nonsense—but to tell Lord Earle and your lover; anything would be +better than to live as you do, a drawn sword hanging over your heart. +Tell them, and trust to their kindness; at least you will have peace of +mind then. They will prevent him from annoying you." +</P> + +<P> +"I can not," she said, and the breath came gasping from her lips. +"Lillian, you do not know what Lord Airlie is to me. I could never +meet his anger. If ever you love any one you will understand better. +He is everything to me. I would suffer any sorrow, even death, rather +than see his face turned coldly from me." +</P> + +<P> +She loosened her grasp of Lillian's hands and fell upon the floor, +weeping bitterly and passionately. Her sister, bending over her, heard +the pitiful words—"My love, my love! I can not lose my love!" +</P> + +<P> +The passionate weeping ceased, and the proud, sad face grew calm and +still. +</P> + +<P> +"You can not tell what I have suffered, Lily," she said, humbly. "See, +my pride is all beaten down, only those who have had a secret, eating +heart and life away, can tell what I have endured. A few more days of +agony like this, and I shall be free forever from Hugh Fernely." +</P> + +<P> +Her sister tried to soothe her with gentle words, but they brought no +comfort. +</P> + +<P> +"He will be here at nine," she said; "it is six now. I will write my +letter. He will be at the shrubbery gate. I will manage so that you +shall have time. Give him the note I will write, speak to him for me, +tell him I am ill and can not see him. Shall you be frightened?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," replied Lillian, gently; "but that will not matter. I must +think of you, not of myself." +</P> + +<P> +"You need not fear him," said Beatrice. "Poor Hugh, I could pity him +if I did not hate him. Lily, I will thank you when my agony is over; I +can not now." +</P> + +<P> +She wrote but a few words, saying she was ill and unable to see him; he +must be satisfied, and willing to wait yet a little longer. +</P> + +<P> +She gave the letter to her sister. Lillian's heart ached as she noted +the trembling hands and quivering lips. +</P> + +<P> +"I have not asked you to keep my secret, Lily," said Beatrice, +sorrowfully. +</P> + +<P> +"There is no need," was the simple reply. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +Sir Harry and Lady Laurence dined that day at Earlescourt, and it was +nearly nine before the gentlemen, who did not sit long over their wine, +came into the drawing room. The evening was somewhat chilly; a bright +fire burned in the grate, and the lamps were lighted. Sir Harry sat +down to his favorite game of chess with Lady Helena; Lord Earle +challenged Lady Laurence to a game at ecarte. The young people were +left to themselves. +</P> + +<P> +"In twenty years' time," said Lionel to Lillian, "we may seek refuge in +cards; at present music and moonlight are preferable, Lily. You never +sing to me; come to the piano now." +</P> + +<P> +But she remembered the dreaded hour was drawing near. +</P> + +<P> +"Pray excuse me," she begged; "I will sing for you presently." +</P> + +<P> +He looked surprised; it was the first time she had ever refused him a +favor. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall we finish the folio of engravings?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +Knowing that, when once she was seated by his side, it would be +impossible to get away, she again declined; but this time the fair face +flushed, and the sweet eyes drooped. +</P> + +<P> +"How guilty you look," he said. "Is there any mystery on hand? Are you +tired of me? Or is there to be another important consultation over the +wedding dresses?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have something to attend to," she replied, evasively. "Get the +folio ready—I shall not be long." +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice, who had listened to the brief dialogue in feverish suspense, +now came to the rescue, asking Lionel to give them the benefit of his +clear, ringing tenor in a trio of Mendelssohn's. +</P> + +<P> +"My 'clear, ringing tenor' is quite at your service," he said with a +smile. "Lily is very unkind to me tonight." +</P> + +<P> +They went to the piano, where Lord Airlie awaited them; and Lillian, +looking at her small, jeweled watch—Lord Earle's present—saw that it +wanted three minutes to nine. +</P> + +<P> +She at once quitted the room, unobserved, as she thought; but Lionel +saw her go. +</P> + +<P> +No words can tell how distasteful and repugnant was the task she had +undertaken. She would have suffered anything almost to have evaded it. +She, who never had a secret; she, whose every word and action were open +as the day; she, who shrank from all deceit and untruth as from a +deadly plague, to be mixed up with a wretched clandestine love affair +like this! She, to steal out of her father's house at night, to meet a +stranger, and plead her sister's cause with him! The thought horrified +her; but the beautiful face in its wild sorrow, the sad voice in its +passionate anguish, urged her on. +</P> + +<P> +Lillian went hastily to her own room. She took a large black shawl and +drew it closely round her, hiding the pretty evening dress and the rich +pearls. Then, with the letter in her hand, she went down the staircase +that led from her rooms to the garden. +</P> + +<P> +The night was dark; heavy clouds sailed swiftly across the sky, the +wind moaned fitfully, bending the tall trees as it were in anger, then +whispering round them as though suing for pardon. Lillian had never +been out at night alone before, and her first sensation was one of +fear. She crossed the gardens where the autumn flowers were fading; +the lights shone gayly from the Hall windows; the shrubbery looked dark +and mysterious. She was frightened at the silence and darkness, but +went bravely on. He was there. By the gate she saw a tall figure +wrapped in a traveling cloak; as she crossed the path, he stepped +hastily forward, crying with a voice she never forgot: +</P> + +<P> +"Beatrice, at last you have come!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is not Beatrice," she said, shrinking from the outstretched arms. +"I am Lillian Earle. My sister is ill, and has sent you this." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap36"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XXXVI +</H3> + +<P> +Hugh Fernely took the letter from Lillian's hands, and read it with a +muttered imprecation of disappointment. The moon, which had been +struggling for the last hour with a mass of clouds, shone out faintly; +by its light Lillian saw a tall man with a dark, handsome face browned +with the sun of warm climes, dark eyes that had in them a wistful +sadness, and firm lips. He did not look like the gentlemen she was +accustomed to. He was polite and respectful. When he heard her name, +he took off his hat, and stood uncovered during the interview. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait!" he cried. "Ah, must I wait yet longer? Tell your sister I +have waited until my yearning wish to see her is wearing my life away." +</P> + +<P> +"She is really ill," returned Lillian. "I am alarmed for her. Do not +be angry with me if I say she is ill through anxiety and fear." +</P> + +<P> +"Has she sent you to excuse her?" he asked, gloomily. "It is of no +use. Your sister is my promised wife, Miss Lillian, and see her I +will." +</P> + +<P> +"You must wait at least until she is willing," said Lillian, and her +calm, dignified manner influenced him even more than her words, as she +looked earnestly into Hugh Fernely's face. +</P> + +<P> +It was not a bad face, she thought; there was no cruelty or meanness +there. She read love so fierce and violent in it that it startled her. +He did not look like one who would wantonly and willfully make her +sister wretched for life. Hope grew in her heart as she gazed. She +resolved to plead with him for Beatrice, to ask him to forget a +childish, foolish promise—a childish error. +</P> + +<P> +"My sister is very unhappy," she said, bravely; "so unhappy that I do +not think she can bear much more; it will kill her or drive her mad." +</P> + +<P> +"It is killing me," he interrupted. +</P> + +<P> +"You do not look cruel, Mr. Fernely," continued Lillian. "Your face is +good and true—I would trust you. Release my sister. She was but a +foolish, impetuous child when she made you that promise. If she keeps +it, all her life will be wretched. Be generous and release her." +</P> + +<P> +"Did she bid you ask me?" he interrogated. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she replied; "but do you know what the keeping of the promise +will cost her? Lord Earle will never forgive her. She will have to +leave home, sister, friends—all she loves and values most. Judge +whether she could ever care for you, if you brought this upon her." +</P> + +<P> +"I can not help it," he said gloomily. "She promised to be my wife, +Miss Lillian—Heaven knows I am speaking truthfully—and I have lived +on her words. You do not know what the strong love of a true man is. +I love her so that if she chose to place her little foot upon me, and +trample the life out of me, I would not say her nay. I must see +her—the hungry, yearning love that fills my heart must be satisfied." +Great tears shone in his eyes, and deep sobs shook his strong frame. +</P> + +<P> +"I will not harm her," he said, "but I must see her. Once, and once +only, her beautiful face lay on my breast—that beautiful, proud face! +No mother ever yearned to see her child again more than I long to see +her. Let her come to me, Miss Lillian; let me kneel at her feet as I +did before,—If she sends me from her, there will be pity in death; but +she can not. There is not a woman in the world who could send such +love as mine away! You can not understand," he continued. "It is more +than two years since I left her; night and day her face has been before +me. I have lived upon my love; it is my life—my everything. I could +no more drive it from my breast than I could tear my heart from my body +and still live on." +</P> + +<P> +"Even if my sister cared for you," said Lillian, gently—for his +passionate words touched her—"you must know that Lord Earle would +never allow her to keep such a promise as she made." +</P> + +<P> +"She knew nothing of Lord Earle when it was made," he replied, "nor did +I. She was a beautiful child, pining away like a bright bird shut up +in a cage. I promised her freedom and liberty; she promised me her +love. Where was Lord Earle then? She was safe with me. I loved her. +I was kinder to her than her own father; I took care of her—he did +not." +</P> + +<P> +"It is all changed now," said Lillian. +</P> + +<P> +"But I can not change," he answered. "If fortune had made me a king, +should I have loved your sister less! Is a man's heart a plaything? +Can I call back my love? It has caused me woe enough." +</P> + +<P> +Lillian knew not what to say in the presence of this mighty love; her +gentle efforts at mediation were bootless. She pitied him she pitied +Beatrice. +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure you can be generous," she said, after a short silence. +"Great, true, noble love is never selfish. My sister can never be +happy with you; then release her. If you force her, or rather try to +force her, to keep this rash promise, think how she will dislike you. +If you are generous, and release her, think how she will esteem you." +</P> + +<P> +"Does she not love me?" he asked; and his voice was hoarse with pain. +</P> + +<P> +"No," replied Lillian, gently; "it is better for you to know the truth. +She does not love you—she never will." +</P> + +<P> +"I do not believe it," he cried. "I will never believe it from any +lips but her own! Not love me! Great Heaven! Do you know you are +speaking of the woman who promised to be my wife? If she tells me so, +I will believe her." +</P> + +<P> +"She will tell you," said Lillian, "and you must not blame her. Come +again when she is well." +</P> + +<P> +"No," returned Hugh Fernely; "I have waited long enough. I am here to +see her, and I swear I will not leave until she has spoken to me." +</P> + +<P> +He drew a pencil case from his pocket, and wrote a few lines on the +envelope which Beatrice had sent. +</P> + +<P> +"Give that to your sister," he said, softly; "and, Miss Lillian, I +thank you for coming to me. You have been very kind and gentle. You +have a fair, true face. Never break a man's heart for pastime, or +because the long sunny hours hang heavy upon your hands." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish I could say something to comfort you," she said. He held out +his hand and she could not refuse hers. +</P> + +<P> +"Goodbye, Miss Lillian! Heaven bless you for your sympathy." +</P> + +<P> +"Goodbye," she returned, looking at the dark, passionate face she was +never more to see. +</P> + +<P> +The moon was hidden behind a dense mass of thick clouds. Hugh Fernely +walked quickly down the path. Lillian, taking the folded paper, +hastened across the gardens. But neither of them saw a tall, erect +figure, or a pale, stricken face; neither of them heard Lionel Dacre +utter a low cry as the shawl fell from Lillian's golden head. +</P> + +<P> +He had tried over the trio, but it did not please him; he did not want +music—he wanted Lillian. Beatrice played badly, too, as though she +did not know what she was doing. Plainly enough Lord Airlie wanted him +out of the way. +</P> + +<P> +"Where are you going?" asked Beatrice, as he placed the music on the +piano. +</P> + +<P> +"To look for a good cigar," he replied. "Neither Airlie nor you need +pretend to be polite, Bee, and say you hope I will not leave you." He +quitted the drawing room, and went to his own room, where a box of +cigars awaited him. He selected one, and went out into the garden to +enjoy it. Was it chance that led him to the path by the shrubbery? +The wind swayed the tall branches, but there came a lull, and then he +heard a murmur of voices. Looking over the hedge, he saw the tall +figure of a man, and the slight figure of a young girl shrouded in a +black shawl. +</P> + +<P> +"A maid and her sweetheart," said Lionel to himself. "Now that is not +precisely the kind of thing Lord Earle would like; still, it is no +business of mine." +</P> + +<P> +But the man's voice struck him—it was full of the dignity of true +passion. He wondered who he was. He saw the young girl place her hand +in his for a moment, and then hasten rapidly away. +</P> + +<P> +He thought himself stricken mad when the black shawl fall and showed in +the faint moonlight the fair face and golden hair of Lillian Earle. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +When Lillian re-entered the drawing room, the pretty ormulu clock was +chiming half past nine. The chess and card tables were just as she had +left them. Beatrice and Lord Airlie were still at the piano. Lionel +was nowhere to be seen. She went up to Beatrice and smilingly asked +Lord Airlie if he could spare her sister for five minutes. +</P> + +<P> +"Ten, if you wish it," he replied, "but no longer;" and the two sisters +walked through the long drawing room into the little boudoir. +</P> + +<P> +"Quick, Lillian," cried Beatrice, "have you seen him? What does he +say?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have seen him," she replied; "there is no time now to tell all he +said. He sent this note," and Lillian gave the folded paper into her +sister's hand, and then clasped both hands in her own. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me tell you, Beatrice darling, before you read it," she said, +"that I tried to soften his heart; and I think, if you will see him +yourself, and ask for your freedom, you will not ask in vain." +</P> + +<P> +A light that was dazzling as sunshine came into the beautiful face. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Lily," she cried, "can it be true? Do not mock me with false +hopes; my life seems to tremble in the balance." +</P> + +<P> +"He is not cruel," said Lillian. "I am sorry for him. If you see him I +feel sure he will release you. See what he says." +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice opened the letter; it contained but a few penciled lines. She +did not give them to Lillian to read. +</P> + +<P> +"Beatrice," wrote Hugh Fernely, "you must tell me with your own lips +that you do not love me. You must tell me yourself that every sweet +hope you gave me was a false lie. I will not leave Earlescourt again +without seeing you. On Thursday night, at ten o'clock, I will be at +the same place—meet me, and tell me if you want your freedom. Hugh." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall win!" she cried. "Lily, hold my hands—they tremble with +happiness. See, I can not hold the paper. He will release me, and I +shall not lose my love—my love, who is all the world to me. How must +I thank you? This is Tuesday; how shall I live until Thursday? I feel +as though a load, a burden, the weight of which no words can tell, were +taken from me. Lily, I shall be Lord Airlie's wife, and you will have +saved me." +</P> + +<P> +"Beatrice," said Lord Earle, as the sisters, in returning, passed by +the chess table, "our game is finished, will you give us a song?" +</P> + +<P> +Never had the magnificent voice rung out so joyously, never had the +beautiful face looked so bright. She sang something that was like an +air of triumph—no under current of sadness marred its passionate +sweetness. Lord Airlie bent over her chair enraptured. +</P> + +<P> +"You sing like one inspired, Beatrice," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"I was thinking of you," she replied; and he saw by the dreamy, rapt +expression of her face that she meant what she had said. +</P> + +<P> +Presently Lord Airlie was summoned to Lady Helena's assistance in some +little argument over cards, and Beatrice, while her fingers strayed +mechanically over the keys, arrived at her decision. She would see +Hugh. She could not avert that; and she must meet him as bravely as +she could. After all, as Lillian had said, he was not cruel, and he +did love her. The proud lip curled in scornful triumph as she thought +how dearly he loved her. She would appeal to his love, and beseech him +to release her. +</P> + +<P> +She would beseech him with such urgency that he could not refuse. Who +ever refused her? Could she not move men's hearts as the wind moves +the leaves? He would be angry at first, perhaps fierce and passionate, +but in the end she would prevail. As she sat there, dreamy, tender +melodies stealing, as it were, from her fingers, she went in fancy +through the whole scene. She knew how silent the sleeping woods would +be—how dark and still the night. She could imagine Hugh's face, +browned by the sun and travel. Poor Hugh! In the overflow of her +happiness she felt more kindly toward him. +</P> + +<P> +She wished him well. He might marry some nice girl in his own station +of life, and be a prosperous, happy man, and she would be a good friend +to him if he would let her. No one would ever know her secret. +Lillian would keep it faithfully, and down the fair vista of years she +saw herself Lord Airlie's beloved wife, the error of her youth repaired +and forgotten. +</P> + +<P> +The picture was so pleasant that it was no wonder her songs grew more +triumphant. Those who listened to the music that night never forgot it. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap37"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XXXVII +</H3> + +<P> +Lionel Dacre stood for some minutes stunned with the shock and +surprise. He could not be mistaken; unless his senses played him +false, it was Lillian Earle whom he had mistaken for a maid meeting her +lover. It was Lillian he had believed so pure and guileless who had +stolen from her father's home under the cover of night's darkness and +silence—who had met in her father's grounds one whom she dared not +meet in the light of day. +</P> + +<P> +If his dearest friend had sworn this to Lionel he would not have +believed it. His own senses he could not doubt. The faint, feeble +moonlight had as surely fallen on the fair face and golden hair of +Lillian Earle as the sun shone by day in the sky. +</P> + +<P> +He threw away his cigar, and ground his teeth with rage. Had the skies +fallen at his feet he could not have been more startled and amazed. +Then, after all, all women were alike. There was in them no truth; no +goodness; the whole world was alike. Yet he had believed in her so +implicitly—in her guileless purity, her truth, her freedom from every +taint of the world. That fair, spirituelle form had seemed to him only +as a beautiful casket hiding a precious gem. Nay, still more, though +knowing and loving her, he had begun to care for everything good and +pure that interested her. Now all was false and hateful. +</P> + +<P> +There was no truth in the world, he said to himself. This girl, whom +he had believed to be the fairest and sweetest among women, was but a +more skillful deceiver than the rest. His mother's little deceptions, +hiding narrow means and straitened circumstances, were as nothing +compared with Lillian's deceit. +</P> + +<P> +And he had loved her so! Looking into those tender eyes, he had +believed love and truth shone there; the dear face that had blushed and +smiled for him had looked so pure and guileless. +</P> + +<P> +How long was it since he had held her little hands clasped within his +own, and, abashed before her sweet innocence, had not dared to touch +her lips, even when she had promised to love him? How he had been +duped and deceived! How she must have laughed at his blind folly! +</P> + +<P> +Who was the man? Some one she must have known years before. There was +no gentleman in Lord Earle's circle who would have stolen into his +grounds like a thief by night. Why had he not followed him, and +thrashed him within an inch of his life? Why had he let him escape? +</P> + +<P> +The strong hands were clinched tightly. It was well for Hugh Fernely +that he was not at that moment in Lionel's power. Then the fierce, hot +anger died away, and a passion of despair seized him. A long, low cry +came from his lips, a bitter sob shook his frame. He had lost his +fair, sweet love. The ideal he had worshiped lay stricken; falsehood +and deceit marked its fair form. +</P> + +<P> +While the first smart of pain was upon him, he would not return to the +house; he would wait until he was calm and cool. Then he would see how +she dared to meet him. +</P> + +<P> +His hands ceased to tremble; the strong, angry pulsating of his heart +grew calmer. He went back to the drawing room; and, except that the +handsome face was pale even to the lips, and that a strange, angry +light gleamed in the frank, kindly eyes, there was little difference in +Lionel Dacre. +</P> + +<P> +She was there, bending over the large folio he had asked her to show +him; the golden hair fell upon the leaves. She looked up as he +entered; her face was calm and serene; there was a faint pink flush on +the cheeks, and a bright smile trembled on her features. +</P> + +<P> +"Here are the drawings," she said; "will you look over them?" +</P> + +<P> +He remembered how he had asked her to sing to him, and she refused, +looking confused and uneasy the while. He understood now the reason +why. +</P> + +<P> +He took a chair by her side; the folio lay upon a table placed in a +large room, lighted by a silver lamp. They were as much alone there as +though they had been in another room. She took out a drawing, and laid +it before him. He neither saw it nor heard what she remarked. +</P> + +<P> +"Lillian," he said, suddenly, "if you were asked what was the most +deadly sin a woman could commit, what should you reply?" +</P> + +<P> +"That is a strange question," she answered. "I do not know, Lionel. I +think I hate all sin alike." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I will tell you," he said bitterly; "it is false, foul +deceit—black, heartless treachery." +</P> + +<P> +She looked up in amazement at his angry tone; then there was for some +moments unbroken silence. +</P> + +<P> +"I can not see the drawings," he said; "take them away. Lillian Earle, +raise your eyes to mine; look me straight in the face. How long is it +since I asked you to be my wife?" +</P> + +<P> +Her gentle eyes never wavered, they were fixed half in wonder on his, +but at his question the faint flush on her cheeks grew deeper. +</P> + +<P> +"Not very long," she replied; "a few days." +</P> + +<P> +"You said you loved me," he continued. +</P> + +<P> +"I do," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, answer me again. Have you ever loved or cared for any one else, +as you say you do for me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Never," was the quiet reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Pray pardon the question—have you received the attentions of any +lover before receiving mine?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly not," she said, wondering still more. +</P> + +<P> +"I have all your affection, your confidence, your trust; you have never +duped or deceived me; you have been open, truthful, and honest with me?" +</P> + +<P> +"You forget yourself, Lionel," she said, with gentle dignity; "you +should not use such words to me." +</P> + +<P> +"Answer!" he returned. "You have to do with a desperate man. Have you +deceived me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Never," she replied, "In thought, word, or deed." +</P> + +<P> +"Merciful Heaven!" he cried. "That one can be so fair and so false!" +</P> + +<P> +There was nothing but wonder in the face that was raised to his. +</P> + +<P> +"Lillian," he said, "I have loved you as the ideal of all that was pure +and noble in woman. In you I saw everything good and holy. May Heaven +pardon you that my faith has died a violent death." +</P> + +<P> +"I can not understand you," she said, slowly. "Why do you speak to me +so?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will use plainer words," he replied—"so plain that you can not +mistake them. I, your betrothed husband, the man you love and trust, +ask you, Lillian Earle, who was it you met tonight in your father's +grounds?" +</P> + +<P> +He saw the question strike her as lightning sometimes strikes a fair +tree. The color faded from her lips; a cloud came over the clear, +dove-like eyes; she tried to answer, but the words died away in a faint +murmur. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you deny that you were there?" he asked. "Remember, I saw you, and +I saw him. Do you deny it?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," she replied. +</P> + +<P> +"Who was it?" he cried; and his eyes flamed so angrily upon her that +she was afraid. "Tell me who it was. I will follow him to the world's +end. Tell me." +</P> + +<P> +"I can not, Lionel," she whispered; "I can not. For pity's sake, keep +my secret!" +</P> + +<P> +"You need not be afraid," he said, haughtily. "I shall not betray you +to Lord Earle. Let him find out for himself what you are, as I have +done. I could curse myself for my own trust. Who is he?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can not tell you," she stammered, and he saw her little white hands +wrung together in agony. "Oh, Lionel, trust me—do not be angry with +me." +</P> + +<P> +"You can not expect me," he said, although he was softened by the sight +of her sorrow, "to know of such an action and not to speak of it, +Lillian. If you can explain it, do so. If the man was an old lover of +yours, tell me so; in time I may forget the deceit, if you are frank +with me now. If there be any circumstance that extenuates or explains +what you did, tell it to me now." +</P> + +<P> +"I can not," she said, and her fair face drooped sadly away from him. +</P> + +<P> +"That I quite believe," he continued, bitterly. "You can not and will +not. You know the alternative, I suppose?" +</P> + +<P> +The gentle eyes were raised to his in mute, appealing sorrow, but she +spoke not. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me now," he said, "whom it was you stole out of the house to +meet—why you met him? Be frank with me; and, if it was but girlish +nonsense, in time I may pardon you. If you refuse to tell me, I shall +leave Earlescourt, and never look upon your false, fair face again." +</P> + +<P> +She buried her face in her hands, and he heard a low moan of sorrow +come from her white lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you tell me, Lillian?" he asked again—and he never forgot the +deadly anguish of the face turned toward him. +</P> + +<P> +"I can not," she replied; her voice died away, and he thought she was +falling from her chair. +</P> + +<P> +"That is your final decision; you refuse to tell me what, as your +accepted lover, I have a right to know?" +</P> + +<P> +"Trust me, Lionel," she implored. "Try, for the love you bear me, to +trust me!" +</P> + +<P> +"I will never believe in any one again," he said. "Take back your +promise, Lillian Earle; you have broken a true and honest heart, you +have blighted a whole life. Heaven knows what I shall become, drifted +from you. I care not. You have deceived me. Take back your ring. I +will say goodbye to you. I shall not care to look upon your false, +fair face again." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Lionel, wait!" she cried. "Give me time—do not leave me so!" +</P> + +<P> +"Time will make little difference," he answered; "I shall not leave the +Hall until tomorrow morning; you can write to me if you wish me to +remain." +</P> + +<P> +He laid the ring upon the table, refusing to notice the trembling, +outstretched hand. He could not refrain from looking back at her as he +quitted the room. He saw the gentle face, so full of deadly sorrow, +with its white quivering lips; and yet he thought to himself, although +she looked stricken with anguish, there was no guilt on the clear, fair +brow. +</P> + +<P> +He turned back from the door and went straight to Lord Earle. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall leave Earlescourt tomorrow," he said, abruptly. "I must go, +Lord Earle; do not press to stay." +</P> + +<P> +"Come and go as you will, Lionel," said Ronald, surprised at the +brusqueness of his manner; "we are always pleased to see you and sorry +to lose you. You will return soon, perhaps?" +</P> + +<P> +"I will write to you in a few days," he replied. "I must say goodbye to +Lady Earle." +</P> + +<P> +She was astounded. Beatrice and Lord Airlie came up to him there was a +general expression of surprise and regret. He, unlike himself, was +brusque, and almost haughty. +</P> + +<P> +Sir Harry and Lady Laurence had gone home. Beatrice, with a vague fear +that something had gone wrong, said she was tired; Lord Airlie said +goodnight; and in a few minutes Lady Helena and her son were left alone. +</P> + +<P> +"What has come over Lionel?" asked Ronald. "Why, mother, how mistaken +I am! Do you know that I quite believed he was falling in love with +Lillian?" +</P> + +<P> +"He did that long ago," replied Lady Helena, with a smile. "Say +nothing about it. Lionel is very proud and impetuous. I fancy he and +Lillian have had some little dispute. Matters of that kind are best +left alone—interference always does harm. He will come back in a few +days; and all be right again. Ronald, there is one question I have +been wishing to ask you—do not be angry if I pain you, my son. +Beatrice will be married soon—do you not intend her mother to be +present at the wedding?" +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle rose from his chair, and began, as he always did in time of +anxiety, to pace up and down the room. +</P> + +<P> +"I had forgotten her claim," he said. "I can not tell what to do, +mother. It would be a cruel, unmerited slight to pass her over, but I +do not wish to see her. I have fought a hard battle with my feelings, +but I can not bring myself to see her." +</P> + +<P> +"Yet you loved her very much once," said Lady Helena. +</P> + +<P> +"I did," he replied, gently. "Poor Dora." +</P> + +<P> +"It is an awful thing to live at enmity with any one," said Lady +Helena—"but with one's own wife! I can not understand it, Ronald." +</P> + +<P> +"You mistake, mother," he said, eagerly; "I am not at enmity with Dora. +She offended me—she hurt my honor—she pained me in a way I can never +forget." +</P> + +<P> +"You must forgive her some day," replied Lady Earle; "why not now?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," he said, sadly. "I know myself—I know what I can do and what I +can not do. I could take my wife in my arms, and kiss her face—I +could not live with her. I shall forgive her, mother, when all that is +human is dying away from me. I shall forgive her in the hour of death." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap38"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XXXVIII +</H3> + +<P> +Lillian Earle was no tragedy queen. She never talked about sacrifice +or dying, but there was in her calm, gentle nature a depth of endurance +rarely equaled. She had never owned, even to herself, how dearly she +loved Lionel Dacre—how completely every thought and hope was centered +in him. Since she had first learned to care for him, she had never +looked her life in the face and imagined what it would be without him. +</P> + +<P> +It never entered her mind to save herself at the expense of her sister; +the secret had been intrusted to her, and she could not conceive the +idea of disclosing it. If the choice had been offered her between +death and betraying Beatrice, she would have chosen death, with a +simple consciousness that she was but doing her duty. +</P> + +<P> +So, when Lionel uttered those terrible words—when she found that he +had seen her—she never dreamed of freeing herself from blame, and +telling the story of her sister's fault. His words were bitterly +cruel; they stung her with sharp pain. She had never seen contempt or +scorn before on that kindly, honest face; now, she read both. Yet, +what could she do? Her sister's life lay in her hands, and she must +guard it. +</P> + +<P> +Therefore, she bore the cruel taunts, and only once when the fear of +losing him tortured her, cried out for pity and trust. But he had no +trust; he stabbed her gentle heart with his fierce words, he seared her +with his hot anger; she might, at the expense of another, have +explained all, and stood higher than ever in his esteem, but she would +not do it. +</P> + +<P> +She was almost stunned by the sorrow that had fallen upon her. She saw +him, with haughty, erect bearing, quit the drawing room, and she knew +that unless Beatrice permitted her to tell the truth, she would never +see his face again. She went straight to her sister's room and waited +for her. +</P> + +<P> +The pale face grew calm and still; her sister could not refuse her +request when she had told her all; then she would write to Lionel and +explain. He would not leave Earlescourt; he would only love her the +better for her steadfast truth. +</P> + +<P> +"Send Suzette away," she whispered to Beatrice, when she entered; "I +must see you alone at once." +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice dismissed her maid, and then turned to her sister. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it, Lily?" she asked. "Your face is deathly pale. What has +happened?" +</P> + +<P> +"Beatrice," said Lillian, "will you let me tell your secret to Lionel +Dacre? It will be quite sacred with him." +</P> + +<P> +"To Lionel Dacre!" she cried. "No, a thousand times over! How can you +ask me, Lily? He is Lord Airlie's friend and could not keep it from +him. Why do you ask me such an extraordinary question?" +</P> + +<P> +"He saw me tonight," she replied; "he was out in the grounds, and saw +me speaking to Hugh Fernely." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you told him anything?" she asked; and for a moment Beatrice +looked despairing. +</P> + +<P> +"Not a word," said Lily. "How could I, when you trusted me?" +</P> + +<P> +"That is right," returned her sister, a look of relief coming over her +face; "his opinion does not matter much. What did he say?" +</P> + +<P> +"He thought I had been to meet some one I knew," replied Lillian, her +face growing crimson with shame. +</P> + +<P> +"And was dreadfully shocked, no doubt," supplemented Beatrice. "Well, +never mind, darling. I am very sorry it happened, but it will not +matter. I am so near freedom and happiness, I can not grieve over it. +He will not surely tell? He is too honorable for that." +</P> + +<P> +"No," said Lillian, dreamily, "he will not tell." +</P> + +<P> +"Then do not look so scared, Lily; nothing else matters." +</P> + +<P> +"You forget what he must think of me," said Lillian. "Knowing his +upright, truthful character, what must he think of me?" +</P> + +<P> +That view of the question had not struck Beatrice. She looked grave +and anxious. It was not right for her sister to be misjudged. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I am so sorry," she began, but Lillian interrupted her, she came +close to her, and lowered her pale face over her sister's arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Beatrice," she said, slowly, "you must let me tell him. He cares for +me. He loves me; I promised to be his wife, and I love him—just as +you do Lord Airlie." +</P> + +<P> +Under the shock of those words Beatrice Earle sat silent and motionless. +</P> + +<P> +"I love him," continued Lillian. "I did not tell you. He said it was +not to be mentioned until you were married. I love him so dearly, +Beatrice—and when he asked me who it was I had been to meet, I could +not answer him. He was very angry; he said sharp, cruel words to me, +and I could not tell him how false they were. He will leave +Earlescourt; he will never look upon my face again unless I tell him +all. He has said so, and he will keep his word. Beatrice, must I lose +my love?" +</P> + +<P> +"It would be only for a time," she replied. "I hate myself for being +so selfish, but I dare not trust Lionel Dacre. He is so impetuous, so +hasty, he would betray me, as surely as he knew it. Do you not remember +his saying the other day that it was well for him he had no secrets, +for he could not manage to keep them!" +</P> + +<P> +"He would keep this," pleaded Lillian—"for your sake and mine." +</P> + +<P> +"He would not," said Beatrice; "and I am so near freedom, so near +happiness. Oh, Lily, you have saved me once—save me again! My +darling, keep my secret until I am married; then I swear to you I will +tell Lionel every word honorably myself, and he will love you doubly. +Could you do this for me?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is not fair to him—he has a right to my confidence—it is not fair +to myself, Beatrice." +</P> + +<P> +"One of us must be sacrificed," returned her sister. "If myself, the +sacrifice will last my life—will cause my death; if you, it will last, +at the most, only three or four weeks. I will write to Lionel on my +wedding day." +</P> + +<P> +"Why trust him then and not now?" asked Lillian. +</P> + +<P> +"Because, once married to Lord Airlie, I shall have no fear. Three or +four weeks of happiness are not so much to give up for your own sister, +Lily. I will say no more. I leave it for you to decide." +</P> + +<P> +"Nay, do not do that," said Lillian, in great distress. "I could not +clear myself at your expense"—a fact which Beatrice understood +perfectly well. +</P> + +<P> +"Then let the matter rest," said her sister; "some day I shall be able +to thank you for all you have done for me—I can not now. On my wedding +day I will tell Lionel Dacre that the girl he loves is the truest, the +noblest, the dearest in the world." +</P> + +<P> +"It is against my better judgment," returned Lillian. +</P> + +<P> +"It is against my conscience, judgment, love, everything," added +Beatrice; "but it will save me from cruel ruin and sorrow; and it shall +not hurt you, Lily—it shall bring you good, not harm. Now, try to +forget it. He will not know how to atone to you for this. Think of +your happiness when he returns." +</P> + +<P> +She drew the golden head down upon her shoulder, and with the charm +that never failed, she talked and caressed her sister until she had +overcome all objections. +</P> + +<P> +But during the long hours of that night a fair head tossed wearily to +and fro on its pillow—a fair face was stained with bitter tears. +Lionel Dacre lingered, half hoping that even at the last she would come +and bid him stay because she wished to tell him all. +</P> + +<P> +But the last moment came, and no messenger from Lillian brought the +longed-for words. He passed out from the Hall. He could not refrain +from looking once at the window of her room, but the blind was closely +drawn. He little knew or dreamed how and why he would return. +</P> + +<P> +Thursday morning dawned bright and beautiful, as though autumn wished +to surpass the glories or summer. Beatrice had not told Lillian when +she was going to meet Hugh, partly because she dreaded her sister's +anxiety, partly because she did not wish any one to know how long she +might be with him; for Beatrice anticipated a painful interview, +although she felt sure of triumph in the end. +</P> + +<P> +Lillian was ill and unable to rise; unused to emotion, the strain upon +her mind had been too great. When Lady Helena listened to her maid's +remarks and went up to see her granddaughter, she forbade her to get +up, and Lillian, suffering intensely, was only too pleased to obey. +</P> + +<P> +The breakfast party was a very small one. Lord Earle was absent; he +had gone to Holte. Lady Helena hurried away to sit with Lillian. Lord +Airlie had been smiling very happily over a mysterious little packet +that had come by post. He asked Beatrice if she would go out with +him—he had something to show her. They went out into the park, +intending to return in time for luncheon. +</P> + +<P> +The morning was bright and calm. Something of the warmth and beauty of +the summer lingered still, although the ground was strewn with fallen +leaves. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Airlie and Beatrice sat at the foot of the grand old cedar tree +whence they would see the distant glimmer of the deep, still lake. The +birds sang around them, and the sun shone brightly. On the beautiful +face of Beatrice Earle her lover read nothing but happiness and love. +</P> + +<P> +"I have something here for you, Beatrice," said Lord Airlie, showing +her a little packet—"a surprise. You must thank me by saying that +what it contains will be more precious to you than anything else on +earth." +</P> + +<P> +She opened the pretty case; within it there lay a fine gold chain of +exquisite fashion and a locket of marvelous beauty. +</P> + +<P> +She uttered a little cry of surprise, and raised the present in her +hands. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, thank me," said Lord Airlie, "in the way I asked." +</P> + +<P> +"What it contains is more precious to me than anything on earth," she +said. "You know that, Hubert; why do you make me repeat it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because I like to hear it," he answered. "I like to see my proud love +looking humble for a few minutes; I like to know that I have caged a +bright, wild bird that no one else could tame." +</P> + +<P> +"I am not caged yet," she objected. +</P> + +<P> +"Beatrice," said Lord Airlie, "make me a promise. Let me fasten this +locket around your neck, and tell me that you will not part with it +night or day for one moment until our wedding day." +</P> + +<P> +"I can easily promise that," she said. She bent her beautiful head, +and Lord Airlie fastened the chain round her throat. +</P> + +<P> +He little knew what he had done. When Lord Airlie fastened the chain +round the neck of the girl he loved, he bound her to him in life and in +death. +</P> + +<P> +"It looks charming," he said. "How everything beautiful becomes you, +Beatrice! You were born to be a queen—who am I that I should have won +you? Tell me over again—I never grow tired of hearing it—do you love +me?" +</P> + +<P> +She told him again, her face glowing with happiness. He bent over her +and kissed the sweet face; he kissed the little white hands and the +rings of dark hair the wind blew carelessly near him. +</P> + +<P> +"When the leaves are green, and the fair spring is come," he said, "you +will be my wife, Beatrice—Lady Airlie of Lynnton. I love my name and +title when I remember that you will share them. And you shall be the +happiest Lady Airlie that ever lived—the happiest bride, the happiest +wife the sun ever shone upon. You will never part with my locket, +Beatrice?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," she replied; "never. I will keep it always." +</P> + +<P> +They sat through the long bright hours under the shade of the old cedar +tree, while Lillian lay with head and heart aching, wondering in her +gentle way why this sorrow should have fallen upon her. +</P> + +<P> +She did not know, as she lay like a pale broken lily, that years ago +her father, in the reckless heyday of youth, had wilfully deceived his +father, and married against his wish and commands; she did not know how +that unhappy marriage had ended in pride, passion, and sullen, jealous +temper—while those who should have foreborne went each their own +road—the proud, irritated husband abroad, away from every tie of home +and duty, the jealous, angry wife secluding herself in the bitterness +of her heart—both neglecting the children intrusted to them. She knew +how one of those children had gone wrong; she knew the deceit, the +misery, the sorrow that wrong had entailed. She was the chief victim, +yet the sin had not been hers. +</P> + +<P> +There were no fierce, rebellious feelings in her gentle heart, no angry +warring with the mighty Hand that sends crosses and blessings alike. +The flower bent by the wind was not more pliant. Where her sorrow and +love had cast her she lay, silently enduring her suffering, while +Lionel traveled without intermission, wishing only to find himself far +away from the young girl he declared he had ceased to love yet could +not forget. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap39"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XXXIX +</H3> + +<P> +Thursday evening, and the hand of the ormolu clock pointed to a quarter +to ten. Lord Earle sat reading, Lady Helena had left Lillian asleep, +and had taken up a book near him. Lord Airlie had been sketching for +Beatrice a plan of a new wing at Lynnton. Looking up suddenly she saw +the time. At ten Hugh Fernely would be at the shrubbery gate. She had +not a moment to lose. Saying she was feeling tired, she rose and went +to bid Lord Earle goodnight. +</P> + +<P> +He remembered afterward how he had raised the beautiful face in his +hands and gazed at it in loving admiration, whispering something the +while about "Lady Airlie of Lynnton." He remembered how she, so little +given to caressing, had laid her hand upon his shoulder, clasping her +arms around his neck, kissing his face, and calling him, "her own dear +papa." He remembered the soft, wistful light in her beautiful eyes, +the sweet voice that lingered in his ears. Yet no warning came to him, +nothing told him the fair child he loved so dearly stood in the shadow +of deadly peril. +</P> + +<P> +If he had known, how those strong arms would have been raised to shield +her—how the stout, brave heart would have sheltered her! As it was, +she left him with jesting words on his lips, and he did not even gaze +after her as she quitted the room. If he had only known where and how +he should see that face again! +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice went up to Lady Helena, who smiled without raising her eyes +from her book. Beatrice bent down and touched the kind, stately face +with her lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Good night, grandmamma," she said. "How studious you are!" +</P> + +<P> +"Good night—bless you, my child," returned Lady Helena; and the fair +face turned from her with a smile. +</P> + +<P> +"You have left me until last," said Lord Airlie; "goodnight, my +Beatrice. Never mind papa—he is not looking at us, give me one kiss." +</P> + +<P> +She raised her face to his, and he kissed the proud, sweet lips. +</P> + +<P> +He touched the golden locket. +</P> + +<P> +"You will never part with it," he said; and he smiled as she answered: +</P> + +<P> +"No, never!" +</P> + +<P> +Then she passed out of his sight, and he who would have laid down his +life for her saw her leave him without the faintest suspicion of the +shadow that hung over her. +</P> + +<P> +The smile still lingered on her as she stood in her own room. A few +hours more—one more trial—she said to herself; then she would be +free, and might enjoy her happiness to its full extent. How dearly +Hubert loved her—how unutterably happy she would be when Hugh released +her! And he would—she never doubted it. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall not want you again," she said to her maid. "And do not call +me in the morning. I am tired." +</P> + +<P> +The door of Lillian's room was not closed; she went in. The night lamp +was shaded, and the blinds closely drawn, so that the bright moonlight +could not intrude. She went gently to the side of the bed where her +sister lay. Poor, gentle, loving Lillian! The pale, sad face, with its +wistful wearied expression, was turned to the wall. There were some +traces of tears, and even in sleep deep sighs passed the quivering +lips. Sorrow and woe were impressed on the fair face. Yet, as +Beatrice kissed the clear, calm brow, she would gladly have changed +places with her. +</P> + +<P> +"I will soon make it up to her," she said, gazing long and earnestly on +the sleeping face. "In a few weeks she shall be happier than she has +ever been. I will make Master Lionel go on his knees to her." +</P> + +<P> +She left the room, and Lillian never knew who had bent so lovingly over +her. +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice took from her wardrobe, a thick, warm shawl. She drew it over +her head, and so half hid her face. Then she went noiselessly down the +staircase that led from her suite of rooms to the garden. +</P> + +<P> +How fair and beautiful the night was—not cold, although it was +September, and the moon shining as she had rarely seen it shine before. +</P> + +<P> +It seemed to sail triumphantly in the dark-blue sky. It poured a flood +of silvery light on the sleeping flowers and trees. +</P> + +<P> +She had not lingered to look round the pretty dressing room as she left +it. Her eyes had not dwelt on the luxurious chamber and the white bed, +wherein she ought to have been sleeping, but, now that she stood +outside the Hall, she looked up at the windows with a sense of +loneliness and fear. There was a light in Lady Helena's room and one +in Lord Airlie's. She shrank back. What would he think if he saw her +now? +</P> + +<P> +Deeply she felt the humiliation of leaving her father's house at that +hour of the night; she felt the whole shame of what she was going to +do; but the thought of Lord Airlie nerved her. Let this one night +pass, and a life time of happiness lay before her. +</P> + +<P> +The night wind moaned fitfully among the trees; the branches of the +tall lime trees swayed over her head; the fallen leaves twirled round +her feet. She crossed the gardens; the moon cast strange shadows upon +the broad paths. At length she saw the shrubbery gate, and, by it, +erect and motionless, gazing on the bending trees in the park, was Hugh +Fernely. He did not hear her light footsteps—the wind among the lime +trees drowned them. She went up to him and touched his arm gently. +</P> + +<P> +"Hugh," she said, "I am here." +</P> + +<P> +Before she could prevent him, he was kneeling at her feet. He had +clasped her hands in his own, and was covering them with hot kisses and +burning tears. +</P> + +<P> +"My darling," he said, "my own Beatrice, I knew you would come!" +</P> + +<P> +He rose then, and, before she could stop him, he took the shawl from +her head and raised the beautiful face so that the moonlight fell +clearly upon it. +</P> + +<P> +"I have hungered and thirsted," he said, "for another look at that +face. I shall see it always now—its light will ever leave me more. +Look at me, Beatrice," he cried, "let me see those dark eyes again." +</P> + +<P> +But the glance she gave him had nothing in it but coldness and dread. +In the excitement of his joy he did not notice it. +</P> + +<P> +"Words are so weak," he said, "I can not tell you how I have longed for +this hour. I have gone over it in fancy a thousand times; yet no dream +was ever so bright and sweet as this reality. No man in the wide world +ever loved any one as I love you, Beatrice." +</P> + +<P> +She could not resist the passionate torrent of words—they must have +touched the heart of one less proud. She stood perfectly still, while +the calm night seemed to thrill with the eloquent voice of the speaker. +</P> + +<P> +"Speak to me," he said, at length. "How coldly you listen! Beatrice, +there is no love, no joy in your face. Tell me you are pleased to see +me—tell me you have remembered me. Say anything let me hear your +voice." +</P> + +<P> +"Hugh," she answered, gently, drawing her hands from his strong grasp, +"this is all a mistake. You have not given me time to speak. I am +pleased to see you well and safe. I am pleased that you have escaped +the dangers of the deep; but I can not say more. I—I do not love you +as you love me." +</P> + +<P> +His hands dropped nervously, and he turned his despairing face from her. +</P> + +<P> +"You must be reasonable," she continued, in her musical, pitiless +voice. "Hugh, I was only a dreaming, innocent, ignorant child when I +first met you. It was not love I thought of. You talked to me as no +one else ever had—it was like reading a strange, wonderful story; my +head was filled with romance, my heart was not filled with love." +</P> + +<P> +"But," he said, hoarsely, "you promised to be my wife." +</P> + +<P> +"I remember," she acknowledged. "I do not deny it; but, Hugh, I did +not know what I was saying. I spoke without thought. I no more +realized what the words meant than I can understand now what the wind +is saying." +</P> + +<P> +A long, low moan came from his lips; the awful despair in his face +startled her. +</P> + +<P> +"So I have returned for this!" he cried. "I have braved untold perils; +I have escaped the dangers of the seas, the death that lurks in heaving +waters, to be slain by cruel words from the girl I loved and trusted." +</P> + +<P> +He turned from her, unable to check the bitter sob that rose to his +lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Hush, Hugh," she said, gently, "you grieve me." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think of my grief?" he cried. "I came here tonight, with my +heart on fire with love, my brain dizzy with happiness. You have +killed me, Beatrice Earle, as surely as ever man was slain." +</P> + +<P> +Far off, among the trees, she saw the glimmer of the light in Lord +Airlie's room. It struck her with a sensation of fear, as though he +were watching her. +</P> + +<P> +"Let us walk on," she said; "I do not like standing here." +</P> + +<P> +They went through the shrubbery, through the broad, green glades of the +park, where the dew drops shone upon fern leaves and thick grass, past +the long avenue of chestnut trees, where the wind moaned like a human +being in deadly pain; on to the shore of the deep, calm lake, where the +green reeds bent and swayed and the moonlight shone on the rippling +waters. All this while Hugh had not spoken a word, but had walked in +silence by her side. He turned to her at length, and she heard the +rising passion in his voice. +</P> + +<P> +"You promised me," he said, "and you must keep your promise. You said +you would be my wife. No other man must dare to speak to you of love," +he cried, grasping her arm. "In the sight of Heaven you are mine, +Beatrice Earle." +</P> + +<P> +"I am not," she answered proudly; "and I never will be; no man would, +or could take advantage of a promise obtained from a willful, foolish +child." +</P> + +<P> +"I will appeal to Lord Earle," he said; "I will lay my claim before +him." +</P> + +<P> +"You may do so," she replied; "and, although he will never look upon me +again, he will protect me from you." +</P> + +<P> +She saw the angry light flame in his eyes; she heard his breath come in +quick, short gasps, and the danger of quarreling with him struck her. +She laid her hand upon his arm, and he trembled at the gentle touch. +</P> + +<P> +"Hugh," she said, "do not be angry. You are a brave man; I know that +in all your life you never shrank from danger or feared peril. The +brave are always generous, always noble; think of what I am going to +say. Suppose that, by the exercise of any power, you could really +compel me to be your wife, what would it benefit you? I should not +love you, I tell you candidly. I should detest you for spoiling my +life—I would never see you. What would you gain by forcing me to keep +my promise?" +</P> + +<P> +He made no reply. The wind bent the reeds, and the water came up the +bank with a long, low wash. +</P> + +<P> +"I appeal to your generosity," she said—"your nobility of character. +Release me from a promise I made in ignorance; I appeal to your very +love for me—release me, that I may be happy. Those who love truly," +she continued, receiving no reply, "never love selfishly. If I cared +for any one as you do for me, I should consider my own happiness last +or all. If you love me, release me, Hugh. I can never be happy with +you." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" he asked, tightening his grasp upon her arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Not from mercenary motives," she replied, earnestly; "not because my +father is wealthy, my home magnificent, and you belong to another grade +of society—not for that, but because I do not love you. I never did +love you as a girl should love the man she means to marry." +</P> + +<P> +"You are very candid," said he, bitterly; "pray, is there any one else +you love in this way?" +</P> + +<P> +"That is beside the question," she replied, haughtily; "I am speaking +of you and myself. Hugh, if you will give me my freedom if you will +agree to forget the foolish promise of a foolish child—I will respect +and esteem you while I live; I shall bless you every day; your name +will be a sacred one enshrined in my heart, your memory will be a +source of pleasure to me. You shall be my friend, Hugh, and I will be +a true friend to you." +</P> + +<P> +"Beatrice," he cried, "do not tempt me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, be tempted," she said; "let me urge you to be generous, to be +noble! See, Hugh, I have never prayed to any man—I pray to you; I +would kneel here at your feet and beseech you to release me from a +promise I never meant to give." +</P> + +<P> +Her words touched him. She saw the softened look upon his face, the +flaming anger die out of his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Hugh," she said, softly, "I, Beatrice Earle, pray you, by the love you +bear me, to release me from all claim, and leave me in peace. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me think," he replied; "give me a few minutes; no man could part +so hastily with the dearest treasure he has. Let me think what I lose +in giving you up." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap40"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XL +</H3> + +<P> +They stood for some time in perfect silence; they had wandered down to +the very edge of the lake. The water rippled in the moonlight, and +while Hugh Fernely thought, Beatrice looked into the clear depths. How +near she was to her triumph! A few minutes more and he would turn to +her and tell her she was free. His face was growing calm and gentle. +She would dismiss him with grateful thanks; she would hasten home. How +calm would be that night's sleep! When she saw Lord Airlie in the +morning, all her sorrow and shame would have passed by. Her heart beat +high as she thought of this. +</P> + +<P> +"I think it must be so," said Hugh Fernely, at last; "I think I must +give you up, Beatrice. I could not bear to make you miserable. Look +up, my darling; let me see your face once more before I say goodbye." +</P> + +<P> +She stood before him, and the thick dark shawl fell from her shoulders +upon the grass; she did not miss it in the blinding joy that had fallen +upon her. Hugh Fernely's gaze lingered upon the peerless features. +</P> + +<P> +"I can give you up," he said, gently; "for your own happiness, but not +to another, Beatrice. Tell me that you have not learned to love +another since I left you." +</P> + +<P> +She made no reply—not to have saved her life a thousand times would +she have denied her love for Lord Airlie. His kiss was still warm on +her lips—those same lips should never deny him. +</P> + +<P> +"You do not speak," he added, gloomily. "By Heaven, Beatrice, if I +thought you had learned to love another man—if I thought you wanted to +be free from me to marry another—I should go mad mad with jealous +rage! Is it so? Answer me." +</P> + +<P> +She saw a lurid light in his eyes, and shrank from him. He tightened +his grasp upon her arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Answer me!" he cried, hoarsely. "I will know." +</P> + +<P> +Not far from her slept the lover who would have shielded her with his +strong arm—the lover to whom every hair upon her dear head was more +precious than gold or jewels. Not far from her slept the kind, loving +father, who was prouder and fonder of her than of any one on earth. +Gaspar Laurence, who would have died for her, lay at that moment not +far away, awake and thinking of her. Yet in the hour of her deadly +peril, when she stood on the shore of the deep lake, in the fierce +grasp of a half-maddened man, there was no one near to help her or +raise a hand in her defense. But she was no coward, and all the high +spirit of her race rose within her. +</P> + +<P> +"Loosen your grasp, Hugh," she said, calmly; "you pain me." +</P> + +<P> +"Answer me!" he cried. "Where is the ring I gave you?" +</P> + +<P> +He seized both her hands and looked at them; they were firm and +cool—they did not tremble. As his fierce, angry eyes glanced over +them, not a feature of her beautiful face quivered. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is my ring?" he asked. "Answer me, Beatrice." +</P> + +<P> +"I have not worn it lately," she replied. "Hugh, you forget yourself. +Gentlemen do not speak and act in this way." +</P> + +<P> +"I believe I am going mad," he said, gloomily. "I could relinquish my +claim to you, Beatrice for your own sake, but I will never give you up +to be the wife of any other man. Tell me it is not so. Tell me you +have not been so doubly false as to love another, and I will try to do +all you wish." +</P> + +<P> +"Am I to live all my life unloved and unmarried?" she answered, +controlling her angry indignation by a strong effort, "because when I +was a lonely and neglected girl, I fell into your power? I do not ask +such a sacrifice from you. I hope you will love and marry, and be +happy." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall not care," he said, "what happens after I am gone—it will not +hurt my jealous, angry heart then, Beatrice; but I should not like to +think that while you were my promised wife and I was giving you my +every thought, you were loving some one else. I should like to believe +you were true to me while you were my own." +</P> + +<P> +She made no answer, fearing to irritate him if she told the truth, and +scorning to deny the love that was the crowning blessing of her life. +His anger grew in her silence. Again the dark flush arose in his face, +and his eyes flamed with fierce light. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly he caught sight of the gold locket she wore round her neck, +fastened by the slender chain. +</P> + +<P> +"What is this thing you wear?" he asked, quickly. "You threw aside my +ring. What is this? Whose portrait have you there? Let me see it." +</P> + +<P> +"You forget yourself again," she said, drawing herself haughtily away. +"I have no account to render to you of my friends." +</P> + +<P> +"I will see who is there!" he cried, beside himself with angry rage. +"Perhaps I shall know then why you wish to be freed from me. Whose +face is lying near your heart? Let me see. If it is that of any one +who has outwitted me, I will throw it into the depths of the lake." +</P> + +<P> +"You shall not see it," she said, raising her hand, and clasping the +little locket tightly. "I am not afraid, Hugh Fernely. You will never +use violence to me." +</P> + +<P> +But the hot anger leaped up in his heart; he was mad with cruel +jealousy and rage, and tried to snatch the locket from her. She +defended it, holding it tightly clasped in one hand, while with the +other she tried to free herself from his grasp. +</P> + +<P> +It will never be know how that fatal accident happened. Men will never +know whether the hapless girl fell, or whether Hugh Fernely, in his mad +rage, flung her into the lake. There was a startled scream that rang +through the clear air, a heavy fall, a splash amid the waters of the +lake! There was one awful, despairing glance from a pale, +horror-stricken face, and then the waters closed, the ripples spread +over the broad surface, and the sleeping lilies trembled for a few +minutes, and then lay still again! Once, and once only, a woman's +white hand, thrown up, as it were, in agonizing supplication, cleft the +dark water, and then all was over; the wind blew the ripples more +strongly; they washed upon the grass, and the stir of the deep waters +subsided! +</P> + +<P> +Hugh Fernely did not plunge into the lake after Beatrice—it was too +late to save her; still, he might have tried. The cry that rang +through the sleeping woods, seemed to paralyze him—he stood like one +bereft of reason, sense and life. Perhaps the very suddenness of the +event overpowered him. Heaven only knows what passed in his dull, +crazed mind while the girl he loved sank without help. Was it that he +would not save her for another that in his cruel love he preferred to +know her dead, beneath the cold waters, rather than the living, happy +wife of another man? Or was it that in the sudden shock and terror he +never thought of trying to save her? +</P> + +<P> +He stood for hours—it seemed to him as years—watching the spot where +the pale, agonized face had vanished—watching the eddying ripples and +the green reeds. Yet he never sought to save her—never plunged into +the deep waters whence he might have rescued her had he wished. He +never moved. He felt no fatigue. The first thing that roused him was a +gleam of gray light in the eastern sky, and the sweet, faint song of a +little bird. +</P> + +<P> +Then he saw that the day had broken. He said to himself, with a wild +horrible laugh, that he had watched all night by her grave. +</P> + +<P> +He turned and fled. One meeting him, with fierce, wild eyes full of +the fire of madness, with pale, haggard face full of despair, would +have shunned him. He fled through the green park, out on the +high-road, away through the deep woods—he knew not whither never +looking back; crying out at times, with a hollow, awful voice that he +had been all night by her grave; falling at times on his face with +wild, woeful weeping, praying the heavens to fall upon him and hide him +forever from his fellow men. +</P> + +<P> +He crept into a field where the hedge-rows were bright with autumn's +tints. He threw himself down, and tried to close his hot, dazed eyes, +but the sky above him looked blood-red, the air seemed filled with +flames. Turn where he would, the pale, despairing face that had looked +up to him as the waters opened was before him. He arose with a great +cry, and wandered on. He came to a little cottage, where rosy children +were at play, talking and laughing in the bright sunshine. +</P> + +<P> +Great Heaven! How long was it since the dead girl, now sleeping under +the deep waters, was happy and bright as they? +</P> + +<P> +He fled again. This time the piercing cry filled his ears; it seemed +to deaden his brain. He fell in the field near the cottage. Hours +afterward the children out at play found him lying in the dank grass +that fringed the pond under the alder trees. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +The first faint flush of dawn, a rosy light, broke in the eastern sky, +a tremulous, golden shimmer was on the lake as the sunbeams touched it. +The forest birds awoke and began to sing; they flew from branch to +branch; the flowers began to open their "dewy eyes," the stately swans +came out upon the lake, bending their arched necks, sailing round the +water lilies and the green sedges. +</P> + +<P> +The sun shone out at length in his majesty, warming and brightening the +fair face of nature—it was full and perfect day. The gardeners came +through the park to commence their work; the cows out in the pasture +land stood to be milked, the busy world began to rouse itself; but the +fatal secret hidden beneath the cold, dark water remained still untold. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap41"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XLI +</H3> + +<P> +The sun shone bright and warm in the breakfast room at Earlescourt. +The rays fell upon the calm, stately face of Lady Helena, upon the +grave countenance of her son, upon the bright, handsome features of +Lord Airlie. They sparkled on the delicate silver, and showed off the +pretty china to perfection. The breakfast was upon the table, but the +three occupants of the room had been waiting. Lady Helena took her +seat. +</P> + +<P> +"It seems strange," she said to Lord Earle, "to breakfast without +either of the girls. I would not allow Lillian to rise; and from some +caprice Beatrice forbade her maid to call her, saying she was tired." +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle made some laughing reply, but Lady Helena was not quite +pleased. Punctuality with her had always been a favorite virtue. In +case of real illness, allowance was of course to be made; but she +herself had never considered a little extra fatigue as sufficient +reason for absenting herself from table. +</P> + +<P> +The two gentlemen talked gayly during breakfast. Lord Earle asked +Hubert if he would go with him to Holte, and Lord Airlie said he had +promised to drive Beatrice to Langton Priory. +</P> + +<P> +Hearing that, Lady Helena thought it time to send some little warning +to her grandchild. She rang for Suzette, the maid who waited upon +Beatrice, and told her to call her young mistress. +</P> + +<P> +She stood at her writing table, arranging some letters, when the maid +returned. Lady Helena looked at her in utter wonder—the girl's face +was pale and scared. +</P> + +<P> +"My lady," she said, "will you please come here? You are wanted very +particularly." +</P> + +<P> +Lady Helena, without speaking to either of the gentlemen, went to the +door where the girl stood. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it, Suzette?" she asked. "What is the matter?" +</P> + +<P> +"For mercy's sake, my lady," replied the maid, "come upstairs. I I can +not find Miss Beatrice—she is not in her room;" and the girl trembled +violently or Lady Helena would have smiled at her terror. +</P> + +<P> +"She is probably with Miss Lillian," she said. "Why make such a +mystery, Suzette?" +</P> + +<P> +"She is not there, my lady; I can not find her," was the answer. +</P> + +<P> +"She may have gone out into the garden or the grounds," said Lady +Helena. +</P> + +<P> +"My lady," Suzette whispered, and her frightened face grew deathly +pale, "her bed has not been slept in; nothing is touched in her room; +she has not been in it all night." +</P> + +<P> +A shock of unutterable dread seized Lady Earle; a sharp spasm seemed to +dart through her heart. +</P> + +<P> +"There must be some mistake," she said, gently; "I will go upstairs +with you." +</P> + +<P> +The rooms were without occupant; no disarray of jewels, flowers, or +dresses, no little slippers; no single trace of Beatrice's presence was +there. +</P> + +<P> +The pretty white bed was untouched—no one had slept in it; the blinds +were drawn, and the sunlight struggled to enter the room. Lady Helena +walked mechanically to the window, and drew aside the lace curtains; +then she looked round. +</P> + +<P> +"She has not slept here," she said; "she must have slept with Miss +Lillian. You have frightened me, Suzette; I will go and see myself." +</P> + +<P> +Lady Helena went through the pretty sitting room where the books +Beatrice had been reading lay upon the table, on to Lillian's chamber. +</P> + +<P> +The young girl was awake, looking pale and languid, yet better than she +had looked the night before. Lady Earle controlled all emotion, and +went quietly to her. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you seen Beatrice this morning?" she asked. "I want her." +</P> + +<P> +"No," replied Lillian; "I have not seen her since just before dinner +last evening." +</P> + +<P> +"She did not sleep with you, then?" said Lady Earle. +</P> + +<P> +"No, she did not sleep here," responded the young girl. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Helena kissed Lillian's face, and quitted the room; a deadly, +horrible fear was turning her faint and cold. From the suite of rooms +Lord Earle had prepared and arranged for his daughters a staircase ran +which led into the garden. He had thought at the time how pleasant it +would be for them. As Lady Helena entered, Suzette stood upon the +stairs with a bow of pink ribbon in her hand. +</P> + +<P> +"My lady," she said, "I fastened the outer door of the staircase last +night myself. I locked it, and shot the bolts. It is unfastened now, +and I have found this lying by it. Miss Earle wore it last evening on +her dress." +</P> + +<P> +"Something terrible must have happened," exclaimed Lady Helena. +"Suzette, ask Lord Earle to come to me. Do not say a word to any one." +</P> + +<P> +He stood by her side in a few minutes, looking in mute wonder at her +pale, scared face. +</P> + +<P> +"Ronald," she said, "Beatrice has not slept in her room all night. We +can not find her." +</P> + +<P> +He smiled at first, thinking, as she had done, that there must be some +mistake, and that his mother was fanciful and nervous; but, when Lady +Helena, in quick, hurried words, told him of the unfastened door and +the ribbon, his face grew serious. He took the ribbon from the maid's +hand—it seemed a living part of his daughter. He remembered that he +had seen it the night before on her dress, when he had held up the +beautiful face to kiss it. He had touched that same ribbon with his +face. +</P> + +<P> +"She may have gone out into the grounds, and have been taken ill," he +said. "Do not frighten Airlie, mother; I will look round myself." +</P> + +<P> +He went through every room of the house one by one, but there was no +trace of her. Still Lord Earle had no fear; it seemed so utterly +impossible that any harm could have happened to her. +</P> + +<P> +Then he went out into the grounds, half expecting the beautiful face to +smile upon him from under the shade of her favorite trees. He called +aloud, "Beatrice!" The wind rustled through the trees, the birds sang, +but there came no answer to his cry. Neither in the grounds nor in the +garden could he discover any trace of her. He returned to Lady Helena, +a vague fear coming over him. +</P> + +<P> +"I can not find her," he said. "Mother, I do not understand this. She +can not have left us. She was not unhappy—my beautiful child." +</P> + +<P> +There was no slip of paper, no letter, no clew to her absence. Mother +and son looked blankly at each other. +</P> + +<P> +"Ronald," she cried, "where is she? Where is the poor child?" +</P> + +<P> +He tried to comfort her, but fear was rapidly mastering him. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me see if Airlie can suggest anything," he said. +</P> + +<P> +They went down to the breakfast room where Lord Airlie still waited for +the young girl he was never more to meet alive. He turned round with a +smile, and asked if Beatrice were coming. The smile died from his lips +when he saw the pale, anxious faces of mother and son. +</P> + +<P> +"Hubert," said Lord Earle, "we are alarmed—let us hope without cause. +Beatrice can not be found. My mother is frightened." Lady Helena had +sunk, pale and trembling, upon a couch. Lord Airlie looked bewildered. +Lord Earle told him briefly how they had missed her, and what had been +done. +</P> + +<P> +"She must be trying to frighten us," he said; "she must have hidden +herself. There can not be anything wrong." Even as he spoke he felt +how impossible it was that his dignified Beatrice should have done +anything wrong. +</P> + +<P> +He could throw no light upon the subject. He had not seen her since he +had kissed her when bidding her goodnight. Her maid was the last +person to whom she had spoken. Suzette had left her in her own room, +and since then nothing had been seen or heard of Beatrice Earle. +</P> + +<P> +Father and lover went out together. Lord Airlie suggested that she had +perhaps gone out into the gardens and had met with some accident there. +They went carefully over every part—there was no trace of Beatrice. +They went through the shrubbery out into the park, where the quiet lake +shone amid the green trees. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly, like the thrust of a sharp sword, the remembrance of the +morning spent upon the water came to Lord Airlie. He called to mind +Beatrice's fear—the cold shudder that seized her when she declared +that her own face with a mocking smile was looking up at her from the +depths of the water. +</P> + +<P> +He walked hurriedly toward the lake. It was calm and clear—the tall +trees and green sedges swaying in the wind, the white lilies rising and +falling with the ripples. The blue sky and green trees were reflected +in the water, the pleasure boat was fastened to the boat house. How +was he to know the horrible secret of the lake? +</P> + +<P> +"Come away, Airlie!" cried Lord Earle. "I shall go mad! I will call +all the servants, and have a regular search." +</P> + +<P> +In a few minutes the wildest confusion and dismay reigned in the Hall; +women wept aloud, and men's faces grew pale with fear. Their beautiful, +brilliant young mistress had disappeared, and none knew her fate. They +searched garden, park, and grounds; men in hot haste went hither and +thither; while Lady Earle lay half dead with fear, and Lillian rested +calmly, knowing nothing of what had happened. +</P> + +<P> +It was Lord Airlie who first suggested that the lake should be dragged. +The sun rode high in the heavens then, and shone gloriously over water +and land. +</P> + +<P> +They found the drags, and Hewson, the butler, with Lee and Patson, two +gardeners, got into the boat. Father and lover stood side by side on +the bank. The boat glided softly over the water; the men had been once +round the lake, but without any result. Hope was rising again in Lord +Airlie's heart, when he saw those in the boat look at each other, then +at him. +</P> + +<P> +"My lord," said Cowden, Lord Earle's valet, coming up to Hubert, "pray +take my master home; they have found something at the bottom of the +lake. Take him home; and please keep Lady Earle and the women all out +of the way." +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" cried Lord Earle. "Speak to me, Airlie. What is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Come away," said Lord Airlie. "The men will not work while we are +here." +</P> + +<P> +They had found something beneath the water; the drags had caught in a +woman's dress; and the men in the boat stood motionless until Lord +Earle was out of sight. +</P> + +<P> +Through the depths of water they saw the gleam of a white, dead face, +and a floating mass of dark hair. They raised the body with reverent +hands. Strong men wept aloud as they did so. One covered the quiet +face, and another wrung the dripping water from the long hair. The sun +shone on, as though in mockery, while they carried the drowned girl +home. +</P> + +<P> +Slowly and with halting steps they carried her through the warm, sunny +park where she was never more to tread, through the bright, sunlit +gardens, through the hall and up the broad staircase, the water +dripping from her hair and falling in large drops, into the pretty +chamber she had so lately quitted full of life and hope. They laid her +on the white bed wherefrom her eyes would never more open to the +morning light, and went away. +</P> + +<P> +"Drowned, drowned! Drowned and dead!" was the cry that went from lip to +lip, till it reached Lord Earle where he sat, trying to soothe his +weeping mother. "Drowned! Quite dead!" was the cry that reached +Lillian, in her sick room, and brought her down pale and trembling. +"Drowned and dead hours ago," were the words that drove Lord Airlie mad +with the bitterness of his woe. +</P> + +<P> +They could not realize it. How had it happened? What had taken her in +the dead of the night to the lake? +</P> + +<P> +They sent messengers right and left to summon doctors in hot haste, as +though human skill could avail her now. +</P> + +<P> +"I must see her," said Lord Airlie. "If you do not wish to kill me, +let me see her." +</P> + +<P> +They allowed him to enter, and Lord Earle and his mother went with him. +None in that room ever forgot his cry—the piercing cry of the strong +man in his agony—as he threw himself by the dead girl's side. +</P> + +<P> +"Beatrice, my love, my darling, why could I not have died for you?" +</P> + +<P> +And then with tears of sympathy they showed him how even in death the +white cold hand grasped his locket, holding it so tightly that no +ordinary foe could remove it. +</P> + +<P> +"In life and in death!" she had said, and she had kept her word. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap42"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XLII +</H3> + +<P> +While the weeping group still stood there, doctors came; they looked at +the quiet face, so beautiful in death, and said she had been dead for +hours. The words struck those who heard them with unutterable horror. +Dead, while those who loved her so dearly, who would have given their +lives for her, had lain sleeping near her, unconscious of her +doom—dead, while her lover had waited for her, and her father had been +intently thinking of her approaching wedding. +</P> + +<P> +What had she suffered during the night? What awful storm of agony had +driven her to the lake? Had she gone thither purposely? Had she +wandered to the edge and fallen in, or was there a deeper mystery? Had +foul wrong been done to Lord Earle's daughter while he was so near her, +and yet knew nothing of it? +</P> + +<P> +She still wore her pretty pink evening dress. What a mockery it +looked! The delicate laces were wet and spoiled; the pink blossoms she +had twined in her hair clung to it still; the diamond arrow Lord Airlie +had given her fastened them, a diamond brooch was in the bodice of her +dress, and a costly bracelet encircled the white, cold arm. She had +not, then, removed her jewels or changed her dress. What could have +taken her down to the lake? Why was Lord Airlie's locket so tightly +clinched in her hand? +</P> + +<P> +Lord Airlie, when he was calm enough to speak, suggested that she might +have fallen asleep, tired, before undressing—that in her sleep she +might have walked out, gone to the edge of the lake, and fallen in. +</P> + +<P> +That version spread among the servants. From them it spread like +wildfire around the whole country-side; the country papers were filled +with it, and the London papers afterward told how "the beautiful Miss +Earle" had been drowned while walking in her sleep. +</P> + +<P> +But Lord Airlie's suggestion did not satisfy Ronald Earle; he would not +leave the darkened chamber. Women's gentle hands removed the bright +jewels and the evening dress. Lady Helena, with tears that fell like +rain, dried the long, waving hair, and drew it back from the placid +brow. She closed the eyes, but she could not cross the white hands on +the cold breast. One held the locket in the firm, tight clasp of +death, and it could not be moved. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald would not leave the room. Gentle hands finished their task. +Beatrice lay in the awful beauty of death—no pain, no sorrow moving +the serene loveliness of her placid brow. He knelt by her side. It +was his little Beatrice, this strange, cold, marble statue—his little +baby Beatrice, who had leaped in his arms years ago, who had cried and +laughed, who had learned in pretty accents to lisp his name—his +beautiful child, his proud, bright daughter, who had kissed him the +previous night while he spoke jesting words to her about her lover. +And he had never heard her voice since—never would hear it again. Had +she called him when the dark waters closed over her bright head? +</P> + +<P> +Cold, motionless, no gleam of life or light—and this was Dora's little +child! He uttered a great cry as the thought struck him: "What would +Dora say?" He loved Beatrice; yet for all the long years of her +childhood he had been absent from her. How must Dora love the child +who had slept on her bosom, and who was now parted from her forever. +</P> + +<P> +And then his thoughts went back to the old subject: "How had it +happened? What had taken her to the lake?" +</P> + +<P> +One knelt near who might have told him, but a numb, awful dread had +seized upon Lillian. Already weak and ill, she was unable to think, +unable to shape her ideas, unable to tell right from wrong. +</P> + +<P> +She alone held the clew to the mystery, and she knelt by that death bed +with pale, parted lips and eyes full of terror. Her face startled +those who saw it. Her sorrow found no vent in tears; the gentle eyes +seemed changed into balls of fire; she could not realize that it was +Beatrice who lay there, so calm and still—Beatrice, who had knelt at +her feet and prayed that she would save her—Beatrice, who had believed +herself so near the climax of her happiness. +</P> + +<P> +Could she have met Hugh, and had he murdered her? Look where she +would, Lillian saw that question written in fiery letters. What ought +she to do? Must she tell Lord Earle, or did the promise she had made +bind her in death as well as in life. Nothing could restore her +sister. Ought she to tell all she knew, and to stain in death the name +that was honored and loved? +</P> + +<P> +One of the doctors called in saw the face of Lillian Earle. He went at +once to Lady Helena, and told her that if the young lady was not +removed from that room, and kept quiet she would be in danger of her +life. +</P> + +<P> +"If ever I saw a face denoting that the brain was disturbed," he said, +"that is one." +</P> + +<P> +Lillian was taken back to her room, and left with careful nurses. But +the doctor's warning proved true. While Lord Earle wept over the dead +child, Lady Helena mourned over the living one, whose life hung by a +thread. +</P> + +<P> +The day wore on; the gloom of sorrow and mourning had settled on the +Hall. Servants spoke with hushed voices and moved with gentle tread. +Lady Helena sat in the darkened room where Lillian lay. Lord Airlie +had shut himself up alone, and Ronald Earle knelt all day by his dead +child. In vain they entreated him to move, to take food or wine, to go +to his own room. He remained by her, trying to glean from that silent +face the secret of her death. +</P> + +<P> +And when night fell again, he sunk exhausted. Feverish slumbers came +to him, filled with a haunted dream of Beatrice sinking in the dark +water and calling upon him for help. Kindly faces watched over him, +kindly hands tended him. The morning sun found him still there. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Helena brought him some tea and besought him to drink it. The +parched, dried lips almost refused their office. It was an hour +afterward that Hewson entered the room, bearing a letter in his hand. +It was brought, he said by Thomas Ginns, who lived at the cottage past +Fair Glenn hills. It had been written by a man who lay dying there, +and who had prayed him to take it at once without delay. +</P> + +<P> +"I ventured to bring it to you, my lord," said the butler; "the man +seemed to think it a matter of life or death." +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle took the letter from his hands—he tried to open it, but the +trembling fingers seemed powerless. He signed to Hewson to leave the +room, and, placing the letter upon the table, resumed his melancholy +watch. But in some strange way his thoughts wandered to the missive. +What might it not contain, brought to him, too, in the solemn death +chamber? He opened it, and found many sheets of closely covered paper. +On the first was written "The Confession of Hugh Fernely." +</P> + +<P> +The name told him nothing. Suddenly an idea came to him—could this +confession have anything to do with the fate of the beloved child who +lay before him? Kneeling by the dead child's side, he turned over the +leaf and read as follows: +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"Lord Earle, I am dying—the hand tracing this will soon be cold. +Before I die I must confess my crime. Even now, perhaps, you are +kneeling by the side of the child lost to you for all time. My lord, I +killed her. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"I met her first nearly three years ago, at Knutsford; she was out +alone, and I saw her. I loved her then as I love her now. By mere +accident I heard her deplore the lonely, isolated life she led, and +that in such terms that I pitied her. She was young, beautiful, full +of life and spirits; she was pining away in that remote home, shut out +from the living world she longed for with a longing I can not put into +words. I spoke to her—do not blame her, she was a beautiful, ignorant +child—I spoke to her, asking some questions about the road, and she +replied. Looking at her face, I swore that I would release her from the +life she hated, and take her where she would be happy. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"I met her again and again. Heaven pardon me if I did my best to awake +an interest in her girlish heart! I told her stories of travel and +adventure that stirred all the romance in her nature. With the keen +instinct of love I understood her character, and played upon its +weakness while I worshiped its strength. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"She told me of a sad, patient young mother who never smiled, of a +father who was abroad and would not return for many years. Pardon me, +my lord, if, in common with many others, I believed this story to be +one to appease her. Pardon me, if I doubted as many others +did—whether the sad young mother was your wife. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"I imagined that I was going to rescue her from a false position when I +asked her to be my wife. She said her mother dreaded all mention of +love and lovers, and I prayed her to keep my love a secret from all the +world. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"I make no excuses for myself; she was young and innocent as a dreaming +child. I ought to have looked on her beautiful face and left her. My +lord, am I altogether to blame? The lonely young girl at Knutsford +pined for what I could give her—happiness and pleasure did not seem so +far removed from me. Had she been in her proper place I could never +have addressed her. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"Not to you can I tell the details of my love story—how I worshiped +with passionate love the beautiful, innocent child who smiled into my +face and drank in my words. I asked her to be my wife, and she +promised. My lord, I never for a moment dreamed that she would ever +have a home with you—it did not seem to me possible. I intended to +return and marry her, firmly believing that in some respects my rank +and condition in life were better than her own. She promised to be +true to me, to love no one else, to wait for me, and to marry me when I +returned. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"I believe now that she never loved me. My love and devotion were but +a pleasant interruption in the monotony of her life. They were to blame +also who allowed her no pleasures—who forced her to resort to this +stolen one. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"My lord, I placed a ring upon your daughter's finger, and pledged my +faith to her. I can not tell you what my love was like; it was a +fierce fire that consumed me night and day. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"I was to return and claim her in two years. Absence made me love her +more. I came back, rich in gold, my heart full of happiness, hope +making everything bright and beautiful. I went straight to +Knutsford—alas! she was no longer there! And then I heard that the +girl I loved so deeply and so dearly was Lord Earle's daughter. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"I did not dream of losing her; birth, title, and position seemed as +nothing beside my mighty, passionate love. I thought nothing of your +consent, but only of her; and I went to Earlescourt. My lord, I wrote +to her, and my heart was in every line. She sent me a cold reply. I +wrote again; I swore I would see her. She sent her sister to me with +the reply. Then I grew desperate, and vowed I would lay my claim +before you. I asked her to meet me out in the grounds, at night, +unseen and unknown. She consented, and on Thursday night I met her +near the shrubbery. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"How I remember her pretty pleading words, her beautiful proud face! +She asked me to release her. She said that it had all been child's +play—a foolish mistake—and that if I would give her her freedom from +a foolish promise she would always be my friend. At first I would not +hear of it; but who could have refused her? If she had told me to lie +down at her feet and let her trample the life out of me, I should have +submitted. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"I promised to think of her request, and we walked on to the border of +the lake. Every hair upon her head was sacred to me; the pretty, proud +ways that tormented me delighted me, too. I promised I would release +her, and give her the freedom she asked, if she told me I was not +giving her up to another. She would not. Some few words drove me mad +with jealous rage—yes, mad; the blood seemed to boil in my veins. +Suddenly I caught sight of a golden locket on her neck, and I asked her +whose portrait it contained. She refused to tell me. In the madness +of my rage I tried to snatch it from her. She caught it in her hands, +and, shrinking back from me, fell into the lake. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"I swear it was a sheer accident—I would not have hurt a hair of her +head; but, oh! My lord, pardon me—pardon me, for Heaven's sake—I +might have saved her and I did not; I might have plunged in after her +and brought her back, but jealousy whispered to me, 'Do not save her +for another—let her die.' I stood upon the bank, and saw the water +close over her head. I saw the white hand thrown up in wild appeal, +and never moved or stirred. I stood by the lake-side all night, and +fled when the morning dawned in the sky. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"I killed her. I might have saved her, but did not. Anger of yours +can add nothing to my torture; think what it has been. I was a strong +man two days since; when the sun sets I shall be numbered with the +dead. I do not wish to screen myself from justice. I have to meet the +wrath of Heaven, and that appalls me as the anger of man never could. +Send the officers of the law for me. If I am not dead, let them take +me; if I am, let them bury me as they would a dog. I ask no mercy, no +compassion nor forgiveness; I do not merit it. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"If by any torture, any death, I could undo what I have done, and save +her, I would suffer the extremity of pain; but I can not. My deed will +be judged in eternity. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +"My lord, I write this confession partly to ease my own conscience, +party to shield others from unjust blame. Do not curse me because, +through my mad jealousy, my miserable revenge, as fair and pure a child +as father ever loved has gone to her rest." +</P> + +<P> +So the strange letter concluded. Lord Earle read every word, looking +over and anon at the quiet, dead face that had kept the secret hidden. +Every word seemed burned in upon his brain; every word seemed to rise +before him like an accusing spirit. +</P> + +<P> +He stood face to face at last with the sin of his youth; it had found +him out. The willful, wanton disobedience, the marriage that had +broken his father's heart, and struck Ronald himself from the roll of +useful men; the willful, cruel neglect of duty; the throwing off of all +ties; the indulgence in proud, unforgiving temper, the abandonment of +wife and children—all ended there. But for his sins and errors, that +white, still figure might now have been radiant with life and beauty. +</P> + +<P> +The thought stung him with cruel pain. It was his own fault. Beatrice +might have erred in meeting Hugh Fernely; Fernely had done wrong in +trying to win that young child-like heart for his own; but he who left +his children to strange hands, who neglected all duties of parentage, +had surely done the greatest wrong. +</P> + +<P> +For the first time his utter neglect of duty came home to him. He had +thought himself rather a modern hero, but now he caught a glimpse of +himself as he was in reality. He saw that he was not even a brave man; +for a brave man neglects no duty. It was pitiful to see how sorrow +bent his stately figure and lined his proud face. He leaned over his +dead child, and cried to her to pardon him, for it was all his fault. +Lady Helena, seeking him in the gloom of that solemn death chamber, +found him weeping as strong men seldom weep. +</P> + +<P> +He did not give her the letter, nor tell her aught of Hugh Fernely's +confession. He turned to her with as sad a face as man ever wore. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother," he said, "I want my kinsman, Lionel Dacre. Let him be sent +for, and ask him to come without delay." +</P> + +<P> +In this, the crowning sorrow of his life, he could not stand alone. He +must have some one to think and to plan for him, some one to help him +bear the burden that seemed too heavy for him to carry. Some one must +see the unhappy man who had written that letter, and it should be a +kinsman of his own. +</P> + +<P> +Not the brave, sad young lover, fighting alone with his sorrow he must +never know the tragedy of that brief life, to him her memory must be +sacred and untarnished, unmarred by the knowledge of her folly. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Helena was not long in discovering Lionel Dacre's whereabouts. +One of the footmen who had attended him to the station remembered the +name of the place for which he had taken a ticket. Lady Helena knew +that Sir William Greston lived close by, and she sent at once to his +house. +</P> + +<P> +Fortunately the messenger found him. Startled and horrified by the +news, Lionel lost no time in returning. He could not realize that his +beautiful young cousin was really dead. Her face, in its smiling +brightness, haunted him. Her voice seemed to mingle with the wild +clang of the iron wheels. She was dead, and he was going to console +her father. +</P> + +<P> +No particulars of her death had reached him; he now only knew that she +had walked out in her sleep, and had fallen into the lake. +</P> + +<P> +Twenty-four hours had not elapsed since Lord Earle cried out in grief +for his young kinsman, yet already he stood by his side. +</P> + +<P> +"Persuade him to leave that room," said Lady Helena. "Since our +darling was carried there he has never left her side." +</P> + +<P> +Lionel did as requested. He went straight to the library, and sent for +Lord Earle, saying that he could not at present look upon the sad sight +in the gloomy death chamber. +</P> + +<P> +While waiting there, he heard of Lillian's dangerous illness. Lady +Helena told him how she had changed before her sister's death; and, +despite the young man's anger, his heart was sore and heavy. +</P> + +<P> +He hardly recognized Lord Earle in the aged, altered man who soon stood +before him. The long watch, the bitter remorse, the miserable +consciousness of his own folly and errors had written strange lines +upon his face. +</P> + +<P> +"I sent for you, Lionel," he said, "because I am in trouble—so great +that I can no longer bear it alone. You must think and work for me; I +can do neither for myself." +</P> + +<P> +Looking into his kinsman's face, Lionel felt that more than the death +of his child weighed upon the heart and mind of Ronald Earle. +</P> + +<P> +"There are secrets in every family," said Ronald; "henceforth there +will be one in mine—and it will be the true story of my daughter's +death. While I knelt yesterday by her side, this letter was brought to +me. Read it, Lionel; then act for me." +</P> + +<P> +He read it slowly, tears gathering fast in his eyes, his lips +quivering, and his hands tightly clinched. +</P> + +<P> +"My poor Beatrice!" he exclaimed; and then the strength of his young +manhood gave way, and Lionel Dacre wept as he had never wept before. +"The mean, pitiful scoundrel!" he cried, angry indignation rising as he +thought of her cruel death. "The wretched villain—to stand by while +she died!" +</P> + +<P> +"Hush!" said Lord Earle. "He has gone to his account. What have you +to say to me, Lionel? Because I had a miserable quarrel with my wife I +abandoned my children. I never cared to see them from the time they +were babes until they were women grown. How guilty am I? That man +believed he was about to raise Beatrice in the social scale when he +asked her to be his wife, or as he says, he would never have dreamed of +proposing to marry my daughter. If he merits blame, what do I deserve?" +</P> + +<P> +"It was a false position, certainly," replied Lionel Dacre. +</P> + +<P> +"This secret must be kept inviolate," said Lord Earle. "Lord Airlie +must never know it—it would kill Lady Helena, I believe. One thing +puzzles me, Lionel—Fernely says Lillian met him. I do not think that +is true." +</P> + +<P> +"It is!" cried Lionel, a sudden light breaking in upon him. "I saw her +with him. Oh, Lord Earle, you may be proud of Lillian! She is the +noblest, truest girl that ever lived. Why, she sacrificed her own +love, her own happiness, for her sister! She loved me; and when this +wedding, which will never now take place, was over, I intended to ask +you to give me Lillian. One night, quite accidentally, while I was +wandering in the grounds with a cigar, I saw her speaking to a +stranger, her fair sweet face full of pity and compassion, which I +mistook for love. Shame to me that I was base enough to doubt +her—that I spoke to her the words I uttered! I demanded to know who +it was she had met, and why she had met him. She asked me to trust +her, saying she could not tell me. I stabbed her with cruel words, and +left her vowing that I would never see her again. Her sister must have +trusted her with her secret, and she would not divulge it." +</P> + +<P> +"We can not ask her now," said Lord Earle; "my mother tells me she is +very ill." +</P> + +<P> +"I must see her," cried Lionel, "and ask her to pardon me if she can. +What am I to do for you, Lord Earle? Command me as though I were your +own son." +</P> + +<P> +"I want you to go to the cottage," said Ronald, "and see if the man is +living or dead. You will know how to act. I need not ask a kinsman +and a gentleman to keep my secret." +</P> + +<P> +In a few minutes Lionel Dacre was on his way to the cottage, riding as +though it were for dear life. Death had been still more swift. Hugh +Fernely lay dead. +</P> + +<P> +The cottager's wife told Lionel how the children out at play had found +a man lying in the dank grass near the pond, and how her husband, in +his own strong arms, had brought him to their abode. He lay still for +many hours, and then asked for pen and ink. He was writing, she said, +nearly all night, and afterward prayed her husband to take the letter +to Lord Earle. The man refused any nourishment. Two hours later they +went in to persuade him to take some food, and found him lying dead, +his face turned to the morning sky. +</P> + +<P> +Lionel Dacre entered the room. The hot anger died out of his heart as +he saw the anguish death had marked upon the white countenance. What +torture must the man have suffered, what hours of untold agony, to have +destroyed him in so short a time! The dark, handsome face appeared to +indicate that the man had been dying for years. +</P> + +<P> +Lionel turned reverently away. Man is weak and powerless before death. +In a few words he told the woman that she should be amply rewarded for +her kindness, and that he himself would defray all expenses. +</P> + +<P> +"He was perhaps an old servant of my lord's?" she said. +</P> + +<P> +"No," was the reply; "Lord Earle did not know him—had never seen him; +but the poor man was well known to one of Lord Earle's friends." +</P> + +<P> +Thanks to Lionel's words, the faintest shadow of suspicion was never +raised. Of the two deaths, that of Miss Earle excited all attention +and aroused all sympathy. No one spoke of Hugh Fernely, or connected +him with the occurrence at the Hall. +</P> + +<P> +There was an inquest, and men decided that he had "died by the +visitation of God." No one knew the agony that had cast him prostrate +in the thick, dank grass, no one knew the unendurable anguish that had +shortened his life. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +When Lionel returned to the Hall, he went straight to Lord Earle. +</P> + +<P> +"I was too late," he said; "the man had been dead some hours." +</P> + +<P> +His name was not mentioned between them again. Lord Earle never +inquired where he was buried—he never knew. +</P> + +<P> +The gloom had deepened at the Hall. Lillian Earle lay nigh unto death. +Many believed that the master of Earlescourt would soon be a childless +man. He could not realize it. They told him how she lay with the +cruel raging fever sapping her life, but he seemed to forget the living +child in mourning for the one that lay dead. +</P> + +<P> +In compliance with Lionel's prayer, Lady Helena took him into the sick +room where Lillian lay. She did not know him; the gentle, tender eyes +were full of dread and fear; the fair, pure face was burning with the +flush of fever; the hot, dry lips were never still. She talked +incessantly—at times of Knutsford and Beatrice—then prayed in her +sweet, sad voice that Lionel would trust her—only trust her; when +Beatrice was married she would tell him all. +</P> + +<P> +He turned away; her eyes had lingered on his face, but no gleam of +recognition came into them. +</P> + +<P> +"You do not think she will die?" he asked of Lady Helena; and she never +forgot his voice or his manner. +</P> + +<P> +"We hope not," she said; "life and death are in higher hands than ours. +If you wish to help her, pray for her." +</P> + +<P> +In after years Lionel Dacre like to remember that the best and most +fervent prayers of his life had been offered for gentle, innocent +Lillian Earle. +</P> + +<P> +As he turned to quit the chamber he heard her crying for her mother. +She wanted her mother—why was she not there? He looked at Lady +Helena; she understood him. +</P> + +<P> +"I have written," she said. "I sent for Dora yesterday; she will be +here soon." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap43"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XLIII +</H3> + +<P> +On the second day succeeding that on which Dora had been sent for, +Beatrice Earle was to be laid in her grave. The servants of the +household, who had dearly loved their beautiful young mistress, had +taken their last look at her face. Lady Helena had shed her last tears +over it. Lord Airlie had asked to be alone for a time with his dead +love. They had humored him, and for three long hours he had knelt by +her, bidding her a sorrowful farewell, taking his last look at the face +that would never again smile on earth for him. +</P> + +<P> +They respected the bitterness of his uncontrollable sorrow; no idle +words of sympathy were offered to him; men passed him by with an +averted face—women with tearful eyes. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle was alone with his dead child. In a little while nothing +would remain of his beautiful, brilliant daughter but a memory and a +name. He did not weep; his sorrow lay too deep for tears. In his +heart he was asking pardon for the sins and follies of his youth; his +face was buried in his hands, his head bowed over the silent form of +his loved child; and when the door opened gently, he never raised his +eyes—he was only conscious that some one entered the room, and walked +swiftly up the gloomy, darkened chamber to the bedside. Then a +passionate wailing that chilled his very blood filled the rooms. +</P> + +<P> +"My Beatrice, my darling! Why could I not have died for you?" +</P> + +<P> +Some one bent over the quiet figure, clasping it in tender arms, +calling with a thousand loving words upon the dear one who lay +there—some one whose voice fell like a strain of long-forgotten music +upon his ears. Who but a mother could weep as she did? Who but a +mother forget everything else in the abandonment of her sorrow, and +remember only the dead? +</P> + +<P> +Before he looked up, he knew it was Dora—the mother bereft of her +child—the mother clasping in her loving arms the child she had nursed, +watched, and loved for so many years. She gazed at him, and he never +forgot the woeful, weeping face. +</P> + +<P> +"Ronald," she cried, "I trusted my darling to you; what has happened to +her?" +</P> + +<P> +The first words for many long years—the first since he had turned +round upon her in his contempt, hoping he might be forgiven for having +made her his wife. +</P> + +<P> +She seemed to forget him then, and laid her head down upon the quiet +heart; but Ronald went round to her. He raised her in his arms, he +laid the weeping face on his breast, he kissed away the blinding tears, +and she cried to him: +</P> + +<P> +"Forgive me, Ronald—forgive me! You can not refuse in the hour of +death." +</P> + +<P> +How the words smote him. They were his own recoiling upon him. How +often he had refused his mother's pleading—hardened his own heart, +saying to himself and to her that he could not pardon her yet—he would +forgive her in the hour of death, when either he or she stood on the +threshold of eternity! +</P> + +<P> +Heaven had not willed it so. The pardon he had refused was wrung from +him now; and, looking at his child, he felt that she was sacrificed to +his blind, willful pride. +</P> + +<P> +"You will forgive me, Ronald," pleaded the gentle voice, "for the love +of my dead child? Do not send me from you again. I have been very +unhappy all these long years; let me stay with you now. Dear, I was +beside myself with jealousy when I acted as I did." +</P> + +<P> +"I forgive you," he said, gently, "can you pardon me as easily, Dora? +I have spoiled your life—I have done you cruel wrong; can you forget +all, and love me as you did years ago?" +</P> + +<P> +All pride, restraint, and anger were dead. He whispered loving words +to his weeping wife, such as she had not heard for years; and he could +have fancied, as he did so, that a happy smile lingered on the fair +face of the dead. +</P> + +<P> +No, it was but the light of a wax taper flickering over it; the +strange, solemn beauty of that serene brow and those quiet lips were +unstirred. +</P> + +<P> +Half an hour afterward Lady Helena, trembling from the result of her +experiment, entered the room. She saw Ronald's arms clasped round +Dora, while they knelt side by side. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother," said Lord Earle, "my wife has pardoned me. She is my own +again—my comfort in sorrow." +</P> + +<P> +Lady Earle touched Dora's face with her lips, and told what her errand +was. They must leave the room now—the beautiful face of Beatrice +Earle was to be hidden forever from the sight of men. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +That evening was long remembered at Earlescourt; for Lady Dora +thenceforward took her rightful position. She fell at once into the +spirit of the place, attending to every one and thinking of every one's +comfort. +</P> + +<P> +Lillian was fighting hard for her young life. She seemed in some vague +way to understand that her mother was near. Lady Dora's hand soothed +and calmed her, her gentle motherly ways brought comfort and rest; but +many long days passed before Lillian knew those around her, or woke +from her troubled, feverish dream. When she did so, her sister had been +laid to rest in her long, last home. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +People said afterward that no fairer day had ever been than that on +which Beatrice Earle was buried. The sun shone bright and warm, the +birds were singing, the autumn flowers were in bloom, as the long +procession wound its way through the trees in the park; the leaves fell +from the trees, while the long grass rustled under the tread of many +feet. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle and Hubert Airlie were together. Kindly hearts knew not +which to pity the more—the father whose heart seemed broken by his +sorrow, or the young lover so suddenly bereft of all he loved best. +From far and near friends and strangers gathered to that mournful +ceremony; from one to another the story flew how beautiful she was, and +how dearly the young lord had loved her, how she had wandered out of +the house in her sleep and fallen into the lake. +</P> + +<P> +They laid her to rest in the green church-yard at the foot of the +hill—the burial place of the Earles. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +The death bell had ceased ringing; the long white blinds of the Hall +windows were drawn up; the sunshine played once more in the rooms; the +carriages of sorrowing friends were gone; the funeral was over. Of the +beautiful, brilliant Beatrice Earle there remained but a memory. +</P> + +<P> +They told afterward how Gaspar Laurence watched the funeral procession, +and how he had lingered last of all in the little church-yard. He +never forgot Beatrice; he never looked into the face of another woman +with love on his own. +</P> + +<P> +It was all over, and on the evening of that same day a quiet, deep +sleep came to Lillian Earle. It saved her life; the wearied brain +found rest. When she awoke, the lurid light of fever died out of her +eyes, and they looked in gratified amazement upon Lady Dora who sat by +her side. +</P> + +<P> +"Mamma," she whispered, "am I at home at Knutsford?" +</P> + +<P> +Dora soothed her, almost dreading the time when memory should awaken in +full force. It seemed partly to return then, for Lillian gave vent to +a wearied sigh, and closed her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +Then Dora saw a little of wild alarm cross her face. She sprang up +crying: +</P> + +<P> +"Mamma, is it true? Is Beatrice dead?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is true, my darling," whispered her mother, gently. "Dead, but not +lost to us—only gone before." +</P> + +<P> +The young girl recovered very slowly. The skillful doctor in +attendance upon her sad that, as soon as it was possible to remove her, +she should be carried direct from her room to a traveling carriage, +taken from home, and not allowed to return to the Hall until she was +stronger and better. +</P> + +<P> +They waited until that day came, and meanwhile Lady Dora Earle learned +to esteem Lord Airlie very dearly. He seemed to find more comfort with +her than with any one else. They spoke but of one subject—the loved, +lost Beatrice. +</P> + +<P> +Her secret was never known. Lord Earle and Lionel Dacre kept it +faithfully. No allusion to it ever crossed their lips. To Lord +Airlie, while he lived, the memory of the girl he had loved so well was +pure and untarnished as the falling snow. Not even to her mother was +the story told. Dora believed, as did every one else, that Beatrice +had fallen accidentally into the lake. +</P> + +<P> +When Lillian grew stronger—better able to bear the mention of her +sister's name—Lord Earle went to her room one day, and, gently enough, +tried to win her to speak to him of what she knew. +</P> + +<P> +She told him all—of her sister's sorrow, remorse, and tears; her +longing to be free from the wretched snare in which she was caught; how +she pleaded with her to interfere. She told him of her short interview +with the unhappy man, and its sad consequences for her. +</P> + +<P> +Then the subject dropped forever. Lord Earle said nothing to her of +Lionel, thinking it would be better for the young lover to plead his +own cause. +</P> + +<P> +One morning, when she was able to rise and sit up for a time, Lionel +asked permission to see her. Lady Dora, who knew nothing of what had +passed between them, unhesitatingly consented. +</P> + +<P> +She was alarmed when, as he entered the room, she saw her daughter's +gentle face grow deathly pale. +</P> + +<P> +"I have done wrong," she said. "Lillian is not strong enough to see +visitors yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Dear Lady Dora," explained Lionel, taking her hand, "I love Lillian; +and she loved me before I was so unhappy as to offend her. I have come +to beg her pardon. Will you trust her with me for a few minutes?" +</P> + +<P> +Lady Dora assented, and went away, leaving them together. +</P> + +<P> +"Lillian," said Lionel, "I do not know in what words to beg your +forgiveness. I am ashamed and humbled. I know your sister's story, +and all that you did to save her. When one was to be sacrificed, you +were the victim. Can you ever forgive me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I forgive you freely," she gently answered. "I have been in the +Valley of the Shadow of Death, and all human resentment and unkindness +seem as nothing to me." +</P> + +<P> +"And may I be to you as I was before?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"That is another question," she said. "I can not answer it now. You +did not trust me, Lionel." +</P> + +<P> +Those were the only words of reproach she ever uttered to him. He did +not annoy her with protestation; he trusted that time would do for him +what he saw just then he could not do for himself. +</P> + +<P> +He sat down upon the couch by her side, and began to speak to her of +the tour she was about to make; of the places she should visit +carefully avoiding all reference to the troubled past. +</P> + +<P> +Three days afterward Lillian started on her journey to the south of +France insisted upon by the doctor. Lord Earle and his wife took +charge of their child; Lord Airlie, declaring he could not yet endure +Lynnton, went with them. Lady Helena and Lionel Dacre remained at +home, in charge of the Hall and the estate. +</P> + +<P> +One thing the latter had resolved upon—that, before the travelers +returned, the lake should be filled up, and green trees planted over +the spot where its waters now glistened in the sun. +</P> + +<P> +No matter how great the expense and trouble, he was resolved that it +should be done. +</P> + +<P> +"Earlescourt would be wretched," he said, "if that fatal lake remained." +</P> + +<P> +The day after the family left Earlescourt, he had workmen engaged. No +one was sorry at his determination. Lady Helena highly approved of it. +The water was drained off, the deep basin filled with earth, and tall +saplings planted where once the water had glistened in the sun. The +boat house was pulled down, and all vestige of the lake was done away +with. +</P> + +<P> +Lionel Dacre came home one evening from the works in very low spirits. +Imbedded in the bottom of the lake they had found a little slipper—the +fellow to it was locked away in Dora's drawer. He saved it to give it +to her when she returned. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap44"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XLIV +</H3> + +<P> +Two years passed away, and the travelers thought of returning. Lillian +had recovered health and strength, and, Lord Earle said, longed for +home. +</P> + +<P> +One bright June day they were expected back. Lionel Dacre had driven +to the station. Lady Earle had laid aside her mourning dress, and sat +anxiously awaiting her son. She wished the homecoming were over, and +that they had all settled down to the new life. +</P> + +<P> +Her wish was soon gratified. Once again she gazed upon the face of her +only and beloved son. He was little changed—somewhat sunburned, it +was true; but there was less of the old pride and sternness, a kindly +smile playing round his lips. There was, too, a shade of sadness that +plainly would never leave him; Lord Earle could never forget his lost +child. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Helena looked anxiously at Dora, but there was no cause for fear. +The rosy, dimpled beauty of youth had passed away, but a staid dignity +had taken its place. She looked a graceful amiable woman, with eyes of +wondrous beauty thickly veiled by long lashes, and a wealth of rippling +black hair. Lady Helena thought her far more beautiful now than when +the coy smiles and dimples had been the chief charm. She admired, too, +the perfect and easy grace with which Dora fell at once into her proper +place as mistress of that vast establishment. +</P> + +<P> +The pretty, musical voice was trained and softened; the delicate, +refined accent retained no trace of provincialism. Everything about +Dora pleased the eye and gratified the taste; the girlish figure had +grown matronly and dignified; the sweet face had in it a tinge of +sadness one may often see in the face of a mother who has lost a child. +Lady Helena, fastidious and critical, could find no fault with her +son's wife. +</P> + +<P> +She welcomed her warmly, giving up to her, in her own graceful way, all +rule and authority. Helping her if in any way she required it, but +never interfering, she made Dora respected by the love and esteem she +always evinced for her. +</P> + +<P> +But it was on Lillian's face that Lady Helena gazed most earnestly. +The pallor of sickness had given way to a rosy and exquisite bloom. +The fair, sweet face in its calm loveliness seemed to her perfect, the +violet eyes were full of light. Looking at her, Lady Helena believed +there were years of life in store for Ronald's only child. +</P> + +<P> +There was much to talk about. Lord Earle told his mother how Hubert +Airlie had gone home to Lynnton, unable to endure the sight of +Earlescourt. He had never regained his spirits. In the long years to +come it was possible, added Ronald, that Lord Airlie might marry, for +the sake of his name; but if ever the heart of living man lay buried in +a woman's grave, his was with the loved, lost Beatrice. +</P> + +<P> +Lionel Dacre knew he had done wisely and well to have the bed of the +lake filled up. In the morning he saw how each member of the family +shrank from going out into the grounds. He asked Lord Earle to +accompany him, and then the master of Earlescourt saw that the deep, +cruel water no longer shimmered amid the trees. +</P> + +<P> +Lionel let him bring his wife and daughter to see what had been done; +and they turned to the author of it with grateful eyes, thanking him +for the kind thought which had spared their feelings. Green trees +flourished now on the spot where the water had glistened in the sun; +birds sang in their branches, green grass and ferns grew round their +roots. +</P> + +<P> +Yet among the superstitious, strange stories were told. They said that +the wind, when it rustled among those trees, wailed with a cry like +that of one drowning, that the leaves shivered and trembled as they did +on no other branches; that the stirring of them resembled deep-drawn +sighs. They said flowers would never grow in the thick grass, and that +the antlered deer shunned the spot. +</P> + +<P> +As much as possible the interior arrangements of Earlescourt had been +altered. Lillian had rooms prepared for her in the other wing; those +that had belonged to her hapless sister were left undisturbed. Lady +Dora kept the key; it was known when she had been visiting them; the +dark eyes bore traces of weeping. +</P> + +<P> +Beatrice had not been forgotten and never would be. Her name was on +Lillian's lips a hundred times each day. They had been twin sisters, +and it always seemed to her that part of herself lay in the church yard +at the foot of the hill. +</P> + +<P> +Gaspar Laurence had gone abroad—he could not endure the sight or name +of home. Lady Laurence hoped that time would heal a wound that nothing +else could touch. When, after some years, he did return, it was seen +that his sorrow would last for life. He never married—he never cared +for the name of any woman save that of Beatrice Earle. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +A week after their return, Lillian Earle stood one evening watching +from the deep oriel window the sun's last rays upon the flowers. +Lionel joined her, and she knew from his face that he had come to ask +the question she had declined to answer before. +</P> + +<P> +"I have done penance, Lillian," he said, "if ever man has. For two +years I have devoted time, care, and thought to those you love, for +your sake; for two years I have tried night and day to learn, for your +sake, to become a better man. Do not visit my fault too heavily upon +me. I am hasty and passionate—I doubted you who were true and pure; +but, Lillian, in the loneliness and sorrow of these two years I have +suffered bitterly for my sin. I know you are above all coquetry. Tell +me, Lillian, will you be my wife?" +</P> + +<P> +She gave him the answer he longed to hear, and Lionel Dacre went +straight to Lord Earle. He was delighted—it was the very marriage +upon which he had set his heart years before. Lady Dora was delighted, +too; she smiled more brightly over it than she had smiled since the +early days of her married life. Lady Helena rejoiced when they told +her, although it was not unexpected news to her, for she had been +Lionel's confidante during Lillian's illness. +</P> + +<P> +There was no reason why the marriage should be delayed; the June roses +were blooming then, and it was arranged that it should take place in +the month of August. +</P> + +<P> +There were to be no grand festivities—no one had heart for them; the +wedding was to be quiet, attended only by a few friends; and Lord Earle +succeeded in obtaining a promise from Lionel which completely set his +heart at rest. It was that he would never seek another home—that he +and Lillian would consent to live at Earlescourt. Her father could not +endure the thought of parting with her. +</P> + +<P> +"It will be your home, Lionel," he said, "in the course of after-years. +Make it so now. We shall be one family, and I think a happy one." +</P> + +<P> +So it was arranged, much to everybody's delight. A few days before the +wedding took place, a letter came which seemed to puzzle Lord Earle +very much. He folded it without speaking, but, when breakfast was +over, he drew his wife's hand within his own. +</P> + +<P> +"Dora," he said, "there will never be any secrets between us for the +future. I want you to read this letter—it is from Valentine Charteris +that was, Princess Borgezi that is. She is in England, at Greenoke, +and asks permission to come to Lillian's wedding; the answer must rest +with you, dear." +</P> + +<P> +She took the letter from him and read it through; the noble heart of +the woman spoke in every line, yet in some vague way Dora dreaded to +look again upon the calm, grand beauty of Valentine's face. +</P> + +<P> +"Have no fear, Dora, in saying just what you think," said her husband; +"I would not have our present happiness clouded for the world. One +word will suffice—if you do not quite like the thought, I will write +to her and ask her to defer the visit." +</P> + +<P> +But Dora would not be outdone in magnanimity. With resolute force, she +cast from her every unworthy thought. +</P> + +<P> +"Let her come, Ronald," she said, raising her clear, dark eyes to his. +"I shall be pleased to see her. I owe her some amends." +</P> + +<P> +He was unfeignedly pleased, and so was every one else. Lady Helena +alone felt some little doubts as to Dora's capability of controlling +herself. +</P> + +<P> +The Princess Borgezi was to come alone; she had not said at what hour +they might expect her. +</P> + +<P> +Lady Dora had hardly understood why her thoughts went back so +constantly to her lost child. Beatrice had loved the beautiful, +gracious woman who was coming to visit them. It may have been that +which prompted her, on the day before Lillian's marriage, when the +house was alive with the bustle and turmoil of preparation, to go to +the silent, solitary rooms where her daughter's voice had once made +sweetest music. +</P> + +<P> +She was there alone for some time; it was Lord Earle who found her, and +tried to still her bitter weeping. +</P> + +<P> +"It is useless, Ronald," she cried; "I can not help asking why my +bright, beautiful darling should be lying there. It is only two years +since a wedding wreath was made for her." +</P> + +<P> +Nothing would comfort her but a visit to her daughter's grave. It was a +long walk, but she preferred taking it alone. She said she should feel +better after it. They yielded to her wish. Before she had quitted the +house many minutes, the Princess Borgezi arrived. +</P> + +<P> +There was no restraint in Ronald's greeting. He was heartily glad to +see her—glad to look once more on the lovely Grecian face that had +seemed to him, years ago, the only model for Queen Guinivere. They +talked for a few minutes; then Valentine, turning to him, said: +</P> + +<P> +"Now let me see Lady Dora. My visit is really to her." +</P> + +<P> +They told her whither she had gone; and Lady Helena whispered something +to her with brought tears to Valentine's eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said; "I will follow her. I will ask her to kiss me over +her daughter's grave." +</P> + +<P> +Some one went with her to point out the way, but Valentine entered the +church yard alone. +</P> + +<P> +Through the thick green foliage she saw the shining of the white marble +cross, and the dark dress of Dora, who knelt by the grave. +</P> + +<P> +She went up to her. Her footsteps, falling noiselessly on the soft +grass, were unheard by the weeping mother. +</P> + +<P> +Valentine knelt by her side. Dora, looking up, saw the calm face +beaming down upon her, ineffable tenderness in the clear eyes. She felt +the clasp of Valentine's arms, and heard a sweet voice whisper: +</P> + +<P> +"Dora, I have followed you here to ask you to try to love me, and to +pardon me for my share in your unhappy past. For the love of your +dead, who loved me, bury here all difference and dislike." +</P> + +<P> +She could not refuse. For the first time, Lord Earle's wife laid her +head upon that noble woman's shoulder and wept away her sorrow, while +Valentine soothed her with loving words. +</P> + +<P> +Over the grave of a child the two women were reconciled—all dislike, +jealousy, and envy died away forever. Peace and love took their place. +</P> + +<P> +In the after-time there was something remarkable in Dora's reverential +love for Valentine. Lord Earle often said that in his turn he was +jealous of her. His wife had no higher ideal, no truer friend than the +Princess Borgezi. +</P> + +<P> +The wedding day dawned at last; and for a time all trace of sadness was +hidden away. Lord Earle would have it so. He said that that which +should be the happiest day of Lillian's life must not be clouded. Such +sad thoughts of the lost Beatrice as came into the minds of those who +had loved her remained unspoken. +</P> + +<P> +The summer sun never shone upon a more lovely bride, nor upon a fairer +scene than that wedding. The pretty country church was decorated with +flowers and crowded with spectators. +</P> + +<P> +Side by side at the altar stood Lady Dora Earle and Valentine. People +said afterward they could not decide whom they admired most—Lady +Helena's stately magnificence, Dora's sweet, simple elegance, or the +Princess Borgezi's statuesque Grecian beauty. +</P> + +<P> +Lord Earle had prepared a surprise for Dora. When the little wedding +party returned from the church, the first to greet them was Stephen +Thorne, now a white-headed old man, and his wife. The first to show +them all honor and respect were Lord Earle and his mother. Valentine +was charmed with their homely simplicity. +</P> + +<P> +For months after they returned to Knutsford the old people talked of +"the lady with the beautiful face, who had been so kind and gracious to +them." +</P> + +<P> +Lord Airlie did not attend the wedding, but he had urged Lionel to +spend his honeymoon at Lynnton Hall, and Lillian had willingly +consented. +</P> + +<P> +So they drove away when the wedding breakfast was over. A hundred +wishes for their happiness following them, loving words ringing after +them. Relatives, friends, and servants had crowded round them; and +Lillian's courage gave way at last. She turned to Lionel, as though +praying him to shorten their time of parting. +</P> + +<P> +"Heaven bless you, my darling!" whispered Dora to her child. "And mind, +never—come what may—never be jealous of your husband." +</P> + +<P> +"Goodbye, Lionel," said Lord Earle, clasping the true, honest hand in +his; "and, if ever my little darling here tries you, be patient with +her." +</P> + +<P> +The story of a life time was told in these two behests. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap45"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XLV +</H3> + +<P> +Ten years had passed since the wedding bells chimed for the marriage of +Lillian Earle. New life had come to Earlescourt. Children's happy +voices made music there; the pattering of little feet sounded in the +large, stately rooms, pretty, rosy faces made light and sunshine. +</P> + +<P> +The years had passed as swiftly and peacefully as a happy dream. One +event had happened which had saddened Lord Earle for a few days—the +death of the pretty, coquettish Countess Rosali. She had nor forgotten +him; there came to him from her sorrowing husband a ring which she had +asked might be given to him. +</P> + +<P> +Gaspar Laurence was still abroad, and there was apparently no +likelihood of his return. The Princess Borgezi with her husband and +children, had paid several visits to the Hall. Valentine had one +pretty little daughter, upon whom Lionel's son was supposed to look +with most affection. She had other daughters—the eldest, a tall, +graceful girl, inherited her father's Italian face and dark, dreamy +eyes. Strange to say, she was not unlike Beatrice. It may have been +that circumstance which first directed Lord Airlie's attention to her. +He met her at Earlescourt, and paid her more attention than he had paid +to any one since he had loved so unhappily years before. +</P> + +<P> +No one was much surprised when he married her. And Helena Borgezi made +a good wife. She knew his story, and how much of his heart lay in the +grave of his lost love. He was kind, gentle, and affectionate to her, +and Helena valued his thoughtful, faithful attachment more than she +would have valued the deepest and most passionate love of another man. +</P> + +<P> +One room at Lynnton was never unlocked; strange feet never entered it; +curious eyes never looked round it. It was the pretty boudoir built, +but never furnished, for Hubert Airlie's first love. +</P> + +<P> +Time softened his sorrow; his fair, gentle wife was devoted to him, +blooming children smiled around him; but he never forgot Beatrice. In +his dreams, at times, Helena heard her name on his lips; but she was +not jealous of the dead. No year passed in which she did not visit the +grave where Beatrice Earle slept her last long sleep. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +Dora seemed to grow young again with Lillian's children. She nursed +and tended them. Lady Helena, with zealous eyes, looked after +Bertrand, the future lord of Earlescourt, a brave, noble boy, his +father's pride and Lillian's torment and delight, who often said he was +richer than any other lad in the country, for he had three mothers, +while others had but one. +</P> + +<HR ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> + +<P> +The sun was setting over the fair broad lands of Earlescourt, the +western sky was all aflame; the flowers were thirsting for the soft dew +which had just begun to fall. +</P> + +<P> +Out in the rose garden, where long ago a love story had been told, were +standing a group that an artist would have been delighted to sketch. +</P> + +<P> +Lionel had some choice roses in bloom, and after dinner the whole party +had gone out to see them. Lady Helena Earle was seated on the garden +chair whereon Beatrice had once sat listening to the words which had +gladdened her brief life. A number of fair children played around her. +</P> + +<P> +Looking on them with pleased eyes was a gentle, graceful lady. Her +calm, sweet face had a story in it, the wondrous dark eyes had in them +a shadow as of some sorrow not yet lived down. Lady Dora Earle was +happy; the black clouds had passed away. She was her husband's best +friend, his truest counselor; and Ronald had forgotten that she was +ever spoken of as "lowly born." The dignity of her character, acquired +by long years of stern discipline, asserted itself; no one in the whole +country side was more loved or respected than Lady Dora Earle. +</P> + +<P> +Ronald, Lord Earle, was lying on the grass at his wife's feet. He +looked older, and the luxuriant hair was threaded with silver; but +there was peace and calm in his face. +</P> + +<P> +He laughed at Lillian and her husband conversing so anxiously over the +roses. +</P> + +<P> +"They are lovers yet," he said to Dora; and she glanced smilingly at +them. +</P> + +<P> +The words were true. Ten years married, they were lovers yet. There +was gentle forbearance on one side, an earnest wish to do right on the +other. Lillian Dacre never troubled her head about "woman's rights;" +she had no idea of trying to fill her husband's place; if her opinion +on voting was asked, the chances were that she would smile and say, +"Lionel manages all those matters." Yet in her own kingdom she reigned +supreme; her actions were full of wisdom, he words were full of kindly +thought. The quiet, serene beauty of her youth had developed into that +of magnificent womanhood. The fair, spirituelle face was peerless in +her husband's eyes. There was no night or day during which Lionel +Dacre did not thank Heaven for that crown of all great gifts, a good +and gentle wife. +</P> + +<P> +There was a stir among the children; a tall, dark gentleman was seen +crossing the lawn, and Lionel cried: "Here is Gaspar Laurence with his +arms full of toys—those children will be completely spoiled!" +</P> + +<P> +The little ones rushed forward, and Bertrand, in his hurry, fell over a +pretty child with large dark eyes and dark hair. Lord Earle jumped up +and caught her in his arms. +</P> + +<P> +"Bertie, my boy," he said, "always be kind to little Beatrice!" The +child clasped her arms round his neck. He kissed the dark eyes and +murmured to himself, "Poor little Beatrice!" +</P> + +<P> +The summer wind that played among the roses, lifting the golden, +rippling hair from Lillian's forehead and tossing her little girl's +curls into Lord Earle's face, was singing a sweet, low requiem among +the trees that shaded the grave of Beatrice Earle. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dora Thorne, by Charlotte M. Braeme + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DORA THORNE *** + +***** This file should be named 2374-h.htm or 2374-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/7/2374/ + +Produced by Theresa Armao. 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Braeme + +Posting Date: March 1, 2009 [EBook #2374] +Release Date: October, 2000 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DORA THORNE *** + + + + +Produced by Theresa Armao. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + + +DORA THORNE + + +by + +Charlotte M. Braeme + + + + +Chapter I + +"The consequences of folly seldom end with its originator," said Lord +Earle to his son. "Rely upon it, Ronald, if you were to take this most +foolish and unadvisable step, you would bring misery upon yourself and +every one connected with you. Listen to reason." + +"There is no reason in prejudice," replied the young man haughtily. +"You can not bring forward one valid reason against my marriage." + +Despite his annoyance, a smile broke over Lord Earle's grave face. + +"I can bring a thousand reasons, if necessary," he replied. "I grant +everything you say. Dora Thorne is very pretty; but remember, she is +quite a rustic and unformed beauty--and I almost doubt whether she can +read or spell properly. She is modest and good, I grant, and I never +heard one syllable against her. Ronald, let me appeal to your better +judgment--are a moderate amount of rustic prettiness and shy modesty +sufficient qualifications for your wife, who will have to take your +mother's place?" + +"They are quite sufficient to satisfy me," replied the young man. + +"You have others to consider," said Lord Earle, quickly. + +"I love her," interrupted his son; and again his father smiled. + +"We know what it means," he said, "when boys of nineteen talk about +love. Believe me, Ronald, if I were to consent to your request, you +would be the first in after years to reproach me for weak compliance +with your youthful folly." + +"You would not call it folly," retorted Ronald, his face flushing +hotly, "if Dora were an heiress, or the daughter of some--" + +"Spare me a long discourse," again interrupted Lord Earle. "You are +quite right; if the young girl in question belonged to your own +station, or even if she were near it, that would be quite a different +matter. I am not annoyed that you have, as you think, fallen in love, +or that you wish to marry, although you are young. I am annoyed that +you should dream of wishing to marry a simple rustic, the daughter of +my lodge keeper. It is so supremely ridiculous that I can hardly treat +the matter seriously." + +"It is serious enough for me," returned his son with a long, deep sigh. +"If I do not marry Dora Thorne, I shall never marry at all." + +"Better that than a mesalliance," said Lord Earle, shortly. + +"She is good," cried Ronald--"good and fair, modest and graceful. Her +heart is pure as her face is fair. What mesalliance can there be, +father? I never have believed and never shall believe in the cruel +laws of caste. In what is one man better than or superior to another +save that he is more intelligent or more virtuous?" + +"I shall never interfere in your politics, Ronald," said Lord Earle, +laughing quietly. "Before you are twenty-one you will have gone +through many stages of that fever. Youth is almost invariably liberal, +age conservative. Adopt what line of politics you will, but do not +bring theory into practice in this instance." + +"I should consider myself a hero," continued the young man, "if I could +be the first to break through the trammels of custom and the absurd +laws of caste." + +"You would not be the first," said Lord Earle, quietly. "Many before +you have made unequal marriages; many will do so after you, but in +every case I believe regret and disappointment followed." + +"They would not in my case," said Ronald, eagerly; "and with Dora +Thorne by my side, I could so anything; without her, I can do nothing." + +Lord Earle looked grieved at the pertinacity of his son. + +"Most fathers would refuse to hear all this nonsense, Ronald," he said, +gently. "I listen, and try to convince you by reasonable arguments that +the step you seem bent upon taking is one that will entail nothing but +misery. I have said no angry word to you, nor shall I do so. I tell +you simply it can not be. Dora Thorne, my lodge keeper's daughter, is +no fitting wife for my son, the heir of Earlescourt. Come with me, +Ronald; I will show you further what I mean." + +They went together, the father and son, so like in face yet so +dissimilar in mind. They had been walking up and down the broad +terrace, one of the chief beauties of Earlescourt. The park and +pleasure grounds, with flushed summer beauty, lay smiling around them. +The song of hundreds of birds trilled through the sweet summer air, the +water of many fountains rippled musically, rare flowers charmed the eye +and sent forth sweet perfume; but neither song of birds nor fragrance +of flowers--neither sunshine nor music--brought any brightness to the +grave faces of the father and son. + +With slow steps they quitted the broad terrace, and entered the hall. +They passed through a long suite of magnificent apartments, up the +broad marble staircase, through long corridors, until they reached the +picture gallery, one of the finest in England. Nearly every great +master was represented there. Murillo, Guido, Raphael, Claude +Lorraine, Salvator Rosa, Correggio, and Tintoretto. The lords of +Earlescourt had all loved pictures, and each of them ad added to the +treasures of that wonderful gallery. + +One portion of the gallery was set aside for the portraits of the +family. Grim old warriors and fair ladies hung side by side; faces of +marvelous beauty, bearing the signs of noble descent, shone out clearly +from their gilded frames. + +"Look, Ronald," Lord Earle said, laying one hand upon his shoulder, +"you stand before your ancestors now. Yours is a grand old race. +England knows and honors it. Look at these pictured faces of the wives +our fathers chose. There is Lady Sybella Earle; when one of Cromwell's +soldiers drew his dagger to slay her husband, the truest friend King +Charles ever had, she flung herself before him, and received the blow +in his stead. She died, and he lived--noble and beautiful, is she not? +Now look at the Lacy Alicia--this fair patrician lady smiling by the +side of her grim lord; she, at the risk of her life, helped him to fly +from prison, where he lay condemned to death for some great political +wrong. She saved him, and for her sake he received pardon. Here is +the Lady Helena--she is not beautiful, but look at the intellect, the +queenly brow, the soul-lit eyes! She, I need not tell you, was a +poetess. Wherever the English language was spoken, her verses were +read--men were nobler and better for reading them. The ladies of our +race were such that brave men may be proud of them. Is it not so, +Ronald?" + +"Yes," he replied, calmly; "they were noble women." + +Lord Earle then led his son to a large painting, upon which the western +sunbeams lingered, brightening the fair face they shone upon, until it +seemed living and smiling. A deep and tender reverence stole into Lord +Earle's voice as he spoke: + +"No fairer or more noble woman ever ruled at Earlescourt than your +mother, Ronald. She is the daughter of 'a hundred earls,' high-bred, +beautiful, and refined. Now, let me ask you, in the name of common +sense, do you wish to place my lodge keeper's daughter by your mother's +side? Admit that she is pretty and good--is it in the fitting order of +things that she should be here?" + +For the first time, in the heedless, fiery course of his love, Ronald +Earle paused. He looked at the serene and noble face before him, the +broad brow, the sweet, arched lips, the refined patrician features, and +there came to him the memory of another face, charming, shy and +blushing, with a rustic, graceful beauty different from the one before +him as sunlight compared to moonlight. The words faltered upon his +lips--instinctively he felt that pretty, blushing Dora had no place +there. Lord Earle looked relieved as he saw the doubt upon his son's +face. + +"You see it, Ronald," he cried. "Your idea of the 'fusion' of races is +well enough in theory, but it will not do brought into practice. I +have been patient with you--I have treated you, not as a school boy +whose head is half turned by his first love, but as a sensible man +endowed with reason and thought. Now give me a reward. Promise me +here that you will make a brave effort, give up all foolish thoughts of +Dora Thorne, and not see her again. Go abroad for a year or two--you +will soon forget this boyish folly, and bless the good sense that has +saved you from it. Will you promise me, Ronald?" + +"I can not, father," he replied, "for I have promised Dora to make her +my wife. I can not break my word. You yourself could never counsel +that." + +"In this case I can," said Lord Earle, eagerly. "That promise is not +binding, even in honor; the girl herself, if she has any reason, can +not and does not expect it." + +"She believed me," said Ronald, simply. "Besides, I love her, father." + +"Hush," replied Lord Earle, angrily, "I will listen to no more +nonsense. There is a limit to my patience. Once and for all, Ronald, +I tell you that I decidedly forbid any mention of such a marriage; it +is degrading and ridiculous. I forbid you to marry Dora Thorne; if you +disobey me, you must bear the penalty." + +"And what would the penalty be?" asked the heir of Earlescourt, with a +coolness and calmness that irritated the father. + +"One you would hardly wish to pay," replied the earl. "If, in spite of +my prayers, entreaties, and commands, you persist in marrying the girl, +I will never look upon your face again. My home shall be no longer +your home. You will lose my love, my esteem, and what perhaps those +who have lured you to ruin may value still more, my wealth. I can not +disinherit you; but, if you persist in this folly, I will not allow you +one farthing. You shall be to me as one dead until I die myself." + +"I have three hundred a year," said Ronald, calmly; "that my godfather +left me." + +Lord Earle's face now grew white with anger. + +"Yes," he replied, "you have that; it would not find you in gloves and +cigars now. But, Ronald, you can not be serious, my boy. I have loved +you--I have been so proud of you--you can not mean to defy and wound +me." + +His voice faltered, and his son looked up quickly, touched to the heart +by his father's emotion. + +"Give me your consent, father," he cried, passionately. "You know I +love you, and I love Dora; I can not give up Dora." + +"Enough," said Lord Earle; "words seem useless. You hear my final +resolve; I shall never change it--no after repentance, no entreaties, +will move me. Choose between your parents, your home, your position, +and the love of this fair, foolish girl, of whom in a few months you +will be tired and weary. Choose between us. I ask for no promises; you +have refused to give it. I appeal no more to your affection; I leave +you to decide for yourself. I might coerce and force you, but I will +not do so. Obey me, and I will make your happiness my study. Defy me, +and marry the girl then, in life, I will never look upon your face +again. Henceforth, I will have no son; you will not be worthy of the +name. There is no appeal. I leave you now to make your choice; this +is my final resolve." + + + +Chapter II + +The Earles, of Earlescourt, were one of the oldest families in England. +The "Barony of Earle" is mentioned in the early reigns of the Tudor +kings. They never appeared to have taken any great part either in +politics or warfare. The annals of the family told of simple, virtuous +lives; they contained, too, some few romantic incidents. Some of the +older barons had been brave soldiers; and there were stories of +hair-breadth escapes and great exploits by flood and field. Two or +three had taken to politics, and had suffered through their eagerness +and zeal; but, as a rule, the barons of Earle had been simple, kindly +gentlemen, contented to live at home upon their own estates, satisfied +with the duties they found there, careful in the alliances they +contracted, and equally careful in the bringing up and establishment of +their children. One and all they had been zealous cultivators of the +fine arts. Earlescourt was almost overcrowded with pictures, statues, +and works of art. + +Son succeeded father, inheriting with title and estate the same kindly, +simple dispositions and the same tastes, until Rupert Earle, nineteenth +baron, with whom our story opens, became Lord Earle. Simplicity and +kindness were not his characteristics. He was proud, ambitious, and +inflexible; he longed for the time when the Earles should become +famous, when their name should be one of weight in council. In early +life his ambitious desires seemed about to be realized. He was but +twenty when he succeeded his father, and was an only child, clever, +keen and ambitious. In his twenty-first year he married Lady Helena +Brooklyn, the daughter of one of the proudest peers in Britain. There +lay before him a fair and useful life. His wife was an elegant, +accomplished woman, who knew the world and its ways--who had, from her +earliest childhood, been accustomed to the highest and best society. +Lord Earle often told her, laughingly, that she would have made an +excellent embassadress--her manners were so bland and gracious; she had +the rare gift of appearing interested in every one and in everything. + +With such a wife at the head of his establishment, Lord Earle hoped for +great things. He looked to a prosperous career as a statesman; no +honors seemed to him too high, no ambition too great. But a hard fate +lay before him. He made one brilliant and successful speech in +Parliament--a speech never forgotten by those who heard it, for its +astonishing eloquence, its keen wit, its bitter satire. Never again +did his voice rouse alike friend and foe. He was seized with a sudden +and dangerous illness which brought him to the brink of the grave. +After a long and desperate struggle with the "grim enemy," he slowly +recovered, but all hope of public life was over for him. The doctors +said he might live to be a hale old man if he took proper precautions; +he must live quietly, avoid all excitement, and never dream again of +politics. + +To Lord Earle this seemed like a sentence of exile or death. His wife +tried her utmost to comfort and console him, but for some years he +lived only to repine at his lot. Lady Helena devoted herself to him. +Earlescourt became the center and home of famous hospitality; men of +letters, artists, and men of note visited there, and in time Lord Earle +became reconciled to his fate. All his hopes and his ambitions were +now centered in his son, Ronald, a fine, noble boy, like his father in +every respect save one. He had the same clear-cut Saxon face, with +clear, honest eyes and proud lips, the same fair hair and stately +carriage, but in one respect they differed. Lord Earle was firm and +inflexible; no one ever thought of appealing against his decision or +trying to change his resolution. If "my lord" had spoken, the matter +was settled. Even Lady Helena knew that any attempt to influence him +was vain. Ronald, on the contrary, could be stubborn, but not firm. +He was more easily influenced; appeal to the better part of his nature, +to his affection or sense of duty, was seldom made in vain. + +No other children gladdened the Lord Earle's heart, and all his hopes +were centered in his son. For the second time in his life great hopes +and ambitions rose within him. What he had not achieved his son would +do; the honor he could no longer seek might one day be his son's. +There was something almost pitiful in the love of the stern, +disappointed man for his child. He longed for the time when Ronald +would be of age to commence his public career. He planned for his son +as he had never planned for himself. + +Time passed on, and the heir of Earlescourt went to Oxford, as his +father had done before him. Then came the second bitter disappointment +of Lord Earle's life. He himself was a Tory of the old school. +Liberal principles were an abomination to him; he hated and detested +everything connected with Liberalism. It was a great shock when Ronald +returned from college a "full-fledged Liberal." With his usual +keenness he saw that all discussion was useless. + +"Let the Liberal fever wear out," said one of his friends; "you will +find, Lord Earle, that all young men favor it. Conservatism is the +result of age and experience. By the time your son takes a position in +the world, he will have passed through many stages of Liberalism." + +Lord Earle devoutly believed it. When the first shock of his +disappointment was over, Ronald's political zeal began to amuse him. +He liked to see the boy earnest in everything. He smiled when Ronald, +in his clear, young voice, read out the speeches of the chief of his +party. He smiled when the young man, eager to bring theory into +practice, fraternized with the tenant farmers, and visited families +from whom his father shrunk in aristocratic dread. + +There was little doubt that in those days Ronald Earl believed himself +called to a great mission. He dreamed of the time when the barriers of +caste would be thrown down, when men would have equal rights and +privileges, when the aristocracy of intellect and virtue would take +precedence of noble birth, when wealth would be more equally +distributed, and the days when one man perished of hunger while another +reveled in luxury should cease to be. His dreams were neither exactly +Liberal nor Radical; they were simply Utopian. Even then, when he was +most zealous, had any one proposed to him that he should inaugurate the +new state of things, and be the first to divide his fortune, the +futility of his theories would have struck him more plainly. Mingling +in good society, the influence of clever men and beautiful women would, +Lord Earle believed, convert his son in time. He did not oppose him, +knowing that all opposition would but increase his zeal. It was a +bitter disappointment to him, but he bore it bravely, for he never +ceased to hope. + +A new trouble was dawning for Lord Earle, one far more serious than the +Utopian dream of his son; of all his sorrows it was the keenest and the +longest felt. Ronald fell in love, and was bent on marrying a simple +rustic beauty, the lodge keeper's daughter. + +Earlescourt was one of the fairest spots in fair and tranquil England. +It stood in the deep green heart of the land, in the midst of one of +the bonny, fertile midland counties. + +The Hall was surrounded by a large park, where the deer browsed under +the stately spreading trees, where there were flowery dells and knolls +that would charm an artist; a wide brook, almost broad and deep enough +to be called a river, rippled through it. + +Earlescourt was noted for its trees, a grand old cedar stood in the +middle of the park; the shivering aspen, the graceful elm, the majestic +oak, the tall, flowering chestnut were all seen to greatest perfection +there. + +Art had done much, Nature more, to beautify the home of the Earles. +Charming pleasure gardens were laid out with unrivaled skill; the +broad, deep lake was half hidden by the drooping willows bending over +it, and the white water lilies that lay on its tranquil breast. + +The Hall itself was a picturesque, gray old building, with turrets +covered with ivy, and square towers of modern build; there were deep +oriel windows, stately old rooms that told of the ancient race, and +cheerful modern apartments replete with modern comfort. + +One of the great beauties of Earlescourt was the broad terrace that ran +along one side of the house; the view from it was unequaled for quiet +loveliness. The lake shone in the distance from between the trees; the +perfume from the hawthorn hedges filled the air, the fountains rippled +merrily in the sunshine, and the flowers bloomed in sweet summer beauty. + +Lord Earle loved his beautiful home; he spared no expense in +improvements, and the time came when Earlescourt was known as a model +estate. + +One thing he did of which he repented till the hour of his death. On +the western side of the park he built a new lodge, and installed +therein Stephen Thorne and his wife, little dreaming as he did so that +the first link in what was to be a fatal tragedy was forged. + +Ronald was nineteen, and Lord Earle thought, his son's college career +ended, he should travel for two or three years. He could not go with +him, but he hoped that surveillance would not be needed, that his boy +would be wise enough and manly enough to take his first steps in life +alone. At college he won the highest honors; great things were +prophesied for Ronald Earle. They might have been accomplished but for +the unfortunate event that darkened Earlescourt with a cloud of shame +and sorrow. + +Lord and Lady Earle had gone to pay a visit to an old friend, Sir Hugh +Charteris, of Greenoke. Thinking Ronald would not reach home until the +third week in June, they accepted Sir Hugh's invitation, and promised +to spend the first two weeks in June with him. But Ronald altered his +plans; the visit he was making did not prove to be a very pleasant one, +and he returned to Earlescourt two days after Lord and Lady Earle had +left it. His father wrote immediately, pressing him to join the party +at Greenoke. He declined, saying that after the hard study of the few +last months he longed for quiet and rest. + +Knowing that every attention would be paid to his son's comfort, Lord +Earle thought but little of the matter. In after years he bitterly +regretted that he had not insisted upon his son's going to Greenoke. +So it happened that Ronald Earle, his college career ended, his future +lying like a bright, unruffled dream before him, had two weeks to spend +alone in Earlescourt. + +The first day was pleasant enough. Ronald went to see the horses, +inspected the kennels, gladdened the gamekeeper's heart by his keen +appreciation of good sport, rowed on the lake, played a solitary game +at billiards, dined in great state, read three chapters or "Mill on +Liberalism," four of a sensational novel, and fell asleep satisfied +with that day, but rather at a loss to know what he should do on the +next. + +It was a beautiful June day; no cloud was in the smiling heavens, the +sun shone bright, and Nature looked so fair and tempting that it was +impossible to remain indoors. Out in the gardens the summer air seemed +to thrill with the song of the birds. Butterflies spread their bright +wings and coquetted with the fragrant blossoms; busy humming bees +buried themselves in the white cups of the lily and the crimson heart +of the rose. + +Ronald wandered through the gardens; the delicate golden laburnum +blossoms fell at his feet, and he sat down beneath a large acacia. The +sun was warm, and Ronald thought a dish of strawberries would be very +acceptable. He debated within himself for some time whether he should +return to the house and order them, or walk down to the fruit garden +and gather them for himself. + +What impulse was it that sent him on that fair June morning, when all +Nature sung of love and happiness, to the spot where he met his fate? + + + +Chapter III + +The strawberry gardens at Earlescourt were very extensive. Far down +among the green beds Ronald Earle saw a young girl kneeling, gathering +the ripe fruit, which she placed in a large basket lined with leaves, +and he went down to her. + +"I should like a few of those strawberries," he said, gently, and she +raised to his a face he never forgot. Involuntarily he raised his hat, +in homage to her youth and her shy, sweet beauty. "For whom are you +gathering these?" he asked, wondering who she was, and whence she came. + +In a moment the young girl stood up, and made the prettiest and most +graceful of courtesies. + +"They are for the housekeeper, sir," she replied; and her voice was +musical and clear as a silver bell. + +"Then may I ask who you are?" continued Ronald. + +"I am Dora Thorne," she replied, "the lodge keeper's daughter." + +"How is it I have never seen you before?" he asked. + +"Because I have lived always with my aunt, at Dale," she replied. "I +only came home last year." + +"I see," said Ronald. "Will you give me some of those strawberries?" he +asked. "They look so ripe and tempting." + +He sat down on one of the garden chairs and watched her. The pretty +white fingers looked so fair, contrasted with the crimson fruit and +green leaves. Deftly and quickly she contrived a small basket of +leaves, and filled it with fruit. She brought it to him, and then for +the first time Ronald saw her clearly, and that one glance was fatal to +him. + +She was no calm, grand beauty. She had a shy, sweet, blushing face, +resembling nothing so much as a rosebud, with fresh, ripe lips; pretty +little teeth, which gleamed like white jewels, large dark eyes, bright +as stars, and veiled by long lashes; dark hair, soft and shining. She +was indeed so fair, so modest and graceful, that Ronald Earle was +charmed. + +"It must be because you gathered them that they are so nice," he said, +taking the little basket from her hands. "Rest awhile, Dora--you must +be tired with this hot sun shining full upon you. Sit here under the +shade of this apple tree." + +He watched the crimson blushes that dyed her fair young face. She never +once raised her dark eyes to his. He had seen beautiful and stately +ladies, but none so coy or bewitching as this pretty maiden. The more +he looked at her the more he admired her. She had no delicate +patrician loveliness, no refined grace; but for glowing, shy, fresh +beauty, who could equal her? + +So the young heir of Earlescourt sat, pretending to enjoy the +strawberries, but in reality engrossed by the charming figure before +him. She neither stirred nor spoke. Under the boughs of the apple +tree, with the sunbeams falling upon her, she made a fair picture, and +his eyes were riveted upon it. + +It was all very delightful, and very wrong. Ronald should not have +talked to the lodge keeper's daughter, and sweet, rustic Dora Thorne +should have known better. But they were young, and such days come but +seldom, and pass all too quickly. + +"Dora Thorne," said Ronald, musingly--"what a pretty name! How well it +suits you! It is quite a little song in itself." + +She smiled with delight at his words; then her shy, dark eyes were +raised for a moment, and quickly dropped again. + +"Have you read Tennyson's 'Dora?'" he asked. + +"No," she replied--"I have little time for reading." + +"I will tell you the story," he said, patronizingly. "Ever since I +read it I have had an ideal 'Dora,' and you realize my dream." + +She had not the least idea what he meant; but when he recited the +musical words, her fancy and imagination were stirred; she saw the +wheat field, the golden corn, the little child and its anxious mother. +When Ronald ceased speaking, he saw her hands were clasped and her lips +quivering. + +"Did you like that?" he asked, with unconscious patronage. + +"So much!" she replied. "Ah, he must be a great man who wrote those +words; and you remember them all." + +Her simple admiration flattered and charmed him. He recited other +verses for her, and the girl listened in a trance of delight. The +sunshine and western wind brought no warning to the heir of Earlescourt +that he was forging the first link of a dreadful tragedy; he thought +only of the shy, blushing beauty and coy grace of the young girl! + +Suddenly from over the trees there came the sound of the great bell at +the Hall. Then Dora started. + +"It is one o'clock!" she cried. "What shall I do? Mrs. Morton will be +angry with me." + +"Angry!" said Ronald, annoyed at this sudden breakup of his Arcadian +dream. "Angry with you! For what?" + +"She is waiting for the strawberries," replied conscious Dora, "and my +basket is not half full." + +It was a new idea to him that any one should dare to be angry with this +pretty, gentle Dora. + +"I will help you," he said. + +In less than a minute the heir of Earlescourt was kneeling by Dora +Thorne, gathering quickly the ripe strawberries, and the basket was +soon filled. + +"There," said Ronald, "you need not fear Mrs. Morton now, Dora. You +must go, I suppose; it seems hard to leave this bright sunshine to go +indoors!" + +"I--I would rather stay," said Dora, frankly; "but I have much to do." + +"Shall you be here tomorrow?" he asked. + +"Yes," she replied; "it will take me all the week to gather +strawberries for the housekeeper." + +"Goodbye, Dora," he said, "I shall see you again." + +He held out his hand, and her little fingers trembled and fluttered in +his grasp. She looked so happy, yet so frightened, so charming, yet so +shy. He could have clasped her in his arms at that moment, and have +said he loved her; but Ronald was a gentleman. He bowed over the +little hand, and then relinquished it. He watched the pretty, fairy +figure, as the young girl tripped away. + +"Shame on all artificial training!" said Ronald to himself. "What would +our fine ladies give for such a face? Imagine beauty without coquetry +or affectation. The girl's heart is as pure as a stainless lily; she +never heard of 'a grand match' or a 'good parli.' If Tennyson's Dora +was like her, I do not wonder at anything that happened." + +Instead of thinking to himself that he had done a foolish thing that +bright morning, and that his plain duty was to forget all about the +girl, Ronald lighted his cigar, and began to dream of the face that had +charmed him. + +Dora took the fruit to Mrs. Morton, and received no reprimand; then she +was sent home to the cottage, her work for the day ended. She had to +pass through the park. Was it the same road she had trodden this +morning? What caused the new and shining glory that had fallen on +every leaf and tree? The blue heavens seemed to smile upon her; every +flower, every song of the bright birds had a new meaning. What was it? +Her own heart was beating as it had never beaten before; her face was +flushed, and the sweet, limpid eyes shone with a new light. What was +it? Then she came to the brook-side and sat down on the violet bank. + +The rippling water was singing a new song, something of love and youth, +of beauty and happiness--something of a new and fairy-like life; and +with the faint ripple and fall of the water came back to her the voice +that had filled her ears and touched her heart. Would she ever again +forget the handsome face that had smiled so kindly upon her? Surely he +was a king among men, and he had praised her, said her name was like a +song, and that she was like the Dora of the beautiful poem. This grand +gentleman, with the clear, handsome face and dainty white hands, +actually admired her. + +So Dora dreamed by the brook-side, and she was to see him again and +again; she gave no thought to a cold, dark time when she should see him +no more. Tomorrow the sun would shine, the birds sing, and she should +see him once again. + +Dora never remembered how that happy day passed. Good Mrs. Thorne +looked at her child, and sighed to think how pretty she was and how +soon that sweet, dimpled face would be worn with care. + +Dora's first proceeding was characteristic enough. She went to her own +room and locked the door; then she put the cracked little mirror in the +sunshine, and proceeded to examine her face. She wanted to see why +Ronald Earle admired her; she wondered much at this new power she +seemed possessed of; she placed the glass on the table, and sat down to +study her own face. She saw that it was very fair; the coloring was +delicate and vivid, like that of the heart of a rose; the fresh, red +lips were arched and smiling; the dark, shy eyes, with their long +silken lashes, were bright and clear; a pretty, dimpled, smiling face +told of a sweet, simple, loving nature--that was all; there was no +intellect, no soul, no high-bred refinement; nothing but the charm of +bright, half-startled beauty. + +Dora was half puzzled. She had never thought much of her own +appearance. Having lived always with sensible, simple people, the +pernicious language of flattery was unknown to her. It was with a +half-guilty thrill of delight that she for the first time realized the +charm of her own sweet face. + +The sunny hours flew by. Dora never noted them; she thought only of +the morning past and the morning to come, while Ronald dreamed of her +almost unconsciously. She had been a bright feature in a bright day; +his artistic taste had been gratified, his eyes had been charmed. The +pretty picture haunted him, and he remembered with pleasure that on the +morrow he should see the shy, sweet face again. No thought of harm or +wrong even entered his mind. He did not think that he had been +imprudent. He had recited a beautiful poem to a pretty, coy girl, and +in a grand, lordly way he believed himself to have performed a kind +action. + +The morning came, and they brought bright, blushing Dora to her work; +again the little white fingers glistened amid the crimson berries. +Then Dora heard him coming. She heard his footsteps, and her face grew +"ruby red." He made no pretense of finding her accidentally. + +"Good morning, Dora," he said; "you look as bright as the sunshine and +as fair as the flowers. Put away the basket; I have brought a book of +poems, and mean to read some to you. I will help you with your work +afterward." + +Dora, nothing loath, sat down, and straightway they were both in +fairyland. He read industriously, stealing every now and then a glance +at his pretty companion. She knew nothing of what he was reading, but +his voice made sweeter music than she had ever heard before. + +At length the book was closed, and Ronald wondered what thoughts were +running through his companion's simple, artless mind. So he talked to +her of her daily life, her work, her pleasures, her friends. As he +talked he grew more and more charmed; she had no great amount of +intellect, no wit or keen powers of repartee, but the girl's love of +nature made her a poetess. She seemed to know all the secrets of the +trees and the flowers; no beauty escaped her; the rustle of green +leaves, the sighs of the western wind, the solemn hush of the +deep-green woods, the changing tints of the summer sky delighted her. +Beautiful words, embodying beautiful thoughts, rippled over the fresh, +ripe lips. She knew nothing else. She had seen no pictures, read no +books, knew nothing of the fine arts, was totally ignorant of all +scholarly lore, but deep in her heart lay a passionate love for the +fair face of nature. + +It was new to Ronald. He had heard fashionable ladies speak of +everything they delighted in. He had ever heard of "music in the fall +of rain drops," or character in flowers. + +Once Dora forgot her shyness, and when Ronald said something, she +laughed in reply. How sweet and pure that laughter was--like a soft +peal of silver bells! When Ronald Earle went to sleep that night, the +sound haunted his dreams. + + + +Chapter IV + +Every morning brought the young heir of Earlescourt to the bright sunny +gardens where Dora worked among the strawberries. As the days passed +she began to lose something of her shy, startled manner, and laughed +and talked to him as she would have done to her own brother. His +vanity was gratified by the sweetest homage of all, the unconscious, +unspoken love and admiration of the young girl. He liked to watch the +blushes on her face, and the quivering of her lips when she caught the +first sound of his coming footsteps. He liked to watch her dark eyes +droop, and then to see them raised to his with a beautiful, startled +light. + +Insensibly his own heart became interested. At first he had merely +thought of passing a pleasant hour; then he admired Dora, and tried to +believe that reading to her was an act of pure benevolence; but, as the +days passed on, something stronger and sweeter attracted him. He began +to love her--and she was his first love. + +Wonderful to say, these long tete-a-tetes had not attracted +observation. No rumor of them escaped, so that no thorn appeared in +this path of roses which led to the brink of a precipice. + +It wanted three days until the time settled for the return of Lord and +Lady Earle. Sir Harry Laurence, of Holtham Hall, asked Ronald to spend +a day with him; and, having no valid excuse, he consented. + +"I shall not see you tomorrow, Dora," he said. "I am going away for the +day." + +She looked at him with a startled face. One whole day without him! +Then, with a sudden deadly pain, came the thought that these golden +days must end; the time must come when she should see him no more. The +pretty, dimpled face grew pale, and a dark shadow came into the clear +eyes. + +"Dora," cried Ronald, "why do you look so frightened? What is it?" + +She gave him no answer, but turned away. He caught her hands in his +own. + +"Are you grieved that I am going away for one whole day?" he asked. +But she looked so piteous and so startled that he waited for no reply. +"I shall continue to see you," he resumed. "I could not let any day +pass without that." + +"And afterward," she said, simply, raising her eyes to his full of +tears. + +Then Ronald paused abruptly--he had never given one thought to the +"afterward." Why, of course strawberries would not grow forever--it +would not always be summer. Lord Earle would soon be back again, and +then he must go abroad. Where would Dora be then? He did not like the +thought--it perplexed him. Short as was the time he had known her, +Dora had, in some mysterious way, grown to be a part of himself. He +could not think of a day wherein he should not see her blushing, pretty +face, and hear the music of her words. He was startled, and clasped +her little hands more tightly within his own. + +"You would not like to lose me, Dora?" he said, gently. + +"No," she replied; and then tears fell from her dark eyes. + +Poor Ronald! Had he been wise, he would have flown then; but he bent +his head over her, and kissed the tears away. The pretty rounded +cheek, so soft and child-like, he kissed again, and then clasped the +slight girlish figure in his arms. + +"Do not shed another tear, Dora," he whispered; "we will not lose each +other. I love you, and you shall be my wife." + +One minute before he spoke the idea had not even crossed his mind; it +seemed to him afterward that another voice had spoken by his lips. + +"Your wife!" she cried, looking at him in some alarm. "Ah, no! You are +very kind and good, but that could never be." + +"Why not?" he asked. + +"Because you are so far above me," replied the girl. "I and mine are +servants and dependents of yours. We are not equal; I must learn to +forget you," sobbed Dora, "and break my own heart!" + +She could not have touched Ronald more deeply; in a moment he had +poured forth a torrent of words that amazed her. Fraternity and +equality, caste and folly, his mission and belief, his love and +devotion, were all mingled in one torrent of eloquence that simply +alarmed her. + +"Never say that again, Dora," he continued, his fair, boyish face +flushing. "You are the equal of a queen upon her throne; you are fair +and true, sweet and good. What be a queen more than that?" + +"A queen knows more," sighed Dora. "I know nothing in all the wide +world." + +"Then I will teach you," he said. "Ah, Dora, you know enough! You have +beautiful thoughts, and you clothe them in beautiful words. Do not +turn from me; say you love me and will be my wife. I love you, Dora--do +not make me unhappy." + +"I would not make you unhappy," she said, "for the whole world; if you +wish me to love you--oh, you know I love you--if you wish me to go away +and forget you, I will do my best." + +But the very thought of it brought tears again. She looked so pretty, +so bewildered between sorrow and joy, so dazzled by happiness, and yet +so piteously uncertain, that Ronald was more charmed than ever. + +"My darling Dora," he said, "you do love me. Your eyes speak, if your +lips do not tell me. Will you be my wife? I can not live without you." + +It was the prettiest picture in the world to see the color return to +the sweet face. Ronald bent his head, and heard the sweet whisper. + +"You shall never rue your trust, Dora," he said, proudly; but she +interrupted him. + +"What will Lord Earle say?" she asked; and again Ronald was startled by +that question. + +"My father can say nothing," he replied. "I am old enough to please +myself, and this is a free country. I shall introduce you to him, +Dora, and tell him you have promised to be my wife. No more tears, +love. There is nothing but happiness before us." + +And so he believed. He could think of nothing, care for nothing but +Dora--her pretty face, her artless, simple ways, her undisguised love +for him. There was but one excuse. He was young, and it was his first +love; yet despite his happiness, his pride, his independence, he did +often wonder in what words he should tell his father that he had +promised to marry the lodge keeper's daughter. There were even times +when he shivered, as one seized with sudden cold, at the thought. + +The four days passed like a long, bright dream. It was a pretty +romance, but sadly misplaced--a pretty summer idyll. They were but boy +and girl. Dora met Ronald in the park, by the brook-side, and in the +green meadows where the white hawthorn grew. They talked of but one +thing, their love. Ronald never tired of watching Dora's fair face and +pretty ways; she never wearied of telling him over and over again, in a +hundred different ways, how noble and kind he was, and how dearly she +loved him. + +Lord Earle wrote to say that he should be home on the Thursday evening, +and that they were bringing back a party of guests with them. + +"There will be no time to tell my father just at present," said Ronald; +"so, Dora, we must keep our secret. It will not do to tell your father +before I tell mine." + +They arranged to keep the secret until Lord Earle should be alone +again. They were to meet twice every day--in the early morning, while +the dew lay on the grass, and in the evening, when the Hall would be +full of bustle and gayety. + +Ronald felt guilty--he hardly knew how or why--when his father +commiserated him for the two lonely weeks he had spent. Lonely! He had +not felt them so; they had passed all too quickly for him. How many +destinies were settled in that short time! + +There was little time for telling his secret to Lord Earle. The few +guests who had returned to Earlescourt were men of note, and their host +devoted himself to their entertainment. + +Lady Earle saw some great change in her son. She fancied that he spent +a great deal of time out of doors. She asked him about it, wondering +if he had taken to studying botany, for late and early he never tired +of rambling in the park. She wondered again at the flush that +crimsoned his face; but the time was coming when she would understand +it all. + +It is probable that if Ronald at that time had had as much of Dora's +society as he liked, he would soon have discovered his mistake, and no +great harm would have been done; but the foolish romance of foolish +meetings had a charm for him. In those hurried interviews he had only +time to think of Dora's love--he never noted her deficiencies; he was +charmed with her tenderness and grace; her artless affection was so +pretty; the difference between her and those with whom he was +accustomed to talk was so great; her very ignorance had a piquant charm +for him. So they went on to their fate. + +One by one Lord Earle's guests departed, yet Ronald had not told his +secret. A new element crept into his love, and urged him on. Walking +one day through the park with his father they overtook Dora's father. +A young man was with him and the two were talking earnestly together, +so earnestly that they never heard the two gentlemen; and in passing by +Ronald distinguished the words, "You give me your daughter, Mr. Thorne, +and trust me to make her happy." + +Ronald Earle turned quickly to look at the speaker. He saw before him +a young man, evidently a well-to-do farmer from his appearance, with a +calm, kind face and clear and honest eyes; and he was asking for +Dora--Dora who was to be his wife and live at Earlescourt. He could +hardly control his impatience; and it seemed to him that evening would +never come. + +Dinner was over at last. Lord Earle sat with Sir Harry Laurence over a +bottle of claret, and Lady Earle was in the drawing room and had taken +up her book. Ronald hastened to the favorite trysting place, the +brook-side. Dora was there already, and he saw that her face was still +wet with tears. She refused at first to tell him her sorrow. Then she +whispered a pitiful little story, that made her lover resolve upon some +rash deeds. + +Ralph Holt had been speaking to her father, and had asked her to marry +him. She had said "No;" but her mother had wept, and her father had +grown angry, and had said she should obey him. + +"He has a large farm," said Dora, with a bitter sigh. "He says I +should live like a great lady, and have nothing to do. He would be +kind to my father and mother; but I do not love him," she added. + +Clasping her tender little hands round Ronald's arm, "I do not love +him," she sobbed; "and, Ronald, I do love you." + +He bent down and kissed her pretty, tear-bedewed face, all the chivalry +of his nature aroused by her words. + +"You shall be my wife, Dora," he said, proudly, "and not his. This very +evening I will tell my father, and ask his consent to our marriage. My +mother is sure to love you--she is so kind and gracious to every one. +Do not tremble, my darling; neither Ralph Holt nor any one else shall +take you from me." + +She was soon comforted! There was no bound or limit to her faith in +Ronald Earle. + +"Go home now," he said, "and tomorrow my father himself shall see you. +I will teach that young farmer his place. No more tears, Dora--our +troubles will end tonight." + +He went with her down the broad walk, and then returned to the Hall. +He walked very proudly, with his gallant head erect, saying to himself +that this was a free country and he could do what he liked; but for all +that his heart beat loudly when he entered the drawing room and found +Lord and Lady Earle. They looked up smilingly at him, all unconscious +that their beloved son, the heir of Earlescourt, was there to ask +permission to marry the lodge keeper's daughter. + + + +Chapter V + +Ronald Earle had plenty of courage--no young hero ever led a forlorn +hope with more bravery that he displayed in the interview with his +parents, which might have daunted a bolder man. As he approached, Lady +Earle raised her eyes with a languid smile. + +"Out again, Ronald!" she said. "Sir Harry Laurence left his adieus for +you. I think the park possesses some peculiar fascination. Have you +been walking quickly? Your face is flushed." + +He made no reply, but drew near to his mother; he bent over her and +raised her hand to his lips. + +"I am come to tell you something," he said. "Father, will you listen +to me? I ask your permission to marry Dora Thorne, one of the fairest, +sweetest girls in England." + +His voice never faltered, and the brave young face never quailed. Lord +Earle looked at him in utter amazement. + +"To marry Dora Thorne!" he said. "And who, in the name of reason, is +Dora Thorne?" + +"The lodge keeper's daughter," replied Ronald, stoutly. "I love her, +father, and she loves me." + +He was somewhat disconcerted when Lord Earle, for all reply, broke into +an uncontrollable fit of laughter. He had expected a +storm--expostulations, perhaps, and reproaches--anything but this. + +"You can not be serious, Ronald," said his mother, smiling. + +"I am so much in earnest," he replied, "that I would give up all I have +in the world--my life itself, for Dora." + +Then Lord Earle ceased laughing, and looked earnestly at the handsome, +flushed face. + +"No," said he, "you can not be serious. You dare not ask your mother +to receive a servant's daughter as her own child. Your jest is in bad +taste, Ronald." + +"It is no jest," he replied. "We Earles are always terribly in +earnest. I have promised to marry Dora Thorne, and, with your +permission, I intend to keep my word." + +An angry flush rose to Lord Earle's face, but he controlled his +impatience. + +"In any case," he replied, quietly, "you are too young to think of +marriage yet. If you had chosen the daughter of a duke, I should, for +the present, refuse." + +"I shall be twenty in a few months," said Ronald, "and I am willing to +wait until then." + +Lady Earle laid her white jeweled hand on her son's shoulder, and said, +gently: + +"My dear Ronald, have you lost your senses? Tell me, who is Dora +Thorne?" She saw tears shining in his eyes; his brave young face +touched her heart. "Tell me," she continued, "who is she? Where have +you seen her? What is she like?" + +"She is so beautiful, mother," he said, "that I am sure you would love +her; she is as fair and sweet as she is modest and true. I met her in +the gardens some weeks ago, and I have met her every day since." + +Lord and Lady Earle exchanged a glance of dismay which did not escape +Ronald. + +"Why have you not told us of this before?" asked his father, angrily. + +"I asked her to be my wife while you were from home," replied Ronald. +"She promised and I have only been waiting until our guests left us and +you had more time." + +"Is it to see Dora Thorne that you have been out so constantly?" asked +Lady Earle. + +"Yes, I could not let a day pass without seeing her," he replied; "it +would be like a day without sunshine." + +"Does any one else know of this folly?" asked Lord Earle, angrily. + +"No, you may be quite sure, father, I should tell you before I told any +one else," replied Ronald. + +They looked at him in silent dismay, vexed and amazed at what he had +done--irritated at his utter folly, yet forced to admire his honor, his +courage, his truth. Both felt that some sons would have carefully +concealed such a love affair from them. They were proud of his candor +and integrity, although deploring his folly. + +"Tell us all about it, Ronald," said Lady Earle. + +Without the least hesitation, Ronald told them every word; and despite +their vexation, neither could help smiling--it was such a pretty +story--a romance, all sunshine, smiles, tears, and flowers. Lord +Earle's face cleared as he listened, and he laid one hand on his boy's +shoulder. + +"Ronald," said he, "we shall disagree about your love; but remember, I +do full justice to your truth. After all, the fault is my own. I +might have known that a young fellow of your age, left all alone, was +sure to get into mischief; you have done so. Say no more now; I clearly +and distinctly refuse my consent. I appeal to your honor that you meet +this young girl no more. We will talk of it another time." + +When the door closed behind him, Lord and Lady Earle looked at each +other. The lady's face was pale and agitated. + +"Oh, Rupert," she said, "how brave and noble he is! Poor foolish boy! +How proud he looked of his absurd mistake. We shall have trouble with +him, I foresee!" + +"I do not think so," replied her husband. "Valentine Charteris will be +here soon, and when Ronald sees her he will forget this rustic beauty." + +"It will be better not to thwart him," interrupted Lady Earle. "Let me +manage the matter, Rupert. I will go down to the lodge tomorrow, and +persuade them to send the girl away; and then we will take Ronald +abroad, and he will forget all about it in a few months." + +All night long the gentle lady of Earlescourt was troubled by strange +dreams--by vague, dark fears that haunted her and would not be laid to +rest. + +"Evil will come of it," she said to herself--"evil and sorrow. This +distant shadow saddens me now." + +The next day she went to the lodge, and asked for Dora. She half +pardoned her son's folly when she saw the pretty dimpled face, the +rings of dark hair, lying on the white neck. The girl was indeed +charming and modest, but unfitted--oh, how unfitted! ever to be Lady +Earle. She was graceful as a wild flower is graceful; but she had no +manner, no dignity, no cultivation. She stood blushing, confused, and +speechless, before the "great lady." + +"You know what I want you for, Dora," said Lady Earle, kindly. "My son +has told us of the acquaintance between you. I am come to say it must +cease. I do not wish to hurt or wound you. Your own sense must tell +you that you can never be received by Lord Earle and myself as our +daughter. We will not speak of your inferiority in birth and position. +You are not my son's equal in refinement or education; he would soon +discover that, and tire of you." + +Dora spoke no word, the tears falling from her bright eyes; this time +there was no young lover to kiss them away. She made no reply and when +Lady Earle sent for her father, Dora ran away; she would hear no more. + +"I know nothing of it, my lady," said the worthy lodge keeper, who was +even more surprised than his master had been. "Young Ralph Holt wants +to marry my daughter, and I have said that she shall be his wife. I +never dreamed that she knew the young master; she has not mentioned his +name." + +Lady Earle's diplomacy succeeded beyond her most sanguine expectations. +Stephen Thorne and his wife, although rather dazzled by the fact that +their daughter had captivated the future Lord Earlescourt, let common +sense and reason prevail, and saw the disparity and misery such a +marriage would cause. They promised to be gentle and kind to Dora, not +to scold or reproach her, and to allow some little time to elapse +before urging Ralph Holt's claims. + +When Lady Earle rose, she placed a twenty-pound banknote in the hands +of Stephen Thorne, saying: + +"You are sending Dora to Eastham; that will cover the expenses." + +"I could not do that, my lady," said Stephen, refusing to take the +money. "I can not sell poor Dora's love." + +Then Lady Earle held out her delicate white hand, and the man bowed low +over it. Before the sun set that evening, Stephen Thorne had taken +Dora to Eastham, where she was to remain until Ronald had gone abroad. + +For a few days it seemed as though the storm had blown over. There was +one angry interview between father and son, when Ronald declared that +sending Dora away was a breach of faith, and that he would find her out +and marry her how and when he could. Lord Earle thought his words were +but the wild folly of a boy deprived of a much-desired toy. He did not +give them serious heed. + +The story of Earlescourt might have been different, had not Ronald, +while still amazed and irritated by his father's cool contempt, +encountered Ralph Holt. They met at the gate leading from the fields +to the high road; it was closed between them, and neither could make +way. + +"I have a little account to settle with you, my young lordling," said +Ralph, angrily. "Doves never mate with eagles; if you want to marry, +choose one of your own class, and leave Dora Thorne to me." + +"Dora Thorne is mine," said Ronald, haughtily. + +"She will never be," was the quick reply. "See, young master, I have +loved Dora since she was a--a pretty, bright-eyed child. Her father +lived near my father's farm then. I have cared for her all my life--I +do not know that I have ever looked twice at another woman's face. Do +not step in between me and my love. The world is wide, and you can +choose where you will--do not rob me of Dora Thorne." + +There was a mournful dignity in the man's face that touched Ronald. + +"I am sorry for you," he said, "if you love Dora; for she will be my +wife." + +"Never!" cried Ralph. "Since you will not listen to fair words, I defy +you. I will go to Eastham and never leave Dora again until she will be +my own." + +High, angry words passed between them, but Ralph in his passion had +told the secret Ronald had longed to know--Dora was at Eastham. + +It was a sad story and yet no rare one. Love and jealousy robbed the +boy of his better sense; duty and honor were forgotten. Under pretense +of visiting one of his college friends, Ronald went to Eastham. Lord +and Lady Earle saw him depart without any apprehension; they never +suspected that he knew where Dora was. + +It was a sad story, and bitter sorrow came from it. Word by word it +can not be written, but when the heir of Earlescourt saw Dora again, +her artless delight, her pretty joy and sorrow mingled, her fear and +dislike of Ralph, her love for himself drove all thought of duty and +honor from his mind. He prayed her to become his wife secretly. He +had said that when once they were married his father would forgive +them, and all would be well. He believed what he said; Dora had no +will but his. She forgot all Lady Earle's warnings; she remembered +only Ronald and his love. So they were married in the quiet parish +church of Helsmeer, twenty miles from Eastham, and no human being +either knew or guessed their secret. + +There was no excuse, no palliation for an act that was undutiful, +dishonorable, and deceitful--there was nothing to plead for him, save +that he was young, and had never known a wish refused. + +They were married. Dora Thorne became Dora Earle. Ronald parted from +his pretty wife immediately. He arranged all his plans with what he +considered consummate wisdom. He was to return home, and try by every +argument in his power to soften his father and win his consent. If he +still refused, then time would show him the best course. Come what +might, Dora was his; nothing on earth could part them. He cared for +very little else. Even if the very worst came, and his father sent him +from home, it would only be for a time, and there was Dora to comfort +him. + +He returned to Earlescourt, and though his eyes were never raised in +clear, true honesty to his father's face, Lord Earle saw that his son +looked happy, and believed the cloud had passed away. + +Dora was to remain at Eastham until she heard from him. He could not +write to her, nor could she send one line to him; but he promised and +believed that very soon he should take her in all honor to Earlescourt. + + + +Chapter VI + +It was a beautiful morning toward the end of August; the balmy +sweetness of spring had given way to the glowing radiance of summer. +The golden corn waved in the fields, the hedge rows were filled with +wild flowers, the fruit hung ripe in the orchards. Nature wore her +brightest smile. The breakfast room at Earlescourt was a pretty +apartment; it opened on a flower garden, and through the long French +windows came the sweet perfume of rose blossoms. + +It was a pretty scene--the sunbeams fell upon the rich silver, the +delicate china, the vases of sweet flowers. Lord Earle sat at the head +of the table, busily engaged with his letters. Lady Earle, in the +daintiest of morning toilets, was smiling over the pretty pink notes +full of fashionable gossip. Her delicate, patrician face looked clear +and pure in the fresh morning light. But there was no smile on Ronald's +face. He was wondering, for the hundredth time, how he was to tell his +father what he had done. He longed to be with his pretty Dora; and yet +there was a severe storm to encounter before he could bring her home. + +"Ah," said Lady Earle, suddenly, "here is good news--Lady Charteris is +positively coming, Rupert. Sir Hugh will join her in a few days. She +will be here with Valentine tomorrow." + +"I am very glad," said Lord Earle, looking up with pleasure and +surprise. "We must ask Lady Laurence to meet them." + +Ronald sighed; his parents busily discussed the hospitalities and +pleasures to be offered their guests. A grand dinner party was +planned, and a ball, to which half the country side were to be invited. + +"Valentine loves gayety," said Lady Earle, "and we must give her plenty +of it." + +"I shall have all this to go through," sighed Ronald--"grand parties, +dinners, and balls, while my heart longs to be with my darling; and in +the midst of it all, how shall I find time to talk to my father? I +will begin this very day." + +When dinner was over, Ronald proposed to Lord Earle that they should go +out on the terrace and smoke a cigar there. Then took place the +conversation with which our story opens, when the master of Earlescourt +declared his final resolve. + +Ronald was more disturbed than he cared to own even to himself. Once +the words hovered upon his lips that he had married Dora. Had Lord Earl +been angry or contemptuous, he would have uttered them; but in the +presence of his father's calm, dignified wisdom, he was abashed and +uncertain. For the first time he felt the truth of all his father +said. Not that he loved Dora less, or repented of the rash private +marriage, but Lord Earle's appeal to his sense of the "fitness of +things" touched him. + +There was little time for reflection. Lady Charteris and her daughter +were coming on the morrow. Again Lady Earle entered the field as a +diplomatist, and came off victorious. + +"Ronald," said his mother, as they parted that evening, "I know that, +as a rule, young men of your age do not care for the society of elderly +ladies; I must ask you to make an exception in favor of Lady Charteris. +They showed me great kindness at Greenoke, and you must help me to +return it. I shall consider every attention shown to the lady and her +daughter as shown to myself." + +Ronald smiled at his mother's words, and told her he would never fail +in her service. + +"If he sees much of Valentine," thought his mother, "he can not help +loving her. Then all will be well." + +Ronald was not in the house when the guests arrived; they came rather +before the appointed time. His mother and Lady Charteris had gone to +the library together, leaving Valentine in the drawing room alone. +Ronald found her there. Opening the door, he saw the sleeve of a white +dress; believing Lady Earle was there, he went carelessly into the +room, then started in astonishment at the vision before him. Once in a +century, perhaps, one sees a woman like Valentine Charteris; of the +purest and loveliest Greek type, a calm, grand, magnificent blonde, +with clear, straight brows, fair hair that shone like satin and lay in +thick folds around her queenly head--tall and stately, with a finished +ease and grace of manner that could only result from long and careful +training. She rose when Ronald entered the room, and her beautiful +eyes were lifted calmly to his face. Suddenly a rush of color dyed the +white brow. Valentine remembered what Lady Earle had said of her son. +She knew that both his mother and hers wished that she should be +Ronald's wife. + +"I beg your pardon," he said hastily, "I thought Lady Earle was here." + +"She is in the library," said Valentine, with a smile that dazzled him. + +He bowed and withdrew. This, then, was Valentine Charteris, the fine +lady whose coming he had dreaded. She was very beautiful--he had never +seen a face like hers. + +No thought of love, or of comparing this magnificent woman with simple, +pretty Dora, ever entered his mind. But Ronald was a true artist, and +one of no mean skill. He thought of that pure Grecian face as he would +have thought of a beautiful picture or an exquisite statue. He never +thought of the loving, sensitive woman's heart hidden under it. + +It was not difficult when dinner was over to open the grand piano for +Valentine, to fetch her music, and listen while she talked of operas he +had never heard. It was pleasant to watch her as she sat in the +evening gloaming, her superb beauty enhanced by the delicate evening +dress of fine white lace; the shapely shoulders were polished and +white, the exquisite arms rounded and clasped by a bracelet of pearls. +She wore a rose in the bodice of her dress, and, as Ronald bent over +the music she was showing him the sweet, subtle perfume came to him +like a message from Dora. + +Valentine Charteris had one charm even greater than her beauty. She +talked well and gracefully--the play of her features, the movement of +her lips, were something not to be forgotten; and her smile seemed to +break like a sunbeam over her whole face--it was irresistible. + +Poor Ronald stood by her, watching the expression that seemed to change +with every word; listening to pretty polished language that was in +itself a charm. The two mothers, looking on, and Lord Earle felt +himself relieved from a heavy weight of care. Then Lady Earle asked +Valentine to sing. She was quite free from all affectation. + +"What kind of music do you prefer?" she asked, looking at Ronald. + +"Simple old ballads," he replied, thinking of Dora, and how prettily +she would sing them. + +He started when the first note of Valentine's magnificent voice rang +clear and sweet in the quiet gloaming. She sang some quaint old story +of a knight who loved a maiden--loved and rode away, returning after +long years to find a green grave. Ronald sat thinking of Dora. Ah, +perhaps, had he forsaken her, the pretty dimpled face would have faded +away! He felt pleased that he had been true. Then the music ceased. + +"Is that what you like?" asked Valentine Charteris, "it is of the +stronger sentimental school." + +Simple, honest Ronald wondered if sentiment was a sin against +etiquette, or why fashionable ladies generally spoke of it with a sneer. + +"Do you laugh at sentiment?" he asked; and Valentine opened her fine +eyes in wonder at the question. Lady Earle half overheard it, and +smiled in great satisfaction. Matters must be going on well, she +thought, if Ronald had already begun to speak of sentiment. She never +thought that his heart and mind were with Dora while he spoke--pretty +Dora, who cried over his poetry, and devoutly believed in the language +of flowers. + +The evening passed rapidly, and Ronald felt something like regret when +it ended. Lady Earle was too wise to make any comments; she never +asked her son if he liked Valentine or what he thought of her. + +"I am afraid you are tired," she said, with a charming smile; "thank +you for helping to amuse my friends." + +When Ronald thought over what he had done, his share seemed very small; +still his mother was pleased, and he went to rest resolved that on the +morrow he would be doubly attentive to Miss Charteris. + +Three days passed, and Ronald had grown quite at ease with Valentine. +They read and disputed over the same books; Ronald brought out his +large folio of drawings, and Valentine wondered at his skill. He bent +over her, explaining the sketches, laughing and talking gayly, as +though there was no dark background to his life. + +"You are an accomplished artist," said Miss Charteris, "you must have +given much time to study." + +"I am fond of it," said Ronald; "if fate had not made me an only son, I +should have chosen painting as my profession." + +In after years these words came back to them as a sad prophecy. + +Ronald liked Miss Charteris. Apart from her grand beauty, she had the +charm, too, of a kindly heart and an affectionate nature. He saw how +much Lady Earle loved her, and resolved to tell Valentine all about +Dora, and ask her to try to influence his mother. With that aim and +end in view, he talked continually to the young lady; he accompanied +her in all her walks and drives, and they sang and sketched together. +Ronald, knowing himself so safely bound to Dora, forgot in what light +his conduct must appear to others. Lady Earle had forgotten her fears; +she believed that her son was learning to love Valentine, and her +husband shared her belief. + +All things just then were couleur de rose at Earlescourt. Ronald +looked and felt happy--he had great faith in Valentine's persuasive +powers. + +Days passed by rapidly; the time for the grand ball was drawing near. +Lady Earle half wondered when her son would speak of Miss Charteris, +and Valentine wondered why he lingered near her, why oftentimes he was +on the point of speaking, and then drew back. She quite believed he +cared for her, and she liked him in return, as much as she was capable +of liking any one. + +She was no tragedy queen, but a loving, affectionate girl, unable to +reach the height of passionate love, or the depth of despair. She was +well disposed toward Ronald--Lady Earle spoke so much of him at +Greenoke. She knew too that a marriage with him would delight her +mother. + +Valentine's favorable impression of Ronald was deepened when she saw +him. Despite the one great act of duplicity which shadowed his whole +life, Ronald was true and honorable. Valentine admired his clear Saxon +face and firm lips; she admired his deep bright eyes, that darkened +with every passing emotion; she liked his gentle, chivalrous manner, +his earnest words, his deferential attention to herself, his +affectionate devotion to Lady Earle. + +There was not a braver or more gallant man in England than this young +heir of Earlescourt. He inherited the personal beauty and courage of +his race. He gave promise of a splendid manhood; and no one knew how +proudly Lord Earle had rejoiced in that promise. + +In her calm stately way, Valentine liked him; she even loved him, and +would have been happy as his wife. She enjoyed his keen, intellectual +powers and his originality of thought. Even the "dreadful politics," +that scared and shocked his father, amused her. + +Ronald, whose heart was full of the pretty little wife he dared neither +see nor write to, gave no heed to Valentine's manner; it never occurred +to him what construction could be put upon his friendly liking for her. + + + +Chapter VII + +The day came for the grand ball, and during breakfast the ladies +discussed the important question of bouquets; from that the +conversation changed to flowers. "There are so many of them," said +Valentine, "and they are all so beautiful, I am always at a loss which +to choose." + +"I should never hesitate a moment," said Ronald, laughingly. "You will +accuse me, perhaps of being sentimental, but I must give preference to +the white lily-bells. Lilies of the valley are the fairest flowers +that grow." + +Lady Earle overheard the remark; no one else appeared to notice it, and +she was not much surprised when Valentine entered the ball room to see +white lilies in her fair hair, and a bouquet of the same flowers, +half-shrouded by green leaves, in her hand. + +Many eyes turned admiringly upon the calm, stately beauty and her white +flowers. Ronald saw them. He could not help remarking the exquisite +toilet, marred by no obtrusive colors, the pretty lily wreath and +fragrant bouquet. It never occurred to him that Valentine had chosen +those delicate blossoms in compliment to him. He thought he had never +seen a fairer picture than this magnificent blonde; then she faded from +his mind. He looked round on those fair and noble ladies, thinking +that Dora's shy, sweet face was far lovelier than any there. He looked +at the costly jewels, the waving plumes, the sweeping satins, and +thought of Dora's plain, pretty dress. A softened look came into his +eyes, as he pictured his shy, graceful wife. Some day she, too, would +walk through these gorgeous rooms, and then would all admire the wisdom +of his choice. So the heir of Earlescourt dreamed as he watched the +brilliant crowd that began to fill the ball room; but his reverie was +suddenly broken by a summons from Lady Earle. + +"Ronald," said she, looking slightly impatient, "have you forgotten +that it is your place to open the ball? You must ask Miss Charteris to +dance with you." + +"That will be no hardship," he replied, smiling at his mother's earnest +manner. "I would rather dance with Miss Charteris than any one else." + +Lady Earle wisely kept silence; her son went up to Valentine and made +his request. He danced with her again and again--not as Lady Earle +hoped, from any unusual preference, but because it gave him less +trouble than selecting partners among strange young ladies. Valentine +understood him; they talked easily, and without restraint. He paid her +no compliments, and she did not seem to expect any. With other ladies, +Ronald was always thinking, "What would they say if they knew of that +fair young wife at Eastham?" With Valentine no such idea haunted +him--he had an instinctive belief in her true and firm friendship. + +Lady Earle overheard a few whispered comments, and they filled her +heart with delight. Old friends whispered to her that "it would be a +splendid match for her son," and "how happy she would be with such a +daughter-in-law as Miss Charteris, so beautiful and dignified;" and all +this because Ronald wanted to secure Valentine's friendship, so that +she might intercede for Dora. + +When, for the fourth time, Ronald asked Miss Charteris "for the next +dance," she looked up at him with a smile. + +"Do you know how often we have danced together this evening?" she asked. + +"What does it matter?" he replied, wondering at the flush that +crimsoned her face. "Forgive me, Miss Charteris, if I say that you +realize my idea of the poetry of motion." + +"Is that why you ask me so frequently?" she said, archly. + +"Yes," replied honest Ronald; "it is a great pleasure; for one good +dancer there are fifty bad ones." + +He did not quite understand the pretty, piqued expression of her face. + +"You have not told me," said Valentine, "whether you like my flowers." + +"They are very beautiful," he replied; but the compliment of her +selection was all lost upon him. + +Miss Charteris did not know whether he was simply indifferent or timid. + +"You told me these lilies were your favorite flowers," she said. + +"Yes," replied Ronald; "but they are not the flowers that resemble +you." He was thinking how much simple, loving Dora was like the pretty +delicate little blossoms. "You are like the tall queenly lilies." + +He paused, for Valentine was looking at him with a wondering smile. + +"Do you know you have paid me two compliments in less than five +minutes?" she said. "And yesterday we agreed that between true friends +they were quite unnecessary." + +"I--I did not intend to pay idle compliments," he replied. "I merely +said what I thought. You are like a tall, grand, white lily, Miss +Charteris. I have often thought so. If you will not dance with me +again, will you walk through the rooms?" + +Many admiring glances followed them--a handsomer pair was seldom seen. +They passed through the long suite of rooms and on to the conservatory, +where lamps gleamed like stars between the green plants and rare +exotics. + +"Will you rest here?" said Ronald. "The ball room is so crowded one +can not speak there." + +"Ah," thought Miss Charteris, "then he really has something to say to +me!" + +Despite her calm dignity and serene manner, Valentine's heart beat +high. She loved the gallant young heir--his honest, kindly nature had +a great charm for her. She saw that the handsome face bending over the +flowers was agitated and pale. Miss Charteris looked down at the +lilies in her hand. He came nearer to her, and looked anxiously at her +beautiful face. + +"I am not eloquent," said Ronald--"I have no great gift of speech; but, +Miss Charteris, I should like to find some words that would reach your +heart and dwell there." + +He wanted to tell her of Dora, to describe her sweet face with its +dimples and blushes, her graceful manner, her timid, sensitive +disposition. He wanted to make her love Dora, to help him to soften +his mother's prejudices and his father's anger; no wonder his lips +quivered and his voice faltered. + +"For some days past I have been longing to speak to you," continued +Ronald; "now my courage almost fails me. Miss Charteris, say something +that will give me confidence." She looked up at him, and any other man +would have read the love in her face. + +"The simplest words you can use will always interest me," she said, +gently. + +His face cleared, and he began: "You are kind and generous--" + +Then came an interruption--Sir Harry Laurence, with a lady, entered the +conservatory. + +"This is refreshing," he said to Ronald. "I have been ten minutes +trying to get here, the rooms are so full." + +Miss Charteris smiled in replying, wishing Sir Harry had waited ten +minutes longer. + +"Promise me," said Ronald, detaining her, as Sir Harry passed on, "that +you will give me one half hour tomorrow." + +"I will do so," replied she. + +"And you will listen to me, Miss Charteris?" he continued. "You will +hear all I have to say?" + +Valentine made no reply; several other people came, some to admire the +alcove filled with ferns which drooped from the wall by which she was +standing, others to breathe the fragrant air. She could not speak +without being overheard; but, with a charming smile, she took a +beautiful lily from her bouquet and held it out to him. They then went +back into the ball room. + +"He loves me," thought Valentine; and, as far as her calm, serene +nature was capable of passionate delight, she felt it. + +"She will befriend me," thought Ronald; "but why did she give me this +flower?" + +The most remote suspicion that Valentine had mistaken him--that she +loved him--never crossed the mind of Ronald Earle. He was singularly +free from vanity. Perhaps if he had a little more confidence in +himself, the story of the Earles might have been different. + +Lady Charteris looked at her daughter's calm, proud face. She had +noticed the little interview in the conservatory, and drew her own +conclusions from it. Valentine's face confirmed them there was a +delicate flush upon it, and a new light shone in the lustrous eyes. + +"You like Earlescourt?" said Lady Charteris to her daughter that +evening, as they sat in her drawing room alone. + +"Yes, mamma, I like it very much," said Valentine. + +"And from what I see," continued the elder lady, "I think it is likely +to be your home." + +"Yes, I believe so," said Valentine, bending over her mother, and +kissing her. "Ronald has asked me to give him one half hour tomorrow, +and I am very happy, mamma." + +For one so calm and stately, it was admission enough. Lady Charteris +knew, from the tone of her daughter's voice, that she loved Ronald +Earle. + +Ronald slept calmly, half hoping that the end of his troubles was +drawing nigh. Valentine, whom his mother loved so well, would +intercede for Dora. Lord Earle would be sure to relent; and he could +bring Dora home, and all would be well. If ever and anon a cold fear +crept into his heart that simple, pretty Dora would be sadly out of +place in that magnificent house, he dashed it from him. Miss Charteris +slept calmly, too, but her dreams were different from Ronald's. She +thought of the time when she would be mistress of that fair domain, and +the wife of its brave young lord. She loved him well. No one had ever +pleased her as he had--no one would ever charm her again. Valentine +had made the grand mistake of her life. + +The morrow so eagerly looked for was a fair, bright day. The sun shone +warm and bright, the air was soft and fragrant, the sky blue and +cloudless. Lady Charteris did not leave her room for breakfast, and +Valentine remained with her mother. + +When breakfast was ended, Ronald lingered about, hoping to see +Valentine. He had not waited long before he saw the glimmer of her +white dress and blue ribbons. He met her in the hall. + +"Will you come out into the gardens, Miss Charteris?" he asked. "The +morning is so beautiful, and you promised me one half hour. Do not take +that book with you. I shall want all your attention for I have a story +to tell you." + +He walked by her side through the pleasure gardens where the lake +gleamed in the sunshine, the water lilies sleeping on its quiet bosom; +through the fragrant flower beds where the bees hummed and the +butterflies made love to the fairest blossoms. + +"Let us go on to the park," said Valentine; "the sun is too warm here." + +"I know a little spot just fitted for a fairy bower," said Ronald. +"Let me show it to you. I can tell my story better there." + +They went through the broad gates of the park, across which the +checkered sunbeams fell, where the deer browsed and king-cups and tall +foxgloves grew--on to the brook side where Dora had rested so short a +time since to think of her new-found happiness. + +The pale primroses had all died away, the violets were gone; but in +their place the deep green bank was covered with other flowers of +bright and sunny hue. The shade of tall trees covered the bank, the +little brook sang merrily, and birds chimed in with the rippling water; +the summer air was filled with the faint, sweet summer music. + +"It is a pretty spot," said Miss Charteris. + +The green grass seemed to dance in the breeze, and Ronald made +something like a throne amid it. + +"You shall be queen, and I your suppliant," he said. "You promise to +listen; I will tell you my story." + +They sat a few minutes in deep silence, broken only by the singing +brook and the music of the birds; a solemn hush seemed to have fallen +on them, while the leaves rustled in the wind. + +If Ronald Earle's heart and mind had not been filled with another and +very different image, he must have seen how fair Valentine looked; the +sunlight glinting through the dense green foliage fell upon her face, +while the white dress and blue ribbons, the fair floating hair, against +the dark background of the bank and the trees, made a charming picture; +but Ronald never saw it. After long years the memory of it came back to +him, and he wondered at his own blindness. He never saw the trembling +of the white fingers that played carelessly with sprays of purple +foxglove; he never saw the faint flush upon her face, the quiver of her +proud, beautiful lips, or the love light in her eyes. He only saw and +thought of Dora. + +"I told you, Miss Charteris, last evening, that I was not eloquent," +began Ronald. "When anything lies deep in my heart, I find great +difficulty in telling it in words." + +"All sacred and deep feeling is quiet," said Valentine; "a torrent of +words does not always show an earnest nature. I have many thoughts +that I could never express." + +"If I could only be sure that you would understand me, Miss Charteris," +said Ronald--"that you would see and comprehend the motives that I can +hardly explain myself! Sitting here in the summer sunshine, I can +scarcely realize how dark the cloud is that hangs over me. You are so +kind and patient, I will tell you my story in my own way." She +gathered a rich cluster of bluebells, and bent over them, pulling the +pretty flowers into pieces, and throwing leaf after leaf into the +stream. + +"Three months since," continued Ronald, "I came home to Earlescourt. +Lord and Lady Earle were both at Greenoke; I, and not quite myself, +preferred remaining here alone and quiet. One morning I went out into +the garden, listless for want of something to do. I saw there--ah! +Now I want words, Miss Charteris--the fairest girl the sun ever shone +upon." + +He saw the flowers fall from Valentine's grasp; she put her hand to her +brow, as though to shield her face. + +"Does the light annoy you?" he asked. + +"No," she replied, steadily; "go on with your story." + +"A clever man," said Ronald, "might paint for you the pretty face, all +smiles and dimples, the dark shining rings of hair that fell upon a +white brow, the sweet, shy eyes fringed by long lashes, seldom raised, +but full of wonderful light when once you could look into their depths. +I can only tell you how in a few days I grew to love the fair young +face, and how Dora Thorne that was her name, Miss Charteris--loved me." + +Valentine never moved nor spoke; Ronald could see the bright flush die +away, and the proud lips quiver. + +"I must tell you all quickly," said Ronald. "She is not what people +call a lady, this beautiful wild flower of mine. Her father lives at +the lodge; he is Lord Earle's lodge keeper, and she knows nothing of +the world or its ways. She has never been taught or trained, though +her voice is like sweet music, and her laugh like the chime of silver +bells. She is like a bright April day, smiles and tears, sunshine and +rain--so near together that I never know whether I love her best +weeping or laughing." + +He paused, but Valentine did not speak; her hand still shaded her face. + +"I loved her very much," said Ronald, "and I told her so. I asked her +to be my wife, and she promised. When my father came home from +Greenoke I asked his consent, and he laughed at me. He would not +believe me serious. I need not tell you the details. They sent my +pretty Dora away, and some one who loved her--who wanted to make her +his wife--came, and quarreled with me. He my rival--swore that Dora +should be his. In his passion he betrayed the secret so well kept from +me. He told me where she was, and I went to see her." + +There was no movement in the quiet figure, no words passed the white +lips. + +"I went to see her," he continued; "she was so unhappy, so pretty in +her sorrow and love, so innocent, so fond of me, that I forgot all I +should have remembered, and married her." + +Valentine started then and uttered a low cry. + +"You are shocked," said Ronald; "but, Miss Charteris, think of her so +young and gentle! They would have forced her to marry the farmer, and +she disliked him. What else could I do to save her?" + +Even then, in the midst of that sharp sorrow, Valentine could not help +admiring Ronald's brave simplicity, his chivalry, his honor. + +"I married her," he said, "and I mean to be true to her. I thought my +father would relent and forgive us, but I fear I was too sanguine. +Since my marriage my father has told me that if I do not give up Dora +he will not see me again. Every day I resolve to tell him what I have +done, but something interferes to prevent it. I have never seen my +wife since our wedding day. She is still at Eastham. Now, Miss +Charteris, be my friend, and help me." + +Bravely enough Valentine put away her sorrow--another time she would +look it in the face; all her thoughts must now be for him. + +"I will do anything to serve you," she said, gently. "What can I do?" + +"My mother loves you very much," said Ronald; "she will listen to you. +When I have told her, will you, in your sweet, persuasive way, +interfere for Dora? Lady Earle will be influenced by what you say." + +A quiver of pain passed over the proud, calm face of Valentine +Charteris. + +"If you think it wise for a stranger to interfere in so delicate a +matter, I will do so cheerfully," she said; "but let me counsel on +thing. Tell Lord and Lady Earle at once. Do not delay, every hour is +of consequence." + +"What do you think of my story?" asked Ronald, anxiously. "Have I done +right or wrong?" + +"Do not ask me," replied Valentine. + +"Yes," he urged, "I will ask again; you are my friend. Tell me, have I +done right or wrong?" + +"I can speak nothing but truth," replied Valentine, "and I think you +have done wrong. Do not be angry. Honor is everything; it ranks +before life or love. In some degree you have tarnished yours by an +underhand proceeding, a private marriage, one forbidden by your parents +and distasteful to them." + +Ronald's face fell as her words came to him slowly and clearly. + +"I thought," said he, "I was doing a brave deed in marrying Dora. She +had no one to take her part but me." + +"It was a brave deed in one sense," said Valentine. "You have proved +yourself generous and disinterested. Heaven grant that you may be +happy!" + +"She is young and impressionable," said Ronald; "I can easily mold her +to my own way of thinking. You look very grave, Miss Charteris." + +"I am thinking of you," she said, gently; "it seems to me a grave +matter. Pardon me--but did you reflect well--were you quite convinced +that the whole happiness of your life was at stake? If so, I need say +no more. It is an unequal marriage, one not at all fitting in the +order of things." + +How strange that she should use his father's words! + +"Tell your father at once," she continued. "You can never retrace the +step you have taken. You may never wish to do so, but you can and must +retrieve the error of duplicity and concealment." + +"You will try and make my mother love Dora?" said Ronald. + +"That I will," replied Valentine. "You sketched her portrait well. I +can almost see her. I will speak of her beauty, her grace, her +tenderness." + +"You are a true friend," said Ronald, gratefully. + +"Do not overrate my influence," said Valentine. "You must learn to +look your life boldly in the face. Candidly and honestly I think that, +from mistaken notions of honor and chivalry, you have done wrong. A +man must be brave. Perhaps one of the hardest lessons in life is to +bear unflinchingly the effects and consequences of one's own deeds. +You must do that, you must not flinch, you must bear what follows like +a man and a hero." + +"I will," said Ronald, looking at the fair face, and half wishing that +the little Dora could talk to him as this noble girl did; such noble +words as hers made men heroes. Then he remembered how Dora would weep +if he were in trouble, and clasp her arms round his neck. + +"We shall still be friends, Miss Charteris?" he said, pleadingly. +"Whatever comes you will not give me up?" + +"I will be your friend while I live," said Valentine, holding out her +white hand, and her voice never faltered. "You have trusted me--I shall +never forget that. I am your friend, and Dora's also." + +The words came so prettily from her lips that Ronald smiled. + +"Dora would be quite alarmed at you," he said; "she is so timid and +shy." + +Then he told Valentine of Dora's pretty, artless ways, of her love for +all things beautiful in nature, always returning to one theme--her +great love for him. He little dreamed that the calm, stately beauty +listened as one on the rack--that while he was talking of Dora she was +trying to realize the cold, dreary blank that had suddenly fallen over +her life, trying to think what the future would be passed without him, +owning to herself that for this rash, chivalrous marriage, for his +generous love, she admired him more than ever. + +The hand that played carelessly among the wild flowers had ceased to +tremble, the proud lips had regained their color, and then Valentine +arose, as she was going out with Lady Earle after lunch. + +A feeling of something like blank despair seized Valentine when she +thought of what she must say to her other. As she remembered their few +words the previous evening, her face flushed hotly. + +"I can never thank you enough for your kind patience," said Ronald, as +they walked back through the shady park and the bright flower gardens. + +Valentine smiled and raised her fact to the quiet summer sky, thinking +of the hope that had been hers a few short hours before. + +"You will go at once and see your father, will you not?" she said to +Ronald, as they parted. + +"I am going now," he replied; but at that very moment Lady Earle came +up to him. + +"Ronald," she said, "come into my boudoir. Your father is there he +wants to see you before he goes to Holtham." + +Valentine went straight to her mother's room. Lady Charteris sat +waiting for her, beguiling the time with a book. She smiled as her +daughter entered. + +"I hope you have had a pleasant walk," she said; but both smile and +words died away as she saw the expression on her daughter's face, as +she bent over her mother. + +"Mamma," said Valentine, gently, "all I said to you last night about +Earlescourt was a great mistake--it will never be my home. My vanity +misled me." + +"Have you quarreled with Ronald?" asked Lady Charteris, quietly. + +"No," was the calm reply. "We are excellent friends but, mamma, I was +mistaken. He did want to tell me something, but it was of his love for +some one else--not for me." + +"He has behaved shamefully to you!" cried Lady Charteris. + +"Hush, mamma!" said Valentine. "You forget how such words humiliate me. +I have refused men of far better position that Ronald Earle. Never let +it be imagined that I have mistaken his intentions." + +"Of course not," said her mother. "I only say it to yourself, +Valentine; he seemed unable to live out of your sight--morning, noon, +and night he was always by your side." + +"He only wanted me to be his friend," said Valentine. + +"Ah, he is selfish, like all the men!" said Lady Charteris. "With whom +has he fallen in love, my dear?" + +"Do not ask me," replied Valentine. "He is in a terrible dilemma. Do +not talk to me about it, mamma. I made a foolish mistake, and do not +wish to be reminded of it." + +Lady Charteris detected the suppressed pain in the tone of her child's +voice, and instantly formed her plans. + +"I think of returning tomorrow," she said. "Your father is getting +impatient to have us with him. He can not come to Earlescourt himself. +You say Mr. Earle is in a terrible dilemma, Valentine. I hope there +will be no scandalous expose while we are here. I detest scenes." + +"Lord Earle is far too proud for anything of that kind," said +Valentine. "If there should be any unpleasantness, it will not appear +on the surface. Mamma, you will not mention this to me again." + +Valentine threw off her lace shawl and pretty hat; she then took up the +book her mother had laid down. + +"My walk has tired me," she said; "the sun is very warm." + +She lay down upon the sofa and turned her face to the window, where the +roses came nodding in. + +"Stay here and read," said lady Charteris, with delicate tact. "I am +going to write my letters." + +Valentine lay still, looking at the summer beauty outside. No one knew +of the tears that gathered slowly in those proud eyes; no one knew of +the passionate weeping that could not be stilled. + +When Lady Charteris returned in two hours, Valentine had regained her +calm, and there was no trace of tears in the smiles which welcomed her. +Proudly and calmly she bore the great disappointment of her life. She +was no tragedy queen; she never said to herself that her life was +blighted or useless or burdensome. But she did say that she would +never marry until she found some one with Ronald's simple chivalry, his +loyal, true nature, and without the weakness which had caused and would +cause so much suffering. + + + +Chapter VIII + +Lady Earle's boudoir was always considered one of the prettiest rooms +at Earlescourt. Few, but rare, pictures adorned its walls. The long +French windows opened on to the prettiest part of the gardens, where a +large fountain rippled merrily in the sunshine. Groups of flowers in +rare and costly vases perfumed the room. + +Lord Earle had but drawn a pretty lounging chair to the window, and sat +there, looking happier than he had looked for months. Lady Earle went +on with her task of arranging some delicate leaves and blossoms ready +for sketching. + +"Ronald," said his father, "I have been waiting here some time. Have +you been out?" + +"I have been in the park with Miss Charteris," replied Ronald. + +Lord Earle smiled again, evidently well pleased to hear that +intelligence. + +"A pleasant and sensible method of spending your time," he continued; +"and, strange to say, it is on that very subject I wish to speak to +you. Your attentions to Miss Charteris--" + +"My attentions!" cried Ronald. "You are mistaken. I have never paid +any." + +"You need have no fear this time," said Lord Earle. "Your mother tells +me of the numerous comments made last evening on your long tete-a-tete +in the conservatory. I know some of your secrets. There can be no +doubt that Miss Charteris has a great regard for you. I sent for you +to say that, far from my again offering any opposition to your +marriage, the dearest wish of my heart will be gratified when I call +Valentine Charteris my daughter." + +He paused for a reply, but none came. Ronald's face had grown +strangely pale. + +"We never named our wish to you," continued Lord Earle, "but years ago +your mother and I hoped you would some day love Miss Charteris. She is +very beautiful; she is the truest, noblest, the best woman I know. I +am proud of your choice, Ronald--more proud than words can express." + +Still Ronald made no reply, and Lady Earle looked up at him quickly. + +"You need not fear for Valentine," she said. "I must not betray any +secrets; she likes you, Ronald; I will say no more. If you ask her to +be your wife, I do not think you will ask in vain." + +"There is some great mistake," said Ronald, his pale lips quivering. +"Miss Charteris has no thought for me." + +"She has no thought for any one else," rejoined Lady Earle, quickly. + +"And I," continued Ronald, "never dreamed of making her my wife. I do +not love her. I can never marry Valentine Charteris." + +The smiles died from Lord Earle's face, and his wife dropped the pretty +blossoms she was arranging. + +"Then why have you paid the girl so much attention?" asked his father, +gravely. "Every one has remarked your manner; you never seemed happy +away from her." + +"I wished to make her my friend," said Ronald; "I never thought of +anything else." + +He stood aghast when he remembered why he had tried so hard to win her +friendship. What if Valentine misunderstood him? + +"Others thought for you," said Lady Earle, dryly. "Of course, if I am +mistaken, there is no more to be said; I merely intended to say how +happy such a marriage would make me. If you do not love the young lady +the matter ends, I suppose." + +"Can you not love her, Ronald?" asked his mother, gently. "She is so +fair and good, so well fitted to be the future mistress of Earlescourt. +Can you not love her?" + +"Nothing was further from my thoughts," he replied. + +"Surely," interrupted Lady Earle, "you have forgotten the idle, boyish +folly that angered your father some time since--that can not be your +reason?" + +"Hush, mother," said Ronald, standing erect and dauntless; "I was +coming to tell you my secret when you met me. Father, I deceived and +disobeyed you. I followed Dora Thorne to Eastham, and married her +there." + +A low cry came from Lady Earle's lips. Ronald saw his father's face +grow white--livid--with anger; but no word broke the awful silence that +fell upon them. Hours seemed to pass in the space of a few minutes. + +"You married her," said Lord Earle, in a low, hoarse voice, +"remembering what I said?" + +"I married her," replied Ronald, "hoping you would retract hard, cruel +words that you never meant. I could not help it, father; she has no +one but me; they would have forced her to marry some one she did not +like." + +"Enough," interrupted Lord Earle. "Tell me when and where. Let me +understand whether the deed is irrevocable or not." + +Calmly, but with trembling lips, Ronald gave him every particular. + +"Yes, the marriage is legal enough," said the master of Earlescourt. +"You had to choose between duty, honor, home, position--and Dora +Thorne. You preferred Dora; you must leave the rest." + +"Father, you will forgive me," cried Ronald. "I am your only son." + +"Yes," said Lord Earle, drearily, "you are my only son. Heaven grant +no other child may pierce his father's heart as you have done mine! +Years ago, Ronald, my life was blighted--my hopes, wishes, ambitions, +and plans all melted; they lived again in you. I longed with wicked +impatience for the time when you should carry out my dreams, and add +fresh luster to a grand old name. I have lived in your life; and now, +for the sake of a simple, pretty, foolish girl, you have forsaken +me--you have deliberately trampled upon every hope that I had." + +"Let me atone for it," cried Ronald. "I never thought of these things." + +"You can not atone," said Lord Earle, gravely. "I can never trust you +again. From this time forth I have no son. My heir you must be when +the life you have darkened ends. My son is dead to me." + +There was no anger in the stern, grave face turned toward the unhappy +young man. + +"I never broke my word," he continued, "and never shall. You have +chosen your own path; take it. You preferred this Dora to me; go to +her. I told you if you persisted in your folly, I would never look +upon your face again, and I never will." + +"Oh, Rupert!" cried Lady Earle; "be merciful. He is my only child. I +shall die if you send him from me." + +"He preferred this Dora to you or to me," said Lord Earle. "I am sorry +for you, Helena--Heaven knows it wrings my heart--but I shall not break +my word! I will not reproach you," he continued, turning to his son, +"it would be a waste of time and words; you knew the alternative, and +are doubtless prepared for it." + +"I must bear it, father; the deed was my own," said Ronald. + +"We will end this scene," said Lord Earle, turning from his unhappy +wife, who was weeping passionately. "Look at your mother, Ronald; kiss +her for the last time and go from her; bear with you the memory of her +love and of her tenderness, and of how you have repaid them. Take your +last look at me. I have loved you--I have been proud of you, hopeful +for you; now I dismiss you from my presence, unworthy son of a noble +race. The same roof will never shelter us again. Make what +arrangements you will. You have some little fortune; it must maintain +you. I will never contribute one farthing to the support of my lodge +keeper's daughter. Go where you like--do as you like. You have chosen +your own path. Some day you must return to Earlescourt as its master. +I thank Heaven it will be when the degradation of my home and the +dishonor of my race can not touch me. Go now; I shall expect you to +have quitted the Hall before tomorrow morning." + +"You can not mean it, father," cried Ronald. "Send me from you punish +me--I deserve it; but let me see you again!" + +"Never in life," said Lord Earle, calmly. "Remember, when you see me +lying dead, that death itself was less bitter than the hour in which I +learned that you had deceived me." + +"Mother," cried the unhappy youth, "plead for me!" + +"It is useless," replied his father; "your choice has been made +deliberately. I am not cruel. If you write to me I shall return your +letters unopened. I shall refuse to see or hear from you, or to allow +you to come near Earlescourt; but you can write to your mother--I do +not forbid that. She can see you under any roof save mine. Now, +farewell; the sunshine, the hope, the happiness of my life go with you, +but I shall keep my word. See my solicitor, Mr. Burt, about your +money, and he will arrange everything in my place." + +"Father," cried Ronald, with tears in his eyes, "say one kind word, +touch my hand once again!" + +"No," said Lord Earle, turning from the outstretched hand; "that is not +the hand of an honorable man; I can not hold it in my own." + +Then Ronald bent down to kiss his mother; her face was white and still; +she was not conscious of his tears or his passionate pleading. Lord +Earle raised her face. "Go," said he, calmly; "do not let your mother +find you here when she recovers." + +He never forgot the pleading of those sorrowful eyes, the anguish of +the brave young face, as Ronald turned from him and left the room. + +When Lady Earle awoke to consciousness of her misery, her son had left +her. No one would have called Lord Earle hard or stern who saw him +clasp his weeping wife in his arms, and console her by every kind and +tender word he could utter. + +Lord Earle did not know that in his wife's heart there was a hope that +in time he would relent. It was hard to lose her brave boy for a few +months or even years; but he would return, his father must forgive him, +her sorrow would be but for a time. But Lord Earle, inflexible and +unflinching, knew that he should never in life see his son again. + +No one knew what Lord Earle suffered; as Valentine Charteris said, he +was too proud for scenes. He dined with Lady Charteris and her +daughter, excusing his wife, and never naming his son. After dinner he +shut himself in his own room, and suffered his agony along. + + * * * * * + +Earlescourt was full of bustle and activity. The young heir was +leaving suddenly; boxes and trunks had to be packed. He did not say +where he was going; indeed those who helped him said afterward that his +face was fixed and pale, and that he moved about like one in a dream. + +Everything was arranged for Ronald's departure by the night mail from +Greenfield, the nearest station to Earlescourt. He took with him +neither horses nor servants; even his valet, Morton, was left behind. +"My lady" was ill, and shut up in her room all day. + +Valentine Charteris sat alone in the drawing room when Ronald came in +to bid her farewell. She was amazed at the unhappy termination of the +interview. She would have gone instantly to Lord Earle, but Ronald +told her it was useless--no prayers, no pleadings could change his +determination. + +As Ronald stood here, looking into Valentine's beautiful face, he +remembered his mother's words, that she cared for him as she cared for +no other. Could it be possible that this magnificent girl, with her +serene, queenly dignity, loved him? She looked distressed by his +sorrow. When he spoke of his mother, and she saw the quivering lips he +vainly tried to still, tears filled her eyes. + +"Where shall you go," she asked, "and what shall you do?" + +"I shall go to my wife at once," he replied, "and take her abroad. Do +not look so pained and grieved for me, Miss Charteris I must do the +best I can. If my income will not support me, I must work; a few +months' study will make me a tolerable artist. Do not forget my mother, +Valentine, and bid me 'Godspeed.'" + +Her heart yearned for him--so young, so simple, so brave. She longed +to tell him how much she admired him--how she wanted to help him, and +would be his friend while she lived. But Miss Charteris rarely yielded +to any emotion; she had laid her hand in his and said: + +"Goodbye, Ronald--God bless you! Be brave; it is not one great deed +that makes a hero. The man who bears trouble well is the greatest hero +of all." + +As he left his home in that quiet starlit night, Ronald little thought +that, while his mother lay weeping as though her heart would break, a +beautiful face, wet with bitter tears, watched him from one of the +upper windows, and his father, shut up alone, listened to every sound, +and heard the door closed behind his son as he would have heard his own +death knell. + +The next day Lady Charteris and her daughter left Earlescourt. Lord +Earle gave no sign of the heavy blow which had struck him. He was their +attentive host while they remained; he escorted them to their carriage, +and parted from them with smiling words. Then he went back to the +house, where he was never more to hear the sound of the voice he loved +best on earth. + +As the days and months passed, and the young heir did not return, +wonder and surprise reigned at Earlescourt. Lord Earle never mentioned +his son's name. People said he had gone abroad, and was living +somewhere in Italy. To Lord Earl it seemed that his life was ended; he +had no further plans, ambition died away; the grand purpose of his life +would never be fulfilled. + +Lady Earle said nothing of the trouble that had fallen upon her. She +hoped against hope that the time would come when her husband would +pardon their only son. Valentine Charteris bore her disappointment +well. She never forgot the simple, chivalrous man who had clung to her +friendship and relied so vainly upon her influence. + +Many lovers sighed round Valentine. One after another she dismissed +them. She was waiting until she saw some one like Ronald Earle--like +him in all things save the weakness which had so fatally shadowed his +life. + + + +Chapter IX + +In a small, pretty villa, on the banks of the Arno, Ronald Earle +established himself with his young wife. He had gone direct to +Eastham, after leaving Earlescourt, his heart aching with sorrow for +home and all that he had left there, and beating high with joy at the +thought that now nothing stood between him and Dora. He told her of the +quarrel--of his father's stern words--and Dora, as he had foreseen +clung round his neck and wept. + +She would love him all the more, she said. She must love him enough to +make up for home and every one else. + +Yet, strange to say, when Ronald told his pretty, weeping wife all that +happened, he made no mention of Valentine Charteris--he did not even +utter her name. + +Ronald's arrangements were soon made. He sent for Stephen Thorne and +his wife, and told them how and when he had married Dora. + +"I am sorry for it," said Stephen. "No good will ever come of such an +unequal match. My girl had better have stayed at home, or married the +young farmer who loved her. The distance between you is too great, Mr. +Earle, and I fear me you will find it out." + +Ronald laughed at the idea that he should ever tire of Dora. How +little these prosaic, commonplace people knew of love! + +The good lodge keeper and his wife parted from Dora with many tears. +She was never to brighten their home again with her sweet face and gay +voice. She was going away to strange lands over the sea. Many dark +forebodings haunted them; but it was too late for advice and +interference now. + +The first news that came to the villa on the banks of the Arno was that +Stephen Thorne and his wife had left the lodge and taken a small farm +somewhere in the county of Kent. Lady Earle had found them the means, +and they had left without one word from Lord Earle. He never asked +whither they had gone. + +Despite his father's anger and his mother's sorrow, despite his poverty +and loss of position, Ronald for some months was very happy with his +young wife. It was so pleasant to teach Dora, to watch her sweet, +dimpled face and the dark eyes grow large with wonder; to hear her +simple, naive remarks, her original ideas; to see her pretty, artless +ways; above all, it was pleasant to be so dearly loved. + +He often thought that there never had been, never could be, a wife so +loving as Dora. He could not teach her much, although he tried hard. +She sang simple little ballads sweetly and clearly; but although master +after master tried his best, she could never be taught to play--not +even as much as the easy accompaniments of her own songs. Ronald hoped +that with time and attention she would be able to sketch, but Dora +never managed it. Obediently enough she took pencil and paper in her +hands and tried, but the strokes would never come straight. Sometimes +the drawing she made would resemble something so comical that both she +and Ronald laughed heartily; while the consciousness of her own +inferiority grieved her, and large, bright tears would frequently fall +upon the paper. Then Ronald would take the pencils away, and Dora +would cling around his neck and ask him if he would not have been +happier with a cleverer wife. + +"No, a thousand times, no," he would say; he loved Dora better in her +artless simplicity than he could have loved the cleverest woman in the +world. + +"And you are quite sure," said Dora, "that you will never repent +marrying me?" + +"No, again," was the reply. "You are the crowning joy of my life." + +It was pleasant to sit amid the oleanders and myrtles, reading the +great poems of the world to Dora. Even if she did not understand them, +her face lighted with pleasure as the grand words came from Ronald's +lips. It was pleasant, too, to sit on the banks of the Arno, watching +the blue waters gleaming in the sun. Dora was at home there. She +would say little of books, of pictures, or music; but she could talk of +beautiful Nature, and never tire. She knew the changing colors of the +sky, the varied hues of the waves, the different voices of the wind, +the songs of the birds. All these had a separate and distinct meaning +for her. + +Ronald could not teach her much more. She liked the beautiful poems he +read, but never could remember who had written them. She forgot the +names of great authors, or mixed them up so terribly that Ronald, in +despair, told her it would be better not to talk of books just yet--not +until she was more familiar with them. + +But he soon found out that Dora could not read for many minutes +together. She would open her book, and make a desperate attempt; then +her dark eyes would wander away to the distant mountains, or to the +glistening river. She could never read while the sun shone or the +birds sang. + +Seeing that, Ronald gave up all attempts at literature in the daytime; +when the lamps were lighted in the evening, and the fair face of Nature +was shut out, he tried again, and succeeded for ten minutes; then +Dora's eyes drooped, the white lids with their jetty fringe closed; and +with great dismay he found that over the masterpieces of the world Dora +had fallen asleep. + +Two long, bright years had passed away before Ronald began to perceive +that he could educate his pretty young wife no further. She was a +strange mixture of ignorance and uncultivated poetry. She could speak +well; her voice was sweet, her accent, caught from him, good; alone he +never noticed any deficiencies, but if he met an English friend in +Florence and brought him home to dine, then Ronald began to wish that +Dora would leave off blushing and grow less shy, that she could talk a +little more, and that he might lose all fear of her making some +terrible blunder. + +The third year of their married life dawned; Dora was just twenty, and +Ronald twenty-three. There had been no rejoicing when he had attained +his majority; it passed over unnoticed and unmarked. News came to them +from England, letters from the little farm in Kent, telling of simple +home intelligence, and letters from Lady Earle, always sad and stained +with tears. She had no good news to tell them. Lord Earle was well, +but he would never allow his son's name to be mentioned before him, and +she longed to see her son. In all her letters Lady Earle said: "Give +my love to Dora." + +In this, the third year of his married life, Ronald began to feel the +pressure of poverty. His income was not more than three hundred a +year. To Dora this seemed boundless riches; but the heir of +Earlescourt had spent more in dress and cigars. Now debts began to +press upon him, writing home he knew was useless. He would not ask Lady +Earle, although he knew that she would have parted with the last jewel +in her case for him. + +Ronald gave himself up to the study of painting. A pretty little +studio was built, and Dora spent long hours in admiring both her +husband and his work. He gave promise of being some day a good +artist--not a genius. The world would never rave about his pictures; +but, in time, he would be a conscientious, painstaking artist. Among +his small coterie of friends some approved, others laughed. + +"Why not go to the Jews?" asked fashionable young men. "Earlescourt +must be yours some day. You can borrow money if you like." + +Ronald steadily refused to entertain the idea. He wondered at modern +ideas of honor--that men saw no shame in borrowing upon the lives of +their nearest and dearest, yet thought it a disgrace to be a follower +of one of the grandest of arts. He made one compromise--that was for +his father's sake. As an artist, he was known by Dora's name of +Thorne, and, before long, Ronald Thorne's pictures were in great +request. There was no dash of genius about them; but they were careful +studies. Some few were sold, and the price realized proved no +unwelcome addition to a small income. + +Ronald became known in Florence. People who had not thought much of +Mr. Earle were eager to know the clever artist and his pretty, shy +wife. Then the trial of Ronald Earle began in earnest. Had he lived +always away from the world, out of society, the chances are that his +fate would have been different; but invitations began to pour in upon +him and Dora, and Ronald, half tired of his solitude, although he never +suspected it, accepted them eagerly. + +Dora did not like the change; she felt lonely and lost where Ronald was +so popular and so much at home. + +Among those who eagerly sought Ronald's society was the pretty +coquette, the Countess Rosali, an English lady who had married the +Count Rosali, a Florentine noble of great wealth. + +No one in Florence was half so popular as the fair countess. Among the +dark, glowing beauties of sunny Italy she was like a bright sunbeam. +Her fair, piquant face was charming from its delicate bright coloring +and gay smiles; her hair, of the rare color painted by the old masters, +yet so seldom seen, was of pure golden hue, looking always as though +the sun shone upon it. + +Countess Rosali, there was no denying the fact, certainly did enjoy a +little flirtation. Her grave, serious husband knew it, and looked on +quite calmly. To his grave mind the pretty countess resembled a +butterfly far more than a rational being. He knew that, though she +might laugh and talk to others, though she might seek admiration and +enjoy delicate flattery, yet in her heart she was true as steel. She +loved bright colors, and everything else that was gay and brilliant. +She had gathered the roses; perhaps some one else had her share of +thorns. + +The fair, dainty lady had a great desire to see Mr. Thorne. She had +seen one of his pictures at the house of one of her friends a simple +little thing, but it had charmed her. It was merely a bouquet of +English wild flowers; but then they were so naturally painted! The +bluebells looked as though they had just been gathered. One almost +fancied dew drops on the delicate wild roses; a spray of pink hawthorn, +daisies and golden buttercups mingled with woodbine and meadow-sweet, +told sweet stories of the English meadows. + +"Whoever painted that," said the fair countess, "loves flowers, and +knows what English flowers mean." + +The countess did not rest until Ronald had been introduced to her, and +then she would know his wife. Her grave, silent husband smiled at her +evident admiration of the handsome young Englishman. She liked his +clear, Saxon face and fair hair; she liked his simple, kindly manner, +so full of chivalry and truth. She liked pretty Dora, too; but there +were times when the dainty, fastidious countess looked at the young +wife in wonder, for, as she said one evening to her husband: + +"There is something in Mrs. Thorne that puzzles me--she does not always +speak or look like a lady--" + +Few days passed without bringing Ronald and Dora to the Villa Rosali. +It would have been better for Ronald had he never left his pretty home +on the banks of the Arno. + + + +Chapter X + +Going into society increased the expenses which Ronald and his wife +found already heavy enough. There were times when the money received +from the sale of his pictures failed in liquidating bills; then Ronald +grew anxious, and Dora, not knowing what better to do, wept and blamed +herself for all the trouble. It was a relief then to leave the home +over which the clouds lowered and seek the gay villa, where something +pleasant and amusing was always going on. + +The countess gathered around her the elite of Florentine society; she +selected her friends and acquaintances as carefully as she selected her +dresses, jewels, and flowers. She refused to know "bores" and +"nobodies"; her lady friends must be pretty, piquant, or fashionable, +any gentleman admitted into her charmed circle must have genius, wit, +or talent to recommend him. Though grave matrons shook their heads and +looked prudish when the Countess Rosali was mentioned, yet to belong to +her set was to receive the "stamp of fashion." No day passed without +some amusement at the villa--picnic, excursion, soiree, dance, or, what +its fair mistress preferred, private theatricals and charades. + +"Help me," she said one morning, as Ronald and Dora, in compliance with +her urgent invitation, came to spend the day at the villa--"help me; I +want to do something that will surprise every one. There are some +great English people coming to Florence--one of your heiresses, who is +at the same time a beauty. We must have some grand charades or +tableaus. What would you advise? Think of something original that +will take Florence by surprise." + +"Wishing any one to be original," said Ronald, smiling at her quick, +eager ways, "immediately deprives one of all thought. I must have +time; it seems to me you have exhausted every subject." + +"An artist has never-failing resources," she replied; "when every +'fount of inspiration' is closed it will be time to tell me there are +no ideas. You must have seen many charades, Mrs. Thorne," she said, +turning suddenly to Dora; "they are very popular in England. Tell me +of some." + +Dora blushed. She thought of the lodge and its one small parlor, and +then felt wretched and uncomfortable, out of place, and unhappy. + +"I have never seen any charades," she said, stiffly, and with crimson +cheeks. + +The countess opened her blue eyes in surprise, and Ronald looked +anxiously from one to the other. + +"My wife was too young when we were married to have seen much of the +world," he said, inwardly hoping that the tears he saw gathering in +Dora's dark eyes would not fall. + +"Ah, then, she will be of no use in our council," replied the countess, +quickly. "Let us go out on the terrace; there is always inspiration +under an Italian sky." + +She led the way to a pretty veranda on the terrace, and they sat under +the shade of a large spreading vine. + +"Now we can discuss my difficulty in peace," said the lady, in her +pretty, imperious way. "I will, with your permission, tell you some of +my ideas." + +The countess was not particularly gifted, but Ronald was charmed by the +series of pictures she placed before him, all well chosen, with +startling points of interest, scenes from noble poems, pictures from +fine old tragedies. She never paused or seemed tired, while Dora sat, +her face still flushed, looking more awkward and ill at ease than +Ronald had ever seen her. For the first time, as they sat under the +vine that morning, Ronald contrasted his wife with his dainty, +brilliant hostess, and felt that she lost by the contrast--"awkward and +ill at ease," self-conscious to a miserable degree. For the first time +Ronald felt slightly ashamed of Dora, and wished that she knew more, +and could take some part in the conversation. Dimples and smiles, +curling rings of dark hair, and pretty rosebud lips were, he thought, +all very well, but a man grew tired of them in time, unless there was +something to keep up the charm. But poor little Dora had no resources +beyond her smiles and tears. She sat shrinking and timid, half +frightened at the bright lady who knew so much and told it so well; +feeling her heart cold with its first dread that Ronald was not pleased +with her. Her eyes wandered to the far-off hills. Ah! Could it be +that he would ever tire of her and wished that he had married some one +like himself. The very thought pierced her heart, and the timid young +wife sat with a sorrowful look upon her face that took away all its +simple beauty. + +"I will show you a sketch of the costume," said the countess; "it is in +my desk. Pray excuse me." + +She was gone in an instant, and Dora was alone with her husband. + +"For Heaven's sake, Dora," he said, quickly, "do look a little +brighter; what will the countess think of you? You look like a +frightened school girl." + +It was an injudicious speech. If Ronald had only caressed her, all +would have been sunshine again; as it was, the first impatient words +she had ever heard from him smote her with a new, strange pain, and the +tears overflowed. + +"Do not--pray--never do that," said Ronald; "we shall be the laughing +stock of all Florence. Well-bred people never give way to emotion." + +"Here is the sketch," said the countess, holding a small drawing in her +hand. Her quick glance took in Dora's tears and the disturbed +expression of Ronald's face. + +With kind and graceful tact the countess gave Dora time to recover +herself; but that was the last time she ever invited the young artist +and his wife alone. Countess Rosali had a great dread of all domestic +scenes. + +Neither Dora nor Ronald ever alluded again to this little incident; it +had one bad effect--it frightened the timid young wife, and made her +dread going into society. When invitations to grand houses came, she +would say, "Go alone, Ronald; if I am with you they are sure to ask me +ever so many questions which I can not answer; then you will be vexed +with me, and I shall be ashamed of my ignorance." + +"Why do you not learn?" Ronald would ask, disarmed by her sweet +humility. + +"I can not," said Dora, shaking her pretty head. "The only lesson I +ever learned in my life was how to love you." + +"You have learned that by heart," replied Ronald. Then he would kiss +her pitiful little face and go without her. + +By slow degrees it became a settled rule that Dora should stay at home +and Ronald go out. He had no scruples in leaving her--she never +objected; her face was always smiling and bright when he went away, and +the same when he returned. He said to himself that Dora was happier at +home than elsewhere, that fine ladies frightened her and made her +unhappy. + +Their ways in life, now became separate and distinct, Ronald going more +than ever into society, Dora clinging more to the safe shelter of home. + +But society was expensive in two ways--not only from the outlay in +dress and other necessaries, but in the time taken from work. There +were many days when Ronald never went near his studio, and only +returned home late in the evening to leave early in the morning. He +was only human, this young hero who had sacrificed so much for love; +and there were times, after some brilliant fete or soiree, when the +remembrance of home, Dora, hard work, narrow means, would come to him +like a heavy weight or the shadow of a dark cloud. + +Not that he loved her less--pretty, tender Dora; but there was not one +feeling or taste in common between them. Harder men would have tired +of her long before. They never cared to speak much of home, for Dora +noticed that Ronald was always sad after a letter from Lady Earle. The +time came when she hesitated to speak of her own parents, lest he +should remember much that she would have liked him to forget. + +If any true friend had stepped in then, and warned them, life would +have been a different story for Ronald Earle and his wife. + +Ronald's story became known in Florence. He was the son of a wealthy +English peer, who had offended his father by a "low" marriage; in time +he would succeed to the title. Hospitalities were lavished upon him, +the best houses in Florence were thrown open to him, and he was eagerly +welcomed there. When people met him continually unaccompanied by his +young wife they smiled significantly, and bright eyes grew soft with +pity. Poor, pretty Dora! + +Ronald never knew how the long hours of his absence were spent by Dora. +She never looked sad or weary to him, he never saw any traces of tears, +yet Dora shed many. Through the long sunny hours and far into the +night she sat alone, thinking of the home she had left in far-off +England--where she had been loved and worshiped by her rough, homely, +honest father and a loving mother; thinking too, of Ralph, and his +pretty, quiet homestead in the green fields, where she would have been +honored as its mistress, where no fine ladies would have vexed her with +questions, and no one would have thought her ignorant or awkward; +thinking of all these things, yet loving Ronald none the less, except +that a certain kind of fear began to mingle with her love. + +Gradually, slowly, but surely, the fascination of the gay and brilliant +society in which Ronald was so eagerly courted laid hold of him. He +did not sin willfully or consciously; little by little a distaste for +his own home and a weariness of Dora's society overcame him. He was +never unkind to her, for Ronald was a gentleman; but he lingered no +more through the long sunny morning by her side. He gave up all +attempts to educate her. He ceased to tease her about books; he never +offered to read to her; and pretty, simple Dora, taught by the keen +instinct of love, noted it all. + +Ronald saw some little change in her. The dimples and smiles had +almost vanished from her face. He seldom heard the laugh that had once +been so sweet to him. There was retiring grace in her manner that +suited her well. He thought she was catching the "tone of good +society," and liked the change. + +Some natures become ennobled under the pressure of adversity; but +limited means and petty money cares had no good effect upon Ronald +Earle. He fretted under them. He could do nothing as other people +did. He could not purchase a magnificent bouquet for the countess; his +means would not permit it. He could not afford a horse such as all his +gentlemen friends rode. Adversity developed no good qualities in him; +the discipline was harder and sterner still that made of him a true man +at last. + +Ronald went on with his painting fitfully, sometimes producing a good +picture, but often failing. + +The greatest patron of the fine arts in Florence was the Prince di +Borgezi. His magnificent palace was like one picture gallery. He saw +some sketches of Ronald's, and gave an order to him to paint a large +picture, leaving him to choose the subject. In vain by night and by +day did Ronald ponder on what that subject should be. He longed to +make his name immortal by it. He thought once of Tennyson's "Dora," +and of sketching his wife for the principal figure. He did make a +sketch, but he found that he could not paint Dora's face; he could not +place the dimpling smiles and bright blushes on canvas, and they were +the chief charm. He therefore abandoned the idea. + +Standing one day where the sunbeams fell lightly through the thick +myrtles, an inspiration came to him. He would paint a picture of Queen +Guinevere in her gay sweet youth and bright innocent beauty--Guinevere +with her lovely face and golden hair, the white plumes waving and +jewels flashing; the bright figure on the milk-white palfrey shining in +the mellow sunlight that came through the green trees. + +Lancelot should ride by her side; he could see every detail of the +picture; he knew just the noble, brave, tender face Sir Lancelot should +have; but where could he find a model for Guinevere? Where was there a +face that would realize his artist dreams of her? The painting was +half completed before he thought of Valentine Charteris and her +magnificent blonde beauty--the very ideal of Queen Guinevere. + +With renewed energy Ronald set to work. Every feature of that perfect +face was engraved upon his mind. He made sketch after sketch, until, +in its serene, sweet loveliness, Valentine's face smiled upon him. + + + +Chapter XI + +"Queen Guinevere" was a success far beyond Ronald's dearest hopes. +Artists and amateurs, connoisseurs of all ranks and degrees were +delighted with it. The great charm of the picture was the lovely young +face. "Whom was it like?" "Where had he found his model?" "Was ever +any woman so perfectly beautiful?" Such were the questions that people +never seemed tired of repeating. + +The picture was hung in the gallery of the palace, and the Prince di +Borgezi became one of Ronald's best patrons. + +The prince gave a grand ball in honor of a beautiful English lady, who, +with her family, had just arrived in Florence. Countess Rosali raved +about her, wisely making a friend where any one else would have feared +a rival. + +Ronald had contrived an invitation, but was prevented from attending. +All the elite of Florence were there, and great was the excitement when +Countess Rosali entered the ball room with an exceedingly beautiful +woman--a queenly blonde--the lady about whom all Florence was +interested--an English heiress, clever as she was fair, speaking French +with a courtly grace and Italian with fluent skill; and when the prince +stood before her he recognized in one moment the original of his famous +"Guinevere." + +The countess was in danger--a fairer, brighter star had arisen. +Valentine Charteris was the belle of the most brilliant hall ever given +in Florence. + +When the prince had received his guest, and danced once with Miss +Charteris, he asked her if she would like to see his celebrated +picture, the "Guinevere," whose fame was spreading fast. + +"Nothing," she said, "would please her better;" and as the Countess +Rosali stood near, the prince included her in the invitation. + +"Certainly; I never tire of the 'Guinevere,' never weary of the +artist's triumph, for he is one of the most valued of my friends." + +Prince di Borgesi smiled, thinking how much of the fair coquette's +admiration went to the artist's talent, and how much to his handsome +face. + +They entered the long gallery, where some of the finest pictures in +Italy were hung. The prince led the ladies to the southern end. +Valentine saw before her a magnificent painting--tall forest trees, +whose thick branches were interwoven, every green leaf distinct and +clear; she saw the mellow light that fell through them, the milk-white +palfrey and the jeweled harness, the handsome knight who rode near; and +then she saw her own face, bright, smiling, glowing with beauty, bright +in innocence, sweet in purity. Valentine stared in astonishment, and +her companion smiled. + +"There can be no doubt about the resemblance," said the countess. "The +artist has made you Queen Guinevere, Miss Charteris." + +"Yes," said Valentine, wonderingly; "it is my own face. How came it +there? Who is the artist?" + +"His name is Ronald Thorne," replied the countess. "There is quite a +romance about him." + +The countess saw Miss Charteris grow pale and silent. + +"Have you ever seen him?" inquired the countess. "Do you know him?" + +"Yes," said Valentine, "my family and his have been on intimate terms +for years. I knew that he was in Italy with his wife." + +"Ah," rejoined the countess, eagerly, "then perhaps you know all about +his marriage? Who was Mrs. Thorne? Why did he quarrel with his +father? Do tell us, Miss Charteris." + +"Nay," said Valentine; "if Mrs. Thorne has any secrets, I shall not +reveal them. I must tell mamma they are in Florence. We must call and +see them." + +"I was fond of Mrs. Thorne once," said the countess, plaintively, "but +really there is nothing in her." + +"There must be something both estimable and lovable," replied Valentine +quickly, "or Mr. Thorne would never have married her." + +Prince di Borgesi smiled approval of the young lady's reply. + +"You admire my picture, Miss Charteris?" he asked. + +"The more so because it is the work of an old friend," said Valentine; +and again the prince admired the grace of her words. + +"Any other woman in her place," he thought, "would have blushed and +coquetted. How charming she is!" + +From that moment Prince di Borgezi resolved to win Valentine if he +could. + +Lady Charteris was half pleased, half sorry, to hear that Ronald was in +Florence. No one deplored his rash, foolish marriage more than she +did. She thought Lord Earle stern and cruel; she pitied the young man +she had once liked so well, yet for all that she did not feel inclined +to renew the acquaintance. When Valentine asked her to drive next +morning to the little villa on the banks of the Arno, she at first half +declined. + +"I promised to be Ronald's friend years ago," said Valentine, calmly; +"and now, mamma, you must allow me to keep my word. We must visit his +wife, and pay her every attention. To refuse would imply a doubt of +me, and that I could not endure." + +"You shall do as you like, my dear," replied Lady Charteris; "the young +man's mother is my dearest friend, and for her sake we will be kind to +him." + + * * * * * + +It was one of those Italian mornings when the fair face of Nature +seemed bathed in beauty. The air was full of the music of birds; the +waters of the Arno rolled languidly on; oleanders and myrtles were in +full bloom; birds sang as they sing only under the blue sky of Italy. + +It was not yet noon when Lady Charteris and her daughter reached the +little villa. Before they came to the house, Valentine caught one +glimpse of a pretty, pale face with large dark eyes. Could that be +pretty, smiling Dora? There were the shining rings of dark hair; but +where were the smiles Ronald had described? That was not a happy face. +Care and sorrow were in every line of it. + +They were told that Mr. Thorne was in his studio, and would see them +there. They had sent no card, and Ronald believed the "two ladies" to +have called on some business connected with pictures. He started with +surprise when Lady Charteris and Valentine entered. There were a few +words of confused greeting, a hurried explanation of the circumstances +that led Sir Hugh to Florence; and then Valentine looked long and +steadily at the only man she had ever cared for. He was altered; the +frank, handsome face looked worn and thin; it had a restless +expression. He did not look like a man who had found peace. Lady +Charteris told him of her last visit to Earlescourt--how his mother +never ceased speaking of him, and his father still preserved the same +rigid, unbending silence. + +"I have seen your picture," said Lady Charteris. "How well you +remembered my daughter's face." + +"It is one not easily forgotten," he replied; and then another deep +silence fell upon him. + +"Where is Mrs. Earle?" asked Valentine. "Our visit is chiefly to her. +Pray introduce her to mamma. I know her already by description." + +"I left my wife in the garden," said Ronald; "shall we join her there?" + +They followed him into the pretty sunlit garden, where Valentine had +seen the pale, sad face. + +"My wife is timid," said Ronald, "always nervous with strangers." + +Dora was sitting under the shade of a large flowering tree, her hands +folded, and her eyes riveted on the distant hills; there was something +in her listless manner that touched both ladies more than any words +could have done. A deep flush crimsoned her face when Ronald and his +guests stood before her. She rose, not ungracefully; her eyelids +drooped in their old shy manner. As Ronald introduced his wife, +something in the girl's wistful face went straight to Lady Charteris's +heart. She spoke not a word, but folded Dora in her arms and kissed +her as her own mother might have done. + +"You must learn to love us," said Valentine; "we are your husband's +dearest friends." + +Poor Dora had no graceful words ready; her heart was full of gratitude, +but she knew not how to express it. Ronald looked at her anxiously, +and she caught his glance. + +"Now," thought Dora, "he will not be pleased." She tried to say +something of her pleasure in seeing them, but the words were so stiff +and ungracious that Ronald hastened to interrupt them. + +A luncheon of fruit and wine was brought out into the garden, and they +talked merrily--of Earlescourt and the dear old friends there; of the +ball and Prince di Borgesi; in all of which Dora felt that she had no +share. + +Who was this beautiful lady, with her fair face and golden hair? + +The same face she saw that Ronald had painted in his picture, and every +one admired. How graceful she was! How she talked! The words seemed +to ripple like music over her perfect lips. Where had Ronald known +her? Why had he never told her of Miss Charteris? + +"Ah!" thought Dora, "if I could be like her!" And a sudden sense of +wonder struck her that Ronald had not loved and married this fair and +gracious lady. + +Valentine neither forgot nor neglected her. She tried to draw her into +their conversation, but Dora replied so uneasily and so briefly to all +her remarks that she saw the truest kindness was to leave her alone. + +They spent a few hours pleasantly, and Lady Charteris would not leave +until Ronald promised to take his wife to spend a long day with them. + +"I can hardly promise for Dora," said Ronald, kindly; "she seldom +leaves home." + +"Mrs. Earle will not refuse me," said Valentine, with that smile which +no one ever resisted. "She will come with you, and we will make her +happy." + +When the day was settled, the ladies drove away, and Ronald watched the +carriage until it was out of sight. + +"My dear Valentine," cried Lady Charteris when they were out of +hearing, "my dear child, what could possess Ronald Earle? What could +he see in that shy, awkward girl to induce him to give up everything +and go into exile for her sake? She is not even pretty." + +"She is altered, mamma," began Valentine. + +"Altered!" interrupted Lady Charteris. "I should imagine she is, and +unhappy, too. She is frightened to speak--she has no style, no manner, +no dignity. He must have been insane." + +"I am quite sure he loved her," said Valentine, warmly, "and loves her +now." + +"That is just the mystery," replied her mother--"a clever man like he +is, accustomed to intelligent and beautiful women. I shall never +understand it." + +"Do not try," said Valentine, calmly. "She is evidently nervous and +sensitive. I mean to be a true friend to Ronald, mamma; I shall try to +train and form his wife." + +Poor Dora! She was already trained and formed, but no one would +understand that. People do not expect the perfume of the rose in a +wild strawberry blossom, or the fragrance of the heliotrope in a common +bluebell. Yet they wondered that in this simple girl, ignorant of the +world and it ways, they did not find a cultivated mind, a graceful +manner, and a dignified carriage. Their only thought was to train and +form her, whereas Nature and not Art had done both. + +"Dora," said Ronald, as the carriage disappeared from view, "try to +like Lady Charteris and her daughter; they are so kindly disposed +toward you. I shall be so pleased to see you good friends." + +"I will try," she replied, cheerfully. "How beautiful she is, Ronald! +Tell me about her. You remember her face exactly; should you remember +mine as well?" + +It was the first touch of jealousy stirring in the simple, loving heart. + +"Far better," said Ronald, with a smile; and then he looked up in +alarm, for Dora was weeping wildly, and clinging to him. + +"Oh, Ronald!" she said, "for your sake I wish I was like her. Shall you +ever tire of me, or wish you had not married me?" + +Ronald soothed and comforted his wife, and did not return to his studio +that day, but sat talking to her, telling her how noble and good +Valentine Charteris was. + + + +Chapter XII + +It is very seldom that a man of good disposition goes wrong willfully. +Ronald Earle would have felt indignant if any one had accused him of +dishonor or even neglect. He thought Dora enjoyed herself more at home +than in society, consequently he left her there. Habits soon grow. +The time came when he thought it was the wiser course. He felt more at +ease without her. If Dora by chance accompanied him, he watched her +anxiously, fearful lest others should discover and comment upon the +little deficiencies she felt so acutely. + +The visit to Lady Charteris was duly paid--a day that Ronald enjoyed, +and Dora thought would never end. She could not feel at home with +these fine ladies, although Lady Charteris was kind to her and +Valentine laid herself out to please; not even when Valentine, pitying +her shy, timid manner and evident constraint, took her out into the +garden and tried hard to win her confidence. Dora's heart seemed to +close against the beautiful, brilliant lady who knew her husband and +all his friends so well. A fierce, hot breath of jealousy stirred the +simple nature. Ronald talked to Miss Charteris of things all unknown to +her; they seemed to have the same thoughts and feelings, while she was +outside the charmed circle, and could never enter it. She watched the +growing admiration on Ronald's face when Valentine played and sang, and +her restless heart grew weary and faint. She had never felt jealous +before. When Countess Rosali talked and laughed with her husband, +treating him sometimes as a captive and again as a victor, Dora never +cared; but every smile on this woman's fair face pained her--she hardly +knew why. + +When Miss Charteris, under pretense of showing her favorite flower, +took Dora away from the others, and condescended to her as she had +never done to any other, actually caressing the anxious little face and +herself offering to be Mrs. Earle's true friend, Dora's heart closed +against her. She only replied by faint monosyllables, and never raised +her dark eyes to the face turned so kindly upon her. + +When Ronald had taken his young wife away, Lady Charteris sat with her +daughter in an unbroken silence. + +"Poor boy!" said the other lady at length, "and poor Dora! This is one +more added to the list of unhappy marriages. How will it end?" + +As she watched the sun set in the golden west, Valentine asked herself +the same question: "How will it end?" + +If any one had told Dora she was jealous, she would have denied it +indignantly, although Valentine was seldom out of her mind. + +From pure kindness Lady Charteris wished Ronald to paint her daughter's +portrait; it was to be a large picture they could take back to +Greenoke. He was pleased with the commission, and began to work at it +eagerly. Lady Charteris came with Valentine, and remained with her +during the long sittings, doing everything in her power to please and +win the artist's timid wife. + +The fair face, in its calm, Grecian beauty, grew upon the canvas. Many +a long hour, when Ronald was absent, Dora lingered over it. The +portrait had a strange fascination for her. She dwelt upon every +feature until, if the lips had opened and smiled a mocking smile at +her, she would not have felt greatly surprised. It was less a picture +to her than a living, breathing reality. She would watch Ronald as he +worked at it, eager and enthusiastic; then, looking up and finding her +dark eyes riveted upon him with so strange an expression, he would call +her to see what progress he had made; and, never dreaming of the +growing jealousy in Dora's heart, speak with an artist's delight of the +peerless features. + +Without any great or sudden change, day by day Dora grew more silent +and reserved. She was learning to hide her thoughts, to keep her +little troubles in her own heart and ponder them. The time was past +when she would throw herself into Ronald's arms and weep out her +sorrows there. + +Ronald did not notice the change. Home seemed very dull. It was a +great pleasure to leave the solitary little villa and sit in the +brilliant salon of Lady Charteris's well-appointed home. It was +pleasant to exchange dull monotony for sparkling conversation and gay +society. + +Valentine had many admirers. Every one knew the Prince di Borgesi +would gladly have laid his fortune and title at her feet; but she cared +for neither. Ronald often watched her as noble and learned men offered +their homage to her. She smiled brightly, spoke well and gracefully; +but he never saw in her face the look he once remembered there. Lady +Charteris deplored her daughter's obstinacy. She took Ronald into her +confidence, and confided to him her annoyance when one suitor after +another was dismissed. + +Ronald was not particularly vain. Like most men, he had a pleasing +consciousness of his own worth; but he could not help remembering his +mother's assurance that Valentine cared for him. Could it have been +true? Was there ever a time when that beautiful girl, so indifferent +to all homage, cared for him? Could there have been a time when the +prize for which others sighed in vain was within his grasp and he +slighted it? + +He did not dwell upon these thoughts, but they would come into his +mind. It was seldom that a day passed without his calling at the +pretty home where Lady Charteris always welcomed him kindly. She was +sorry for him. He was never de trop with her. Occasionally, too, she +drove out to see his wife; but the visits were rather of duty than of +pleasure. + +Then Dora's health failed. She grew weak and languid--irritable at +times--as unlike the smiling, blushing girl Ronald had met at +Earlescourt gardens as it was possible for her to be. He wrote to tell +his mother that at length there was hope of an heir to their ancient +house. He was very kind and patient to his ailing, delicate wife, +giving up parties and soirees to sit with her, but never able to guess +why Dora's dark eyes looked so strangely upon him. + +Lady Charteris had planned an excursion to some picturesque ruin that +had pleased her daughter, who wished to make a sketch of it. Ronald was +asked to join them, and he had been looking forward for many days to a +few pleasant hours away from all care and anxiety--out in the beautiful +country with Valentine. But when the morning came Dora looked pale and +ill. She did not ask him to stay with her, but he read the wish in her +face. + +"I will not go, Dora," said her husband; "I will not leave you. I shall +send a note of excuse to Lady Charteris, and take care of you all day." + +"Is Miss Charteris going?" she asked, quietly. + +"Yes, and several others," he replied. + +"Then never mind me," said Dora; "do not give up a day's pleasure for +me." + +Ronald might have guessed there was something wrong from the tone of +her voice, but Ronald was not of a suspicious nature. + +"Now, Dora," he said, gently, "you know I would give up every pleasure +in the world for you." + +He bent over her, and kissed her pale little face. Time had been when +the simple heart would have thrilled with happiness at his words; but +Dora grew cold and hard. + +"It used to be always so," she thought, "before she came with her +beauty and took him from me." + +How much misery would have been averted had she told Ronald of her +jealous thoughts and fears! He never suspected them. When he returned +home, looking bright and happy, she would ask him, "Have you seen Miss +Charteris today?" and he, glad of her interest in his friends, would +reply that he had been to her mother's house, and tell her of music he +had heard or people he had met, or of Valentine's messages to her. So +Dora fed the dark, bitter jealousy that had crept into her heart. + +It was a proud but anxious day for Ronald when he wrote to tell his +mother that he was now the father of little twin daughters, two pretty, +fair babies, in place of the long looked-for heir of Earlescourt. + +Lady Charteris was very kind to the lonely young mother--so kind that, +had she borne any other name, Dora must have loved her. A glimpse of +the old happiness came back, for Ronald was proud and pleased with the +little twin sisters. + +One bright morning, when Dora had been taken down into the pretty room +where the infants lay sleeping, Lady Charteris and her daughter came +in. Ronald joined them and there was a long discussion as to the names. + +"You must have an eye to the future," said Valentine, smiling. "These +little ladies will be very grand personages some day. It would be a +nice compliment to Lady Earle if you called one Helena." + +"I have made my choice," said Dora, in a clear, ringing voice. "I shall +call this little one with the fair hair Lillian, the other Beatrice." + +A faint flush rose to her face as she spoke. She would allow of no +interference here. This smiling beauty should not give names to her +children. + +"I admire your choice," said Lady Charteris; "Beatrice and Lillian are +very pretty names." + +When Valentine bent over the cradle and kissed the children before +taking leave, Dora said, "I have had my own way, you see, Miss +Charteris, with my little ones. Mr. Earle did not oppose me." + +Valentine thought the words harsh and strange; she had no clew to their +meaning. She could not have imagined Dora jealous of her. She made +some laughing reply, and passed on. Dora was not lonely now, the care +of the little ones occupying her whole time; but, far from their +binding Ronald to his home, he became more estranged from it than ever. + +The pretty, picturesque villa was very small; there was no room +available for a nursery. Wherever Dora sat, there must the little ones +be; and although they were very charming to the mother and the nurse, +the continued cries and noise irritated Ronald greatly. Then he grew +vexed; Dora cried, and said he did not love them, and so the barrier +grew day by day between those who should have been all in all to each +other. + +The children grew. Little Beatrice gave promise of great beauty. She +had the Earle face, Ronald said. Lillian was a fair, sweet babe, too +gentle, her mother thought, to live. Neither of them resembled her, +and at times Dora wished it had been otherwise. + +Perhaps in all Ronald Earle's troubled life he never spent a more +unsettled or wretched year than this. "It is impossible to paint," he +said to himself, "when disturbed by crying babies." So the greater part +of his time was spent away from home. Some hours of every day were +passed with Valentine; he never stopped to ask himself what impulse led +him to seek her society; the calm repose of her fair presence +contrasted so pleasantly with the petty troubles and small miseries of +home. When Miss Charteris rode out he accompanied her; he liked to +meet her at parties and balls. He would have thought a day sad and +dark wherein he did not see her. + +When the little ones reached their first birthday, Valentine, with her +usual kind thought, purchased a grand assortment of toys, and drove +over quite unexpectedly to the villa. It was not a very cheerful scene +which met her gaze. + +Ronald was busily engaged in writing. Dora, flushed and worn, was +vainly trying to stop the cries of one child, while the other pulled at +her dress. The anxious, dreary face struck Valentine with pain. She +laid the parcel of toys down, and shook hands with Ronald, who looked +somewhat ashamed of the aspect of affairs. Then, turning to Dora, she +took the child from her arms, and little Beatrice, looking at her with +wondering eyes, forgot to cry. + +"You are not strong enough, Dora, to nurse this heavy child," said Miss +Charteris. "Why do you not find some one to help you?" + +"We can not afford it," said Ronald, gloomily. + +"We spend too much in gloves and horses," added Dora, bitterly; but no +sooner were the words spoken than she would have given the world to +recall them. + +Ronald made no reply, and Valentine, anxious to avert the storm she had +unwittingly raised, drew attention to the toys. + +When Valentine left them, Dora and Ronald had their first quarrel long +and bitter. He could ill brook the insult her words implied--spoken +before Valentine, too!--and she for the first time showed him how an +undisciplined, untrained nature can throw off the restraint of good +manners and good breeding. It was a quarrel never to be forgotten, +when Ronald in the height of his rage wished that he had never seen +Dora, and she re-echoed the wish. When such a quarrel takes place +between man and wife, the bloom and freshness are gone from love. They +may be reconciled, but they will never again be to each other what they +once were. A strong barrier is broken down, and nothing can be put in +its place. + + + +Chapter XIII + +The angry, passionate words spoken by Ronald--almost the first he had +ever uttered--soon faded from his mind, but they rankled like poisoned +arrows in Dora's heart. She believed them. Before evening her husband +repented of his anger, and called himself a coward for having scolded +Dora. He went up to her and raised her face to his. + +"Little wife," He said, "we have both been wrong. I am very sorry--let +us make friends." + +There was just a suspicion of sullenness in Dora's nature, and it +showed itself in full force now. + +"It is no matter," she replied, coolly; "I knew long ago that you were +tired of me." + +Ronald would not answer, lest they should quarrel again, but he thought +to himself that perhaps she was not far wrong. + +From that day the breach between them widened. In after years Dora saw +how much she was to blame. She understood then how distasteful her +quiet, sullen reserve must have been to a high-bred, fastidious man +like Ronald. She did not see it then, but nursed in her heart +imaginary wrongs and injuries; and, above all, she yielded to a wild, +fierce jealousy of Valentine Charteris. + +For some weeks Miss Charteris saw the cloud deepening on Ronald's face. +He grew silent, and lost the flow of spirit that had once seemed never +to fail; and during the few weeks that followed, a strong resolution +grew in her mind. She was his true friend, and she would try to +restore peace and harmony between him and his wife. She waited for +some days, but at her mother's house it was impossible to see him +alone. Yet she honestly believed that, if she could talk to him, +remind him of his first love for Dora, of her simplicity and many +virtues, she might restore peace and harmony to her old friend's house. +She thought Ronald to blame. He had voluntarily taken active duties +upon himself, and to her clearly, rightly judging mind, there was no +earthly reason why he should not fulfill them. He would not feel hurt +at her speaking, she felt sure, for he had voluntarily sought her aid +years ago. So Valentine waited day after day, hoping to find a chance +for those few words she thought would do so much good; but, as no +opportunity came, she resolved to make one. Taking her little jeweled +pencil, she wrote the following lines that were in after-time a death +warrant: + +"Dear Mr. Earle,--I wish to speak to you particularly and privately. I +shall be in our grounds tomorrow morning about ten; let me see you +there before you enter the house. Your sincere friend, Valentine +Charteris." + +All the world might have read the note--there was nothing wrong in +it--good intentions and a kindly heart dictated it, but it worked fatal +mischief. When Ronald was leaving her mother's house, Miss Charteris +openly placed the letter in his hands. + +"This is the first note I have ever written to you," she said, with a +smile. "You must not refuse the request it contains." + +"I will send him home happy tomorrow," she thought, "he is easily +influenced for good. He must make up the misunderstanding with his +pretty little wife--neither of them look happy." + +Ronald did not open the letter until he reached home. Then he read it +with a half-consciousness of what Valentine wanted him for. + +"She is a noble woman," he thought. "Her words made me brave +before--they will do me good again." + +He left the folded paper upon the table in his studio; and jealous +little Dora, going in search of some work she had left, found it there. +She read it word by word, the color dying slowly out of her face as she +did so, and a bitter, deadly jealousy piercing her heart like a +two-edged sword. It confirmed her worst fears, her darkest doubts. +How dared this brilliant, beautiful woman lure Ronald from her? How +dared she rob her of his love? + +Ronald looked aghast at his wife's face as she re-entered the sitting +room. He had been playing with the children, and had forgotten for the +time both Valentine and her note. He cried out in alarm as she turned +her white, wild face to him in dumb, silent despair. + +"What is the matter, Dora?" he cried. "Are you ill or frightened? You +look like a ghost." + +She made no reply, and her husband, thinking she had relapsed into one +of her little fits of temper, sighed heavily and bade her good night. + +Poor, foolish, jealous heart--she never lay down to rest! + +She had quite resolved she would go and meet the husband who was tired +of her and the woman who lured him away. She would listen to all they +had to say, and then confront them. No thought of the dishonor of such +a proceeding struck her. Poor Dora was not gifted with great +refinement of feeling--she looked upon the step she contemplated rather +as a triumph over an enemy than a degradation to herself. She knew the +place in the grounds where they should be sure to meet. Miss Charteris +called it her bower; it was a thick cluster of trees under the shade of +which stood a pretty, rustic seat; and Dora thought that, if she placed +herself behind the trees, she would be able to hear all unseen. + +Before Ronald partook of breakfast, Dora had quitted the house on her +foolish errand. She knew the way to the house and the entrance to the +garden. She had no fear; even were she discovered there, no one could +surmise more than that she was resting on her way to the house. She +crouched behind the trees and waited. It was wrong, weak, and wicked; +but there was something so pitiful in the white face full of anguish, +that one would hardly know whether to pity or blame her. + +The sunshine reached her, the birds were singing in the trees, the +flowers were all blooming--she, in her sorrow and desolation, heeded +nothing. At length she saw them--Valentine in her white morning dress, +her beautiful face full of deep, earnest emotion, and Ronald by her +side. As she surmised, they walked straight to the trees, and +Valentine signed to Ronald to take a seat by her side. Sweetly and +clearly every word she uttered sounded to Ronald, but they fell like +drops of molten lead on the jealous heart of Ronald's wife. + +"You must try," Valentine was saying; "I used to think you would be a +hero. You are proving yourself a very weak and erring man." + +Dora could not distinguish Ronald's words so plainly; he said something +about life and its mistakes. + +"I told you once," said Valentine, "that the man who could endure so +bravely the consequences of his own actions was a true hero. Grant the +worst--that you have made a mistake. You must make the best you can of +it, and you are not doing that now." + +"No," he said gravely. "I am very unhappy--more so than you can +imagine, Valentine. Life seems to have lost all its charms for me. I +had such great hopes once, but they are all dead now." + +"You are too young to say that," she replied; "a little courage, a +little patience, and all will be well. If it comforts you to know that +my warmest, deepest sympathy is with you--" + +Valentine Charteris never finished her sentence; a pale, angry face and +dark, gleaming eyes full of passion suddenly flashed before her. + +"You may spare your pity, Miss Charteris," cried a hoarse voice. "Why +have you made my husband dissatisfied with me? Why have you taken his +love from me? Why do you write notes asking him to meet you, that you +may both speak evil and wrong of his low-born wife?" + +"Hush!" said Ronald, sternly, grasping her arm. "Stop those wild +words, Dora! Are you mad?" + +"No, not yet," she cried; "but this false woman will drive me so!" + +Then Miss Charteris rose, her calm, grand face unruffled, not a quiver +on her proud lips. + +"Stay, Miss Charteris, one moment, I pray you," said Ronald, "while my +wife apologizes for her folly." + +"It is all true," cried Dora. "She wrote and asked you to meet her +here." + +"Dora," said her husband, gravely, "did you read the letter Miss +Charteris wrote to me?" + +"I did," she replied. + +"And you deliberately came here to listen to what she had to say to +me?" he continued. "You deliberately listened to what you were never +intended to hear?" + +His grave, stern dignity calmed her angry passion, and she looked +half-frightened into his quiet white face. + +"Answer me!" he said. "Have you crouched behind those trees +deliberately and purposely to listen? + +"Yes," she said; "and I would do so again if any one tried to take my +husband from me." + +"Then may I be forgiven for the dishonor I have brought to my name and +race!" said Ronald. "May I be forgiven for thinking such a woman fit +to be my wife! Hear me," he continued, and the passion in his voice +changed to contempt: "Miss Charteris is your friend; she asked me to +meet her here that she might plead your cause, Dora--that she might +advise me to remain more at home with you, to go less into society, to +look more at the bright side of our married life, and be a better +husband than I have been lately; it was for that she summoned me here." + +"I--I do not believe it," sobbed his wife. + +"That is at your option," he replied coolly. "Miss Charteris, I should +kneel to ask your pardon for the insults you have received. If a man +had uttered them, I would avenge them. The woman who spoke them bears +my name. I entreat your pardon." + +"It is granted," she replied; "your wife must have been mad, or she +would have known I was her friend. I deeply regret that my good +intentions have resulted so unhappily. Forget my annoyance, Mr. Earle, +and forgive Dora; she could not have known what she was saying." + +"I forgive her," said Ronald; "but I never wish to look upon her face +again. I see nothing but dishonor there. My love died a violent death +ten minutes since. The woman so dead to all delicacy, all honor as to +listen and suspect will never more be wife of mine." + +"Be pitiful," said Valentine, for Dora was weeping bitterly now; all +her fire and passion, all her angry jealousy, had faded before his +wrath. + +"I am pitiful," he replied. "Heaven knows I pity her. I pity myself. +We Earles love honorable women when we love at all. I will escort you +to your house, Miss Charteris, and then Mrs. Earle and myself will make +our arrangements." + +In her sweet, womanly pity, Valentine bent down and kissed the +despairing face. + +"Try to believe that you are wrong and mistaken, Mrs. Earle," she said +gently. "I had no thought save to be your friend." + +They spoke no word as they passed through the pretty grounds. Valentine +was full of pity for her companion, and of regret for her own share in +that fatal morning's work. + +When Ronald reached the cluster of trees again, Dora was not there. +Just at that moment he cared but little whither she had gone. His +vexation and sorrow seemed almost greater than he could bear. + + + +Chapter XIV + +The passion and despair of that undisciplined heart were something +painful to see. Reason, sense, and honor, for a time were all dead. +If Dora could have stamped out the calm beauty of Valentine's +magnificent face, she would have done so. Ronald's anger, his bitter +contempt, stung her, until her whole heart and soul were in angry +revolt, until bitter thoughts raged like a wild tempest within her. +She could not see much harm in what she had done; she did not quite see +why reading her own husband's letter, or listening to a private +conversation of his was a breach of honor. She thought but little at +the time of what she had done; her heart was full of anger against +Ronald and Valentine. She clasped her hands angrily after Mrs. +Charteris had kissed her, crying out that she was false, and had lured +Ronald from her. Any one passing her on the high-road would have +thought her mad, seeing the white face, the dark, gleaming eyes, the +rigid lips only opening for moans and cries that marred the sweet +silence. He should keep his word; never--come what might never should +he look upon her fair face again--the face he had caressed so often and +thought so fair. She would go away--he was quite tired of her, and of +her children, too. They would tease him and intrude upon him no more. +Let him go to the fair, false woman, who had pretended to pity her. + +The little nurse-maid, a simple peasant girl, looked on in mute +amazement when her mistress entered the room where the children were. + +"Maria," she said, "I am going home, over the seas to England. Will you +come with me?" + +The only thing poor Dora had learned during those quiet years was a +moderate share of Italian. The young nurse looked up in wonder at the +hard voice, usually soft as the cooing of a ring-dove. + +"I will go," she replied, "if the signora will take me. I leave none +behind that I love." + +With trembling, passionate hands and white, stern face, Dora packed her +trunks and boxes--the children's little wardrobe and her own, throwing +far from her every present, either of dress or toys, that Valentine had +brought. + +She never delayed to look round and think of the happy hours spent in +those pretty rooms. She never thought of the young lover who had given +up all the world for her. All she remembered was the wrathful husband +who never wished to see her more--who, in presence of another, had +bitterly regretted having made her his wife. She could not weep--the +burning brain and jealous, angry heart would have been better for that, +but the dark eyes were bright and full of strange, angry light. The +little ones, looking upon her, wept for fear. With eager, passionate +love she caught them in her arms, crying the while that they should +never remain to be despised as she was. + +In the white-faced, angry woman, roused to the highest pitch of +passion, there was no trace of pretty, blushing Dora. Rapidly were the +boxes packed, corded, and addressed. Once during that brief time Maria +asked, "Where are you going, signora?" And the hard voice answered, +"To my father's--my own home in England." + +When everything was ready, the wondering children dressed, and the +little maid waiting, Dora sat down at her husband's desk and wrote the +following lines. No tears fell upon them; her hand did not tremble, +the words were clear and firmly written: + +"I have not waited for you to send me away. Your eyes shall not be +pained again by resting on the face where you read dishonor. I saw +months ago that you were tired of me. I am going to my father's house, +and my children I shall take with me--you care no more for them than +for me. They are mine--not yours. I leave you with all you love in +the world. I take all I love with me. If you prayed for long years, I +would never return to you nor speak to you again." + +She folded the note and addressed it to her husband. She left no kiss +warm from her lips upon it. As she passed forever from the little +villa, she never turned for one last look at its vine-clad walls. + +The gaunt, silent Italian servant who had lived with Dora since the +first day she reached Florence came to her in wonder and alarm, barely +recognizing her pretty, gentle mistress in the pale, determined woman +who looked like one brought to bay. To her Dora spoke of the letter; +it was to be given to her husband as soon as he returned. Not one word +did she utter in reply to the woman's question. She hurried with the +keen desperation of despair, lest Ronald should return and find her +still there. + +Soon after noon, and while Ronald lingered with some friends upon the +steps of the Hotel d'Italia, his wife reached the busy railway station +at Florence. She had money enough to take her home, but none to spare. +She knew no rest; every moment seemed like an age to her, until the +train was in motion, and fair, sunny Florence left far behind. + +Without the stimulus of anger Dora would have shrunk in terror from the +thought of a long journey alone--she who had never been without the +escort of a kind and attentive husband. But no prospect daunted her +now--the wide seas, the dangers of rail and road had no terror for her. +She was flying in hot haste and anger from one who had said before her +rival that he never wished to see her face again. + + * * * * * + +The sun shining so brightly on the waters of the Arno lingered almost +lovingly on the fair, quiet English landscape. Far down in the fertile +and beautiful county of Kent, where the broad channel washes the shore, +stands the pretty, almost unknown village of Knutsford. + +The world is full of beauty, every country has its share Switzerland +its snow-clad mountains, Germany its dark woods and broad streams, +France its sunny plains, Italy its "thousand charms of Nature and Art;" +but for quiet, tranquil loveliness, for calm, fair beauty, looking +always fresh from the mighty hand that created it, there is nothing +like English scenery. + +The white cliffs of Knutsford, like "grand giants," ran along the +shore; there was a broad stretch of yellow sand, hidden when the tide +was in, shining and firm when it ebbed. The top of the cliff was like +a carpet of thick green grass and springing heather. Far away, in the +blue distance, one could see, of a bright, sunny day, the outline of +the French coast. The waves rolled in, and broke upon the yellow +sands; the sea-birds flew by with busy wings, white sails gleamed in +the sunshine. Occasionally a large steamer passed; there was no sound +save the rich, never-changing music of Nature, the rush of wind and +waves, the grand, solemn anthem that the sea never tires of singing. + +Far down the cliff ran the zigzag path that led to the village; there +was no sign of the sea on the other side of the white rocks. There the +green fields and pretty hop-gardens stretched out far and wide, and the +Farthinglow Woods formed a belt around them. In the midst of a green, +fertile valley stood the lovely village of Knutsford. It had no +regular street; there were a few cottages, a few farm houses, a few +little villas, one grand mansion, three or four shops, and quiet +homesteads with thatched roofs and eaves of straw. + +The prettiest and most compact little farm in the village was the one +where Stephen Thorne and his wife dwelt. It was called the elms, a +long avenue of elms leading to the little house and skirting the broad +green meadows. It was at a short distance from the village, so quiet, +so tranquil, that, living there, one seemed out of the world. + +Stephen Thorne and his wife were not rich. In spite of Lady Earle's +bounty, it was hard for them at times to make both ends meet. Crops, +even in that fair and fertile county, would fail, cattle would die, +rain would fall when it should not, and the sun refuse to shine. But +this year everything had gone on well; the hay stood in great ricks in +the farm yard, the golden corn waved in the fields ripe and ready for +the sickle, the cows and sheep fed tranquilly in the meadows, and all +things had prospered with Stephen Thorne. One thing only weighed upon +his heart--his wife would have it that Dora's letters grew more and +more sad; she declared her child was unhappy, and he could not persuade +her to the contrary. + +It was a fair August evening. Ah! How weak and feeble are the words. +Who could paint the golden flush of summer beauty that lay over the +meadows and corn fields--the hedge rows filled with wild flowers, the +long, thick grass studded with gay blossoms, the calm, sullen silence +only broken by the singing of the birds, the lowing of cattle, the +rustling of green leaves in the sweet soft air? + +Stephen Thorne had gone with his guest and visitor, Ralph Holt, to +fetch the cattle home. In Ralph's honor, good, motherly Mrs. Thorne +had laid out a beautiful tea--golden honey that seemed just gathered +from the flowers, ripe fruits, cream from the dairy everything was +ready; yet the farmer and his guest seemed long in coming. She went to +the door and looked across the meadows. The quiet summer beauty stole +like a spell over her. + +Suddenly, down in the meadows, Mrs. Thorne caught sight of a lady +leading a little child by the hand. She was followed by a young maid +carrying another. As the lady drew nearer, Mrs. Thorne stood +transfixed and bewildered. Could the summer sun or the flickering +shade be mocking her? Was she dreaming or awake? Far off still, +through the summer haze, she saw a white, wan face; dark eyes, shadowed +and veiled, as though by long weeping; lips, once rosy and smiling, +rigid and firm. She saw what seemed to her the sorrowful ghost of the +pretty, blooming child that had left her long ago. She tried to call +out, but her voice failed her. She tried to run forward and meet the +figure coming slowly through the meadows, but she was powerless to +move. She never heard the footsteps of her husband and his guest. She +only stirred when Stephen Thorne placed his hand upon her shoulder, and +in a loud, cheery voice, asked what ailed her. + +"Look," she said, hoarsely, "look down the meadow there and tell me--if +that is Dora or Dora's ghost?" + +She drew near more swiftly now, for she had seen the three figures at +the door. The white face and wild eyes seemed aflame with anxiety. + +"Dora, Dora!" cried Mrs. Thorne, "is it really you?" + +"It is," said a faint, bitter voice. "I am come home, mother. My heart +is broken and I long to die." + +They crowded around her, and Ralph Holt, with his strong arms, carried +the fragile, drooping figure into the house. They laid her upon the +little couch, and drew the curling rings of dark hair back from her +white face. Mrs. Thorne wept aloud, crying out for her pretty Dora, +her poor, unhappy child. The two men stood watching her with grave, +sad eyes. Ralph clenched his hand as he gazed upon her, the wreck of +the simple, gentle girl he had loved so dearly. + +"If he has wronged her," he said to Stephen Thorne, "if he has broken +her heart, and sent her home to die, let him beware!" + +"I knew it would never prosper," groaned her father; "such marriages +never do." + +When Dora opened her eyes, and saw the three anxious faces around her, +for a moment she was bewildered. They knew when the torture of memory +returned to her, for she clasped her hands with a low moan. + +"Dora," said her mother, "what has happened? Trust us, dear child--we +are your best friends. Where is your husband? And why have you left +him?" + +"Because he has grown tired of me," she cried, with passion and anger +flaming again in her white, worn face. "I did something he thought +wrong, and he prayed to Heaven to pardon him for making me his wife." + +"What did you do?" asked her father, anxiously. + +"Nothing that I thought wrong," she replied. "Ask me no questions, +father. I would rather die any death than return to him or see him +again. Yet do not think evil of him. It was all a mistake. I could +not think his thoughts or live his life--we were quite different, and +very unhappy. He never wishes to see me again, and I will suffer +anything rather than see him." + +The farmer and his wife looked at each other in silent dismay. This +proud, angry woman and her passionate words frightened them. Could it +be their Dora, who had ever been sunshine and music to them? + +"If you do not like to take me home, father," she said, in a hard +voice, "I can go elsewhere; nothing can surprise or grieve me now." + +But kindly Mrs. Thorne had drawn the tired head to her. + +"Do you not know, child," she said, gently, "that a mother's love never +fails?" + +Ralph had raised the little one in his arms, and was looking with +wondering admiration at the proud, beautiful face of the little +Beatrice, and the fair loveliness of Lillian. The children looked with +frank, fearless eyes into his plain, honest face. + +"This one with dark hair has the real Earle face," said Stephen Thorne, +proudly; "that is just my lord's look--proud and quiet. And the little +Lillian is something like Dora, when she was quite a child." + +"Never say that!" cried the young mother. "Let them grow like any one +else, but never like me!" + +They soothed her with gentle, loving words. Her father said she should +share his home with her children, and he would never give her up again. +They bade her watch the little ones, who had forgotten their fears, and +laughed over the ripe fruit and golden honey. They also drew aside the +white curtain, and let her tired eyes fall upon the sweet summer beauty +of earth and sky. Was not everything peaceful? The sun sinking in the +west, the birds singing their evening song, the flowers closing their +bright eyes, the wind whispering "good night" to the shimmering, +graceful elms--all was peace, and the hot, angry heart grew calm and +still. Bitter tears rose to the burning eyes--tears that fell like +rain, and seemed to take away the sharpest sting of her pain. + +With wise and tender thought they let Dora weep undisturbed. The +bitter sobbing ceased at last. Dora said farewell to her love. She lay +white and exhausted, but the anger and passion had died away. + +"Let me live with you, father," she said, humbly. "I will serve you, +and obey you. I an content, more than content, with my own home. But +for my little children, let all be as it was years ago." + +When the little ones, like the flowers, had gone to sleep, and Dora had +gone into the pretty white room prepared for her, Ralph rose to take +his leave. + +"Surely," said Thorne, "you are not leaving us. You promised to stay a +whole week." + +"I know," said the young farmer; "but you have many to think for now, +Mr. Thorne. The time will come when the poor, wearied girl sleeping +above us will be Lady Earle. Her husband knew I loved her. No shadow +even of suspicion must rest upon her. While your daughter remains +under your roof, I shall not visit you again." + +Dora's father knew the young man was right. + +"Let me see the little ones sometimes," continued Ralph; "and if large +parcels of toys and books find their way to the Elms, you will know who +sent them. But I must not come in Dora's way; she is no loner Dora +Thorne." + +As Stephen watched the young man walking quickly through the long gray +fields, he wished that Dora had never seen Ronald Earle. + +Poor Dora's troubles were not yet ended. When the warm August sun +peeped into her room on the following morning, she did not see it +shine; when the children crept to her side and called for mamma, she +was deaf to their little voices. The tired head tossed wearily to and +fro, the burning eyes would not close. A raging fever had her in its +fierce clutches. When Mrs. Thorne, alarmed by the children's cries, +came in, Dora did not know her, but cried out loudly that she was a +false woman, who had lured her husband from her. + +They sent in all haste for aid; but the battle was long and fierce. +During the hours of delirium, Mrs. Thorne gleaned sorrowfully some +portions of her daughter's story. She cried out incessantly against a +fair woman--one Valentine--whom Ronald loved--cried in scorn and anger. +Frequently she was in a garden, behind some trees; then confronting +some one with flaming eyes, sobbing that she did not believe it; then +hiding her face and crying out: + +"He has ceased to love me--let me die!" + +But the time came when the fierce fever burned itself out, and Dora lay +weak and helpless as a little child. She recovered slowly, but she was +never the same again. Her youth, hope, love, and happiness were all +dead. No smile or dimple, no pretty blush, came to the changed face; +the old coy beauty was all gone. + +Calm and quiet, with deep, earnest eyes, and lips that seldom smiled, +Dora seemed to have found another self. Even with her children the sad +restraint never wore off nor grew less. If they wanted to play, they +sought the farmer in the fields, the good-natured nurse, or the +indulgent grandmamma--never the sad, pale mother. If they were in +trouble then they sought her. + +Dora asked for work. She would have been dairy maid, house maid, or +anything else, but her father said "No." A pretty little room was +given to her, with woodbines and roses peeping in at the window. Here +for long hours every day, while the children played in the meadows, she +sat and sewed. There, too, Dora, for the first time, learned what +Ronald, far away in sunny Italy, failed to teach her--how to think and +read. Big boxes of books came from the town of Shorebeach. Stephen +Thorne spared no trouble or expense in pleasing his daughter. Dora +wondered that she had never cared for books, now that deeper and more +solemn thoughts came to her. The pale face took a new beauty; no one +could have believed that the thoughtful woman with the sweet voice and +refined accent was the daughter of the blunt farmer Thorne and his +homely wife. + +A few weeks passed, and but for the little ones Dora would have +believed the whole to have been but a long, dark dream. She would not +think of Ronald; she would not remember his love, his sacrifices for +her; she thought only of her wrongs and his cruel words. + +The children grew and throve. Dora had no care at present as to their +education. From her they learned good English, and between herself and +the faithful young nurse they could learn, she thought, tolerable +Italian. She would not think of a future that might take these beloved +children from her. She ignored Ronald's claim to them--they were hers. +He had tired of them when he tired of her. She never felt the days +monotonous in that quiet farm house, as others might have done. A dead +calm seemed to surround her; but it was destined soon to be broken. + + + +Chapter XV + +Ronald did not return in the evening to the pretty villa where he had +once been so happy. In the warmth of his anger, he felt that he never +could look again upon his wife. To his sensitive, refined nature there +was something more repulsive in the dishonorable act she had committed +than there would have been in a crime of deeper dye. He was shocked +and startled--more so than if he awoke some fair summer morning to find +Dora dead by his side. She was indeed dead to him in one sense. The +ideal girl, all purity, gentleness, and truth, whom he had loved and +married, had, it appeared, never really existed after all. He shrank +from the idea of the angry, vehement words and foul calumnies. He +shrank from the woman who had forgotten every rule of good breeding, +every trace of good manners, in angry, fierce passion. + +How was he ever to face Miss Charteris again? She would never mention +one word of what had happened, but he could ill brook the shame Dora +had brought upon him. He remembered the summer morning in the woods +when he told Valentine the story of his love, and had pictured his +pretty, artless Dora to her. Could the angry woman who had dared to +insult him, and to calumniate the fairest and truest lady in all +England, possibly be the same? + +Ronald had never before been brought into close contact with dishonor. +He had some faint recollection at college of having seen and known a +young man, the son of a wealthy nobleman, scorned and despised, driven +from all society, and he was told that it was because he had been +detected in the act of listening at the principal's door. He +remembered how old and young had shunned this young man as though he +were plague-stricken; and now his own wife Dora had done the very same +thing under circumstances that rendered the dishonor greater. He asked +himself, with a cynical smile, what he could expect? He had married +for love of a pretty, child-like face, never giving any thought to +principle, mind, or intellect. The only wonder was that so wretched +and unequal a match had not turned out ten times worse. His father's +warning rang in his ears. How blind, how foolish he had been! + +Every hope of his own life was wrecked, every hope and plan of his +father's disappointed and dead. There seemed to him nothing left to +care for. His wife--oh, he would not think of her! The name vexed +him. He could not stand in Valentine's presence again, and for the +first time he realized what she had been to him. Home, and +consequently England, was closed to him; the grand mansion he had once +believed his had faded from his mind. + +Thinking of all these things, Ronald's love for his young wife seemed +changed to dislike. Three days passed before he returned home; then he +was somewhat startled to find her really gone. He had anticipated +sullen temper, renewed quarrels, and then perhaps a separation, but he +was startled to find her actually gone. The servant gave him the cold +farewell letter, written without tears, without sorrow. He tore it +into shreds and flung it from him. + +"The last act in the farce," he said, bitterly. "If I had not been mad, +I should have foreseen this." + +The silent, deserted rooms did not remind him of the loving young wife +parted from him forever. He was too angry, too annoyed, for any gentle +thoughts to influence him. She had left him--so much the better; there +could never again be peace between them. He thought with regret of the +little ones--they were too young for him to undertake charge of them, +so that they were best left with their mother for a time. He said to +himself that he must make the best use he could of his life; everything +seemed at an end. He felt very lonely and unhappy as he sat in his +solitary home; and the more sorrow present upon him, the more bitter +his thoughts grew, the deeper became his dislike to this unhappy young +wife. + +Ronald wrote to his mother, but said no word to her of the cause of +their quarrel. + +"Dora and I," he said, "will never live together again--perhaps never +meet. She has gone home to her father; I am going to wander over the +wide earth. Will you induce my father to receive my children at +Earlescourt? And will you see Mr. Burt, and arrange that half of my +small income is settled upon Dora?" + +But to all his wife's entreaties Lord Earle turned a deaf ear. He +declared that never during his life time should the children of Dora +Thorne enter Earlescourt. His resolution was fixed and unalterable. +How, he asked, was he to trust the man who had once deceived him? For +aught he knew, the separation between Ronald and his wife might be a +deeply laid scheme, and, the children once with him, there would be a +grand reconciliation between the parents. + +"I am not surprised," he said, "that the unhappy boy is weary of his +pretty toy. It could not be otherwise; he must bear the consequences +of his own folly. He had time for thought, he made his own choice--now +let him abide by it. You have disregarded my wish, Lady Helena, in +even naming the matter to me. Let all mention of it cease. I have no +son. One thing remember--I am not hard upon you--you can go where you +like, see whom you like, and spend what money you will, and as you +will." + +Lady Earle was not long in availing herself of the permission. There +was great excitement at the Elms one morning, caused by the receipt of +a letter from Lady Earle saying that she would be there on the same day +to visit the son's wife and children. + +The little ones looked up to her with wondering eyes. To them she was +like a vision, with her noble face and distinguished air. + +Stephen Thorne and his wife received the great lady not without some +trepidation; yet they were in no way to blame. The fatal marriage had +been as great a blow to them as to Lord and Lady Earle. With the quiet +dignity and graceful ease that never deserted her, Lady Earle soon made +them feel at home. She started in utter surprise, when a quiet, grave +woman, on whose face sweetness and sullen humor were strangely mingled, +entered the room. This could not be pretty, coy, blushing Dora! Where +were the dimples and smiles? The large dark eyes raised so sadly to +hers were full of strange, pathetic beauty. With sharp pain the +thought struck Lady Earle, "What must not Dora have suffered to have +changed her so greatly!" The sad eyes and worn face touched her as no +beauty could have done. She clasped Dora in her arms and kissed her. + +"You are my daughter now," she said, in that rich, musical voice which +Dora remembered so well. "We will not mention the past; it is +irrevocable. If you sinned against duty and obedience, your face tells +me you have suffered. What has come between you and my son I do not +seek to know. The shock must have been a great one which parted you, +for he gave up all the world for you, Dora, years ago. We will not +speak of Ronald. Our care must be the children. Of course you wish +them to remain with you?" + +"While it is possible," said Dora, wearily. "I shall never leave home +again; but I can not hope to keep them here always." + +"I should have liked to adopt them," said Lady Earle; "to take them +home and educate them, but--" + +"Lord Earle will not permit it," interrupted Dora, calmly. "I know--I +do not wonder." + +"You must let me do all I can for them here," continued Lady Earle; "I +have made all plans and arrangements. We will give the children an +education befitting their position, without removing them from you. +Then we shall see what time will do. Let me see the little ones. I +wish you had called one Helena, after me." + +Dora remembered why she had not done so, and a flush of shame rose to +her face. + +They were beautiful children, and Dora brought them proudly to the +stately lady waiting for them. Lady Earle took Beatrice in her arms. + +"Why, Dora," she said admiringly, "she has the Earle face, with a novel +charm all its own. The child will grow up into magnificent woman." + +"She has the Earle spirit and pride," said the young mother; "I find it +hard to manage her even now." + +Then Lady Earle looked at the fair, spirituelle face and golden hair of +little Lillian. The shy, dove-like eyes and sweet lips charmed her. + +"There is a great contrast between them," she said, thoughtfully. "They +will require careful training, Dora; and now we will speak of the +matter which brought me here." + +Dora noticed that, long as she remained, Lady Earle never let Beatrice +leave her arms; occasionally she bent over Lillian and touched her soft +golden curls, but the child with the "Earle face" was the one she loved +best. + +Together with Stephen Thorne and his wife, Lady Earle went over the +Elms. The situation delighted her; nothing could be better or more +healthy for the children, but the interior of the house must be +altered. Then with delicate grace that could only charm, never wound, +Lady Earle unfolded her plans. She wished a new suite of rooms to be +built for Dora and the children, to be nicely furnished with everything +that could be required. She would bear the expense. Immediately on +her return she would send an efficient French maid for the little ones, +and in the course of a year or two she would engage the services of an +accomplished governess, who would undertake the education of Beatrice +and Lillian without removing them from their mother's care. + +"I shall send a good piano and harp," said Lady Earle, "it will be my +pride and pleasure to select books, music, drawings, and everything +else my grandchildren require. I should wish them always to be nicely +dressed and carefully trained. To you, Dora, I must leave the highest +and best training of all. Teach them to be good, and to do their duty. +They have learned all when they have learned that." + +For the first time in her life, the thought came home to Dora: How was +she to teach what she had never learned and had failed to practice? +That night, long after Lady Earle had gone away, and the children had +fallen to sleep, Dora knelt in the moonlight and prayed that she might +learn to teach her children to do their duty. + +As Lady Earle wished, the old farm house was left intact, and a new +group of buildings added to it. There was a pretty sitting room for +Dora, and a larger one to serve as a study for the children, large +sleeping rooms, and a bathroom, all replete with comfort. Two years +passed before all was completed, and Lady Earle thought it time to send +a governess to the Elms. + + * * * * * + +During those years little or nothing was heard from Ronald. After +reading the cold letter Dora left for him, it seemed as though all +love, all care, all interest died out of his heart. He sat for many +long hours thinking of the blighted life "he could not lay down, yet +cared little to hold." + +He was only twenty-three--the age at which life opens to most men; yet +he was worn, tired, weary of everything--the energies that once seemed +boundless, the ambition once so fierce and proud, all gone. His whole +nature recoiled from the shock. Had Dora, in the fury of her jealousy +and rage, tried to kill him, he would have thought that but a small +offense compared with the breach of honor in crouching behind the trees +to listen. He thought of the quiet, grand beauty of Valentine's face +while Dora was convulsed with passion. He remembered the utter wonder +in Valentine's eyes when Dora's flamed upon them. He remembered the +sickening sense of shame that had cowed him as he listened to her +angry, abusive words. And this untrained, ignorant, ill-bred woman was +his wife! For her he had given up home, parents, position, wealth--all +he had in life worth caring for. For her, and through her, he stood +there alone in the world. + +Those thoughts first maddened him, then drove him to despair. What had +life left for him? He could not return to England; his father's doors +were closed against him. There was no path open to him; without his +father's help he could not get into Parliament. He could not work as +an artist at home. He could not remain in Florence; never again, he +said to himself, would he see Valentine Charteris--Valentine, who had +been the witness of his humiliation and disgrace. Sooner anything than +that. He would leave the villa and go somewhere--he cared little +where. No quiet, no rest came to him. Had his misfortunes been +accidental--had they been any other than they were, the result of his +boyish folly and disobedience, he would have found them easier to bear; +as it was, the recollection that it was all his own fault drove him mad. + +Before morning he had written a farewell note to Lady Charteris, saying +that he was leaving Florence at once, and would not be able to see her +again. He wrote to Valentine, but the few stiff words expressed little +of what he felt. He prayed her to forget the miserable scene that +would haunt him to his dying day; to pardon the insults that had driven +him nearly mad; to pardon the mad jealousy, the dishonor of Dora; to +forget him and all belonging to him. When Miss Charteris read the +letter she knew that all effort to restore peace would for a time be in +vain. She heard the day following that the clever young artist, Mr. +Earle, had left. + +Countess Rosali loudly lamented Ronald's departure. It was so strange, +she said; the dark-eyed little wife and her children had gone home to +England, and the husband, after selling off his home, had gone with Mr. +Charles Standon into the interior of Africa. What was he going to do +there? + +She lamented him for two days without ceasing, until Valentine was +tired of her many conjectures. He was missed in the brilliant salons +of Florence, but by none so much as by Valentine Charteris. + +What the pretty, coquettish countess had said was true. After making +many plans and forming many resolutions, Ronald met Mr. Standon, who +was on the point of joining an exploring expedition in South Africa. +He gladly consented to accompany him. There was but little preparation +needed. Four days after the never-to-be-forgotten garden scene, Ronald +Earle left Italy and became a wanderer upon the face of the earth. + + + +Chapter XVI + +Valentine Charteris never told the secret. She listened to the wonder +and conjectures of all around her, but not even to her mother did she +hint what had passed. She pitied Ronald profoundly. She knew the +shock Dora had inflicted on his sensitive, honorable disposition. For +Dora herself she felt nothing but compassion. Her calm, serene nature +was incapable of such jealousies. Valentine could never be jealous or +mean, but she could understand the torture that had made shy, gentle +Dora both. + +"Jealous of me, poor child!" said Valentine to herself. "Nothing but +ignorance can excuse her. As though I, with half Florence at my feet, +cared for her husband, except as a dear and true friend." + +So the little villa was deserted; the gaunt, silent servant found a +fresh place. Ronald's pictures were eagerly bought up; the pretty +countess, after looking very sentimental and sad for some days, forgot +her sorrow and its cause in the novelty of making the acquaintance of +an impassive unimpressionable American. Florence soon forgot one whom +she had been proud to know and honor. + +Two months afterward, as Miss Charteris sat alone in her favorite +nook--the bower of trees where poor Dora's tragedy had been +enacted--she was found by the Prince di Borgezi. Every one had said +that sooner or later it would come to this. Prince di Borgezi, the +most fastidious of men, who had admired many women but loved none, +whose verdict was the rule of fashion, loved Valentine Charteris. Her +fair English face, with its calm, grand beauty, her graceful dignity, +her noble mind and pure soul had captivated him. For many long weeks +he hovered round Valentine, longing yet dreading to speak the words +which would unite or part them for life. + +Lately there had been rumors that Lady Charteris and her daughter +intended to leave Florence; then Prince di Borgezi decided upon knowing +his fate. He sought Valentine, and found her seated under the shade of +her favorite trees. + +"Miss Charteris," he said, after a few words of greeting, "I have come +to ask you the greatest favor, the sweetest boon, you can confer on any +man." + +"What is it?" asked Valentine, calmly, anticipating some trifling +request. + +"Your permission to keep for my own the original 'Queen Guinevere'," he +replied; "that picture is more to me than all that I possess. Only one +thing is dearer, the original. May I ever hope to make that mine also?" + +Valentine opened her magnificent eyes in wonder. It was an offer of +marriage then that he was making. + +"Have you no word for me, Miss Charteris?" he said. "I lay my life and +my love at your feet. Have you no word for me?" + +"I really do not know what to say," replied Valentine. + +"You do not refuse me?" said her lover. + +"Well, no," replied Valentine. + +"And you do not accept me?" he continued. + +"Decidedly not," she replied, more firmly. + +"Then I shall consider there is some ground for hope," he said. + +Valentine had recovered her self-possession. Her lover gazed anxiously +at her beautiful face, its proud calm was unbroken. + +"I will tell you how it is," resumed Valentine, after a short pause; "I +like you better, perhaps, than any man I know, but I do not love you." + +"You do not forbid me to try all I can to win your love?" asked the +prince. + +"No," was the calm reply. "I esteem you very highly, prince. I can +not say more." + +"But you will in time," he replied. "I would not change your quiet +friendly liking, Miss Charteris, for the love of any other woman." + +Under the bright sky the handsome Italian told the story of his love in +words that were poetry itself--how he worshiped the fair calm girl so +unlike the women of his own clime. As she listened, Valentine thought +of that summer morning years ago when Ronald had told her the story of +his love; and then Valentine owned to her own heart, that, if Ronald +were in Prince di Borgezi's place, she would not listen so calmly nor +reply so coolly. + +"How cold and stately these English girls are!" thought her lover. +"They are more like goddesses than women. Would any word of mine ever +disturb the proud coldness of that perfect face?" + +It did not then, but before morning ended Prince di Borgezi had +obtained permission to visit England in the spring and ask again the +same question. Valentine liked him. She admired his noble and +generous character, his artistic tastes, his fastidious exclusiveness +had a charm for her; she did not love him, but it seemed to her more +than probable that the day would come when she would do so. + + * * * * * + +Lady Charteris and her daughter left Florence and returned to Greenoke. +Lady Earle paid them a long visit, and heard all they had to tell of +her idolized son. Lady Charteris spoke kindly of Dora; and Valentine, +believing she could do something to restore peace, sent an affectionate +greeting, and asked permission to visit the Elms. + +Lady Earle saw she had made a mistake when she repeated Valentine's +words to Dora. The young wife's face flushed burning red, and then +grew white as death. + +"Pray bring me no more messages from Miss Charteris," she replied. "I +do not like her--she would only come to triumph over me; I decline to +see her. I have no message to send her." + +Then, for the first time, an inkling of the truth came to Lady Earle. +Evidently Dora was bitterly jealous of Valentine. Had she any cause +for it? Could it be that her unhappy son had learned to love Miss +Charteris when it was all too late? From that day Lady Earle pitied +her son with a deeper and more tender compassion; she translated Dora's +curt words into civil English, and then wrote to Miss Charteris. +Valentine quite understood upon reading them that she was not yet +pardoned by Ronald Earle's wife. + +Time passed on without any great changes, until the year came when Lady +Earle thought her grandchildren should begin their education. She was +long in selecting one to whom she could intrust them. At length she met +with Mrs. Vyvian, the widow of an officer who had died in India, a lady +qualified in every way for the task, accomplished, a good linguist, +speaking French and Italian as fluently as English--an accomplished +musician, an artist of no mean skill, and, what Lady Earl valued still +more, a woman of sterling principles and earnest religious feeling. + +It was not a light task that Mrs. Vyvian undertook. The children had +reached their fifth year, and for ten years she bound herself by +promise to remain with them night and day, to teach and train them. It +is true the reward promised was great. Lady Earle settled a handsome +annuity upon her. Mrs. Vyvian was not dismayed by the lonely house, +the complete isolation from all society, or the homely appearance of +the farmer and his wife. A piano and a harp were sent to the Elms. +Every week Lady Earle dispatched a large box of books, and the +governess was quite content. + +Mrs. Vyvian, to whom Lady Earle intrusted every detail of her son's +marriage, was well pleased to find that Dora liked her and began to +show some taste for study. Dora, who would dream of other things when +Ronald read, now tried to learn herself. She was not ashamed to sit +hour after hour at the piano trying to master some simple little air, +or to ask questions when anything puzzled her in her reading. Mrs. +Vyvian, so calm and wise, so gentle, yet so strong, taught her so +cleverly that Dora never felt her own ignorance, nor did she grow +disheartened as she had done with Ronald. + +The time came when Dora could play pretty simple ballads, singing them +in her own bird-like, clear voice, and when she could appreciate great +writers, and speak of them without any mistake either as to their names +or their works. + +It was a simple, pleasant, happy life; the greater part of the day was +spent by mother children in study. In the evening came long rambles +through the green woods, where Dora seemed to know the name and history +of every flower that grew; over the smiling meadows, where the kine +stood knee-deep in the long, scented grass; over the rocks, and down by +the sea shore, where the waves chanted their grand anthem, and broke in +white foam drifts upon the sands. + +No wonder the young girls imbibed a deep warm love for all that was +beautiful in Nature. Dora never wearied of it--from the smallest blade +of grass to the most stately of forest trees, she loved it all. + +The little twin sisters grew in beauty both in body and mind; but the +contrast between them was great; Beatrice was the more beautiful and +brilliant; Lillian the more sweet and lovable. Beatrice was all fire +and spirit; her sister was gentle and calm. Beatrice had great faults +and great virtues; Lillian was simply good and charming. Yet, withal, +Beatrice was the better loved. It was seldom that any one refused to +gratify her wishes. + +Dora loved both children tenderly; but the warmest love was certainly +for the child who had the Earle face. She was imperious and willful, +generous to a fault, impatient of all control; but her greatest fault, +Mrs. Vyvian said, was a constant craving for excitement; a distaste for +and dislike of quiet and retirement. She would ride the most restive +horse, she would do anything to break the ennui and monotony of the +long days. + +Beautiful, daring, and restless, every day running a hundred risks, and +loved the better for the dangers she ran, Beatrice was almost worshiped +at the Elms. Nothing ever daunted her, nothing ever made her dull or +sad. Lillian was gentle and quiet, with more depth of character, but +little power of showing it; somewhat timid and diffident--a more +charming ideal of an English girl could not have been +found--spirituelle, graceful, and refined; so serene and fair that to +look at her was a pleasure. + +Lady Earle often visited the Elms; no mystery had been made to the +girls--they were told their father was abroad and would not return for +many years, and that at some distant day they might perhaps live with +him in his own home. They did not ask many questions, satisfied to +believe what was told them, not seeking to know more. + +Lady Earle loved the young girls very dearly. Beatrice, so like her +father, was undoubtedly the favorite. Lord Earle never inquired after +them; when Lady Earle asked for a larger check than usual, he gave it +to her with a smile, perfectly understanding its destination, but never +betraying the knowledge. + +So eleven years passed like a long tranquil dream. The sun rose and +set, the tides ebbed and flowed, spring flowers bloomed, and died, the +summer skies smiled, autumn leaves of golden hue withered on the +ground; and winter snows fell; yet no change came to the quiet +homestead in the Kentish meadows. + +Beatrice and Lillian had reached their sixteenth year, and two fairer +girls were seldom seen. Mrs. Vyvian's efforts had not been in vain; +they were accomplished far beyond the ordinary run of young girls. +Lillian inherited her father's talent for drawing. She was an +excellent artist. Beatrice excelled in music. She had a magnificent +contralto voice that had been carefully trained. Both were cultivated, +graceful, elegant girls, and Lady Earle often sighed to think they +should be living in such profound obscurity. She could do nothing; +seventeen years had not changed Lord Earle's resolution. Time, far +from softening, imbittered him the more against his son. Of Ronald +Lady Earle heard but little. He was still in Africa; he wrote at rare +intervals, but there was little comfort in his letters. + +Lady Earle did what she could for her grandchildren, but it was a +strange, unnatural life. They knew no other girls; they had never ben +twenty miles from Knutsford. All girlish pleasures and enjoyments were +a sealed book to them. They had never been to a party, a picnic, or a +ball; no life was ever more simple, more quiet, more devoid of all +amusement than theirs. Lillian was satisfied and happy; her rich, +teeming fancy, her artistic mind, and contented, sweet disposition +would have rendered her happy under any circumstances--but it was +different with brilliant, beautiful Beatrice. No wild bird in a cage +ever pined for liberty or chafed under restraint more than she did. +She cried out loudly against the unnatural solitude, the isolation of +such a life. + +Eleven years had done much for Dora. The coy, girlish beauty that had +won Ronald Earle's heart had given place to a sweet, patient womanhood. +Constant association with one so elegant and refined as Mrs. Vyvian had +done for her what nothing else could have achieved. Dora had caught +the refined, high-bred accent, the graceful, cultivated manner, the +easy dignity. She had become imbued with Mrs. Vyvian's noble thoughts +and ideas. + +Dora retained two peculiarities--one was a great dislike for Ronald, +the other a sincere dread of all love and lovers for her children. +From her they heard nothing but depreciation of men. All men were +alike, false, insincere, fickle, cruel; all love was nonsense and +folly. Mrs. Vyvian tried her best to counteract these ideas; they had +this one evil consequence--that neither Lillian nor Beatrice would ever +dream of even naming such subjects to their mother, who should have +been their friend and confidante. If in the books Lady Earle sent +there was any mention of this love their mother dreaded so, they went +to Mrs. Vyvian or puzzled over it themselves. With these two +exceptions Dora had become a thoughtful, gentle woman. As her mind +became more cultivated she understood better the dishonor of the fault +which had robbed her of Ronald's love. Her fair face grew crimson when +she remembered what she had done. + +It was a fair and tranquil womanhood; the dark eyes retained their +wondrous light and beauty; the curling rings of dark hair were +luxuriant as ever; the lips wore a patient, sweet expression. The +clear, healthy country air had given a delicate bloom to the fair face. +Dora looked more like the elder sister of the young girls than their +mother. + +The quiet, half-dreamy monotony was broken at last. Mrs. Vyvian was +suddenly summoned home. Her mother, to whom she was warmly attached, +was said to be dying, and she wished her last few days to be spent with +her daughter. At the same time Lady Earle wrote to say that her +husband was so ill that it was impossible for her to look for any lady +to supply Mrs. Vyvian's place. The consequence was that, for the first +time in their lives, the young girls were left for a few weeks without +a companion and without surveillance. + + + +Chapter XVII + +One beautiful morning in May, Lillian went out alone to sketch. The +beauty of the sky and sea tempted her; fleecy-white clouds floated +gently over the blue heavens; the sun shone upon the water until, at +times, it resembled a huge sea of rippling gold. Far off in the +distance were the shining white sails of two boats; they looked in the +golden haze like the brilliant wings of some bright bird. The sun upon +the white sails struck her fancy, and she wanted to sketch the effect. + +It was the kind of morning that makes life seem all beauty and +gladness, even if the heart is weighed down with care. It was a luxury +merely to live and breathe. The leaves were all springing in the +woods; the meadows were green; wild flowers blossomed by the +hedge-rows; the birds sang gayly of the coming summer; the white +hawthorn threw its rich fragrance all around, and the yellow broom +bloomed on the cliffs. + +As she sat there, Lillian was indeed a fair picture herself on that May +morning; the sweet, spirituelle face; the noble head with its crown of +golden hair; the violet eyes, so full of thought; the sensitive lips, +sweet yet firm; the white forehead, the throne of intellect. The +little fingers that moved rapidly and gracefully over the drawing were +white and shapely; there was a delicate rose-leaf flush in the pretty +hand. She looked fair and tranquil as the morning itself. + +The pure, sweet face had no touch of fire or passion; its serenity was +all unmoved; the world had never breathed on the innocent, child-like +mind. A white lily was not more pure and stainless than the young girl +who sat amid the purple heather, sketching the white, far-off sails. + +So intent was Lillian upon her drawing that she did not hear light, +rapid steps coming near; she was not aroused until a rich musical voice +called, "Lillian, if you have not changed into stone or statue, do +speak." Then, looking up, she saw Beatrice by her side. + +"Lay down your pencils and talk to me," said Beatrice, imperiously. +"How unkind of you, the only human being in this place who can talk, to +come here all by yourself! What do you think was to become of me?" + +"I thought you were reading to mamma," said Lillian, quietly. + +"Reading!" exclaimed Beatrice. "You know I am tired of reading, tired +of writing, tired of sewing, tired of everything I have to do." + +Lillian looked up in wonder at the beautiful, restless face. + +"Do not look 'good' at me," said Beatrice, impatiently. "I am tired to +death of it all. I want some change. Do you think any girls in the +world lead such lives as we do--shut up in a rambling old farm house, +studying from morn to night; shut in on one side by that tiresome sea, +imprisoned on the other by fields and woods? How can you take it so +quietly, Lillian? I am wearied to death." + +"Something has disturbed you this morning," said Lillian, gently. + +"That is like mamma," cried Beatrice; "just her very tone and words. +She does not understand, you do not understand; mamma's life satisfies +her, your life contents you; mine does not content me--it is all vague +and empty. I should welcome anything that changed this monotony; even +sorrow would be better than this dead level--one day so like another, I +can never distinguish them." + +"My dear Beatrice, think of what you are saying," said Lillian. + +"I am tired of thinking," said Beatrice; "for the last ten years I have +been told to 'think' and 'reflect.' I have thought all I can; I want a +fresh subject." + +"Think how beautiful those far-off white sails look," said +Lillian--"how they gleam in the sunshine. See, that one looks like a +mysterious hand raised to beckon us away." + +"Such ideas are very well for you, Lillian," retorted Beatrice. "I see +nothing in them. Look at the stories we read; how different those +girls are from us! They have fathers, brothers, and friends; they have +jewels and dresses; they have handsome admirers, who pay them homage; +they dance, ride, and enjoy themselves. Now look at us, shut up here +with old and serious people." + +"Hush, Beatrice," said Lillian; "mamma is not old." + +"Not in years, perhaps," replied Beatrice; "but she seems to me old in +sorrow. She is never gay nor light-hearted. Mrs. Vyvian is very kind, +but she never laughs. Is every one sad and unhappy, I wonder? Oh, +Lillian, I long to see the world--the bright, gay world--over the sea +there. I long for it as an imprisoned bird longs for fresh air and +green woods." + +"You would not find it all happiness," said Lillian, sagely. + +"Spare me all truism," cried Beatrice. "Ah, sister, I am tired of all +this; for eleven years the sea has been singing the same songs; those +waves rise and fall as they did a hundred years since; the birds sing +the same story; the sun shines the same; even the shadow of the great +elms fall over the meadow just as it did when we first played there. I +long to away from the sound of the sea and the rustling of the elm +trees. I want to be where there are girls of my own age, and do as +they do. It seems to me we shall go on reading and writing, sewing and +drawing, and taking what mamma calls instructive rambles until our +heads grow gray." + +"It is not so bad as that, Beatrice," laughed Lillian. "Lady Earle says +papa must return some day; then we shall all go to him." + +"I never believe one word of it," said Beatrice, undauntedly. "At times +I could almost declare papa himself was a myth. Why do we not live +with him? Why does he never write? We never hear of or from him, save +through Lady Earle; besides, Lillian, what do you think I heard Mrs. +Vyvian say once to grandmamma? It was that we might not go to +Earlescourt at all--that if papa did not return, or died young, all +would go to a Mr. Lionel Dacre, and we should remain here. Imagine +that fate--living a long life and dying at the Elms!" + +"It is all conjecture," said her sister. "Try to be more contented, +Beatrice. We do not make our own lives, we have not the control of our +own destiny." + +"I should like to control mine," sighed Beatrice. + +"Try to be contented, darling," continued the sweet, pleading voice. +"We all love and admire you. No one was ever loved more dearly or +better than you are. The days are rather long at times, but there are +all the wonders and beauties of Nature and art." + +"Nature and Art are all very well," cried Beatrice; "but give me life." + +She turned her beautiful, restless face from the smiling sea; the south +wind dancing over the yellow gorse caught up the words uttered in that +clear, musical voice and carried them over the cliff to one who was +lying with half-closed eyes under the shade of a large tree--a young +man with a dark, half-Spanish face handsome with a coarse kind of +beauty. He was lying there, resting upon the turf, enjoying the beauty +of the morning. As the musical voice reached him, and the strange +words fell upon his ear, he smiled and raised his head to see who +uttered them. He saw the young girls, but their faces were turned from +him; those words range in his ears--"Nature and Art are all very well, +but give me life." + +Who was it longed for life? He understood the longing; he resolved to +wait there until the girls went away. Again he heard the same voice. + +"I shall leave you to your sails, Lillian. I wish those same boats +would come to carry us away--I wish I had wings and could fly over the +sea and see the bright, grand world that lies beyond it. Goodbye; I am +tired of the never-ending wash of those long, low waves." + +He saw a young girl rise from the fragrant heather and turn to descend +the cliff. Quick as thought he rushed down by another path, and, +turning back, contrived to meet her half-way. Beatrice came singing +down the cliff. Her humor, never the same ten minutes together, had +suddenly changed. She remembered a new and beautiful song that Lady +Earle had sent, and determined to go home and try it. There came no +warning to her that bright summer morning. The south wind lifted the +hair from her brow and wafted the fragrance of hawthorn buds and spring +flowers to greet her, but it brought no warning message; the birds +singing gayly, the sun shining so brightly could not tell her that the +first link in a terrible chain was to be forged that morning. + +Half-way down the cliff, where the path was steep and narrow, Beatrice +suddenly met the stranger. A stranger was a rarity at the Elms. Only +at rare intervals did an artist or a tourist seek shelter and +hospitality at the old farm house. The stranger seemed to be a +gentleman. For one moment both stood still; then, with a low bow, the +gentleman stepped aside to let the young girl pass. As he did so, he +noted the rare beauty of that brilliant face--he remembered the longing +words. + +"No wonder," he thought; "it is a sin for such a face as that to be +hidden here." + +The beauty of those magnificent eyes startled him. Who was she? What +could she be doing here? Beatrice turning again, saw the stranger +looking eagerly after her, with profound admiration expressed in every +feature of his face; and that admiring gaze, the first she had ever +received in her life, sank deep into the vain, girlish heart. + +He watched the graceful, slender figure until the turn of the road hid +Beatrice from his view. He followed her at a safe distance, and saw +her cross the long meadows that led to the Elms. Then Hugh Fernely +waited with patience until one of the farm laborers came by. By +judicious questioning he discovered much of the history of the +beautiful young girl who longed for life. Her face haunted him--its +brilliant, queenly beauty, the dark, radiant eyes. Come what might, +Hugh Fernely said to himself, he must see her again. + +On the following morning he saw the girls return to the cliff. Lillian +finished her picture. Ever and anon he heard Beatrice singing, in a +low, rich voice, a song that had charmed her with its weird beauty: + +"For men must work, and women must weep; And the sooner it's over, the +sooner to sleep And goodbye to the bar and its moaning." + +"I like those words, Lillian," he heard her say. "I wonder how soon it +will be 'over' for me. Shall I ever weep, as the song says? I have +never wept yet." + +This morning the golden-haired sister left the cliff first, and +Beatrice sat reading until the noonday sun shone upon the sea. Her book +charmed her; it was a story telling of the life she loved and longed +for--of the gay, glad world. Unfortunately all the people in the book +were noble, heroic, and ideal. The young girl, in her simplicity, +believed that they who lived in the world she longed for were all like +the people in her book. + +When she left the path that led to the meadows, she saw by her side the +stranger who had met her the day before. Again he bowed profoundly, +and, with many well-expressed apologies, asked some trifling question +about the road. + +Beatrice replied briefly, but she could not help seeing the wonder of +admiration in his face. Her own grew crimson under his gaze--he saw +it, and his heart beat high with triumph. As Beatrice went through the +meadows he walked by her side. She never quite remembered how it +happened, but in a few minutes he was telling her how many years had +passed since he had seen the spring in England. She forgot all +restraint, all prudence, and raised her beautiful eyes to his. + +"Ah, then," she cried, "you have seen the great world that lies over +the wide sea." + +"Yes," he replied, "I have seen it. I have been in strange, bright +lands, so different from England that they seemed to belong to another +world. I have seen many climes, bright skies, and glittering seas, +where the spice islands lie." + +As he spoke, in words that were full of wild, untutored eloquence, he +saw the young girl's eyes riveted upon him. Sure of having roused her +attention, he bowed, apologized for his intrusion, and left her. + +Had Dora been like other mothers, Beatrice would have related this +little adventure and told of the handsome young traveler who had been +in strange climes. As it was, knowing her mother's utter dread of all +men--her fear lest her children should ever love and marry--Beatrice +never named the subject. She thought much of Hugh Fernely--not of him +himself, but of the world he had spoken about--and she hoped it might +happen to her to meet him again. + +"If we had some one here who could talk in that way," she said to +herself, "the Elms would not be quite so insupportable." + +Two days afterward, Beatrice, wandering on the sands, met Hugh Fernely. +She saw the startled look of delight on his face, and smiled at his +pleasure. + +"Pray forgive me," he said. "I--I can not pass you without one word. +Time has seemed to me like one long night since I saw you last." + +He held in his hand some beautiful lilies of the valley--every little +white warm bell was perfect. He offered them to her with a low bow. + +"This is the most beautiful flower I have seen for many years," he +said. "May I be forgiven for begging permission to offer it to the +most beautiful lady I have ever seen?" + +Beatrice took it from him, blushing at his words. He walked by her +side along the yellow sands, the waves rolling in and breaking at their +feet. Again his eloquence charmed her. He told her his name, and how +he was captain of a trading vessel. Instinctively he seemed to +understand her character--her romantic, ideal way of looking at +everything. He talked to her of the deep seas and their many wonders; +of the ocean said to be fathomless; of the coral islands and of waters +in whose depths the oyster containing the pale, gleaming pearl is +found; of the quiet nights spent at sea, where the stars shine as they +never seem to shine on land; of the strange hush that falls upon the +heaving waters before a storm. He told of long days when they were +becalmed upon the green deep, when the vessel seemed + + "A painted ship upon a painted ocean." + +With her marvelous fancy and quick imagination she followed him to the +wondrous depth of silent waters where strange shapes, never seen by +human eye, abound. She hung upon his words; he saw it, and rejoiced in +his success. He did not startle her by any further compliment, but +when their walk was ended he told her that morning would live in his +memory as the happiest time of his life. + +After a few days it seemed to become a settled thing that Beatrice +should meet Hugh Fernely. Lillian wondered that her sister so often +preferred lonely rambles, but she saw the beautiful face she loved so +dearly grow brighter and happier, never dreaming the cause. + +For many long days little thought of Hugh Fernely came to Beatrice. +Her mind ran always upon what he had told her--upon his description of +what he had seen and heard. He noted this, and waited with a patience +born of love for the time when she should take an interest in him. + +Words were weak in which to express the passionate love he felt for +this beautiful and stately young girl. It seemed to him like a fairy +tale. On the morning he first saw Beatrice he had been walking a long +distance, and had lain down to rest on the cliffs. There the beautiful +vision had dawned upon him. The first moment he gazed into that +peerless face he loved Beatrice with a passion that frightened himself. +He determined to win her at any cost. + +At last and by slow degrees he began to speak of her and himself, +slowly and carefully, his keen eyes noting every change upon her face; +he began to offer her delicate compliments and flattery so well +disguised that it did not seem to her flattery at all. He made her +understand that he believed her to be the most beautiful girl he had +ever beheld. He treated her always as though she were a queen, and he +her humblest slave. + +Slowly but surely the sweet poison worked its way; the day came when +that graceful, subtle flattery was necessary to the very existence of +Beatrice Earle. There was much to excuse her; the clever, artful man +into whose hands she had fallen was her first admirer--the first who +seemed to remember she was no longer a child, and to treat her with +deferential attention. Had she been, as other girls are, surrounded by +friends, accustomed to society, properly trained, prepared by the +tender wisdom of a loving mother, she would never have cast her proud +eyes upon Hugh Fernely; she would never have courted the danger or run +the risk. + +As it was, while Dora preferred solitude, and nourished a keen dislike +to her husband in her heart--while Ronald yielded to obstinate pride, +and neglected every duty--while both preferred the indulgence of their +own tempers, and neglected the children the Almighty intrusted to them, +Beatrice went on to her fate. + +It was so sad a story, the details so simple yet so pitiful. Every +element of that impulsive, idealistic nature helped on the tragedy. +Hugh Fernely understood Beatrice as perhaps no one else ever did. He +idealized himself. To her at length he became a hero who had met with +numberless adventures--a hero who had traveled and fought, brave and +generous. After a time he spoke to her of love, at first never +appearing to suppose that she could care for him, but telling her of +his own passionate worship how her face haunted him, filled his dreams +at night, and shone before him all day--how the very ground she stood +upon was sacred to him--how he envied the flowers she touched--how he +would give up everything to be the rose that died in her hands. It was +all very pretty and poetical, and he knew how to find pretty, +picturesque spots in the woods where the birds and the flowers helped +him to tell his story. + +Beatrice found it very pleasant to be worshiped like a queen; there was +no more monotony for her. Every morning she looked forward to seeing +Hugh--to learning more of those words that seemed to her like sweetest +music. She knew that at some time or other during the day she would +see him; he never tired of admiring her beauty. Blameworthy was the +sad mother with her stern doctrines, blameworthy the proud, neglectful +father, that she knew not how wrong all this was. He loved her; in a +thousand eloquent ways he told her so. She was his loadstar, beautiful +and peerless. It was far more pleasant to sit on the sea shore, or +under the greenwood trees, listening to such words than to pass long, +dreary hours indoors. And none of those intrusted with the care of the +young girl ever dreamed of her danger. + +So this was the love her mother dreaded so much. This was the love +poets sung of and novelists wrote about. It was pleasant; but in after +days, when Beatrice herself came to love, she knew that this had been +but child's play. + +It was the romance of the stolen meeting that charmed Beatrice. If Hugh +had been admitted to the Elms she would have wearied of him in a week; +but the concealment gave her something to think of. There was +something to occupy her mind; every day she must arrange for a long +ramble, so that she might meet Hugh. So, while the corn grew ripe in +the fields, and the blossoms died away--while warm, luxurious summer +ruled with his golden wand Ronald Earle's daughter went on to her fate. + + + +Chapter XVIII + +At length there came an interruption to Hugh Fernely's love dream. The +time drew near when he must leave Seabay. The vessel he commanded was +bound for China, and was to sail in a few days. The thought that he +must leave the beautiful girl he loved so dearly and so deeply struck +him with unendurable pain; he seemed only to have lived since he had +met her, and he knew that life without her would be a burden too great +for him to bear. He asked himself a hundred times over: "Does she love +me?" He could not tell. He resolved to try. He dared not look that +future in the face which should take her from him. + +The time drew near; the day was settled on which the "Seagull" was to +set sail, and yet Hugh Fernely had won no promise from Beatrice Earle. + +One morning Hugh met her at the stile leading from the field into the +meadow lane--the prettiest spot in Knutsford. The ground was a +perfectly beautiful carpet of flowers--wild hyacinths, purple +foxgloves, pretty, pale strawberry blossoms all grew there. The hedges +were one mass of wild roses and woodbine; the tall elm trees that ran +along the lane met shadily overhead; the banks on either side were +radiant in different colored mosses; huge ferns surrounded the roots of +the trees. + +Beatrice liked the quiet, pretty, green meadow lane. She often walked +there, and on this eventful morning Hugh saw her sitting in the midst +of the fern leaves. He was by her side in a minute, and his dark, +handsome face lighted up with joy. + +"How the sun shines!" he said. "I wonder the birds begin to sing and +the flowers to bloom before you are out, Miss Earle." + +"But I am not their sun," replied Beatrice with a smile. + +"But you are mine," cried Hugh; and before she could reply he was +kneeling at her feet, her hands clasped in his, while he told her of +the love that was wearing his life away. + +No one could listen to such words unmoved; they were true and eloquent, +full of strange pathos. He told her how dark without her the future +would be to him, how sad and weary his life; whereas if she would only +love him, and let him claim her when he returned, he would make her as +happy as a queen. He would take her to the bright sunny lands--would +show her all the beauties and wonders she longed to see--would buy her +jewels and dresses such as her beauty deserved--would be her humble, +devoted slave, if she would only love him. + +It was very pleasant--the bright morning, the picturesque glade, the +warmth and brightness of summer all around. Beatrice looked at the +handsome, pale face with emotion, she felt Hugh's warm lips pressed to +her hand, she felt hot tears rain upon her fingers, and wondered at +such love. Yes, this was the love she had read of and thought about. + +"Beatrice," cried Hugh, "do not undo me with one word. Say you love +me, my darling--say I may return and claim you as my own. Your whole +life shall be like one long, bright summer's day." + +She was carried away by the burning torrent of passionate words. With +all her spirit and pride she felt weak and powerless before the mighty +love of this strong man. Almost unconscious of what she did, Beatrice +laid her white hands upon the dark, handsome head of her lover. + +"Hush, Hugh," she said, "you frighten me. I do love you; see, you +tears wet my hand." + +It was not a very enthusiastic response, but it satisfied him. He +clasped the young girl in his arms, and she did not resist; he kissed +the proud lips and the flushed cheek. Beatrice Earle said no word; he +was half frightened, half touched, and wholly subdued. + +"Now you are mine," cried Hugh--"mine, my own peerless one; nothing +shall part us but death!" + +"Hush!" cried Beatrice, again shuddering as with cold fear. "That is a +word I dislike and dread so much, Hugh--do not use it." + +"I will not," he replied; and then Beatrice forgot her fears. He was +so happy--he loved her so dearly--he was so proud of winning her. She +listened through the long hours of that sunny morning. It was the +fifteenth of July--he made her note the day and in two years he would +return to take her forever from the quiet house where her beauty and +grace alike were buried. + +That was the view of the matter that had seized upon the girl's +imagination. It was not so much love for Hugh--she liked him. His +flattery--the excitement of meeting him--his love, had become necessary +to her; but had any other means of escape from the monotony she hated +presented itself, she would have availed herself of it quite as +eagerly. Hugh was not so much a lover to her as a medium of escape +from a life that daily became more and more unendurable. + +She listened with bright smiles when he told her that in two years he +should return to fetch her; and she, thinking much of the romance, and +little of the dishonor of concealment, told him how her sad young +mother hated and dreaded all mention of love and lovers. + +"Then you must never tell her," he said--"leave that for me until I +return. I shall have money then, and perhaps the command of a fine +vessel. She will not refuse me when she knows how dearly I love you, +and even should your father--the father you tell of--come home, you +will be true to me, Beatrice, will you not?" + +"Yes, I will be true," she replied--and, to do her justice, she meant +it at the time. Her father's return seemed vague and uncertain; it +might take place in ten or twenty years--it might never be. Hugh +offered her freedom and liberty in two years. + +"If others should seek your love," he said, "should praise your beauty, +and offer you rank or wealth, you will say to yourself that you will be +true to Hugh?" + +"Yes," she said, firmly, "I will do so." + +"Two years will soon pass away," said he. "Ah, Beatrice," he +continued, "I shall leave you next Thursday; give me all the hours you +can. Once away from you, all time will seem to me a long, dark night." + +It so happened that the farmer and his men were at work in a field +quite on the other side of Knutsford. Dora and Lillian were intent, +the one upon a box of books newly arrived, the other upon a picture; so +Beatrice had every day many hours at her disposal. She spent them all +with Hugh, whose love seemed to increase with every moment. + +Hugh was to leave Seabay on Thursday, and on Wednesday evening he +lingered by her side as though he could not part with her. To do Hugh +Fernely justice, he loved Beatrice for herself. Had she been a +penniless beggar he would have loved her just the same. The only dark +cloud in his sky was the knowledge that she was far above him. Still, +he argued to himself, the story she told of her father was an +impossible one. He did not believe that Ronald Earle would ever take +his daughters home--he did not quite know what to think, but he had no +fear on that score. + +On the Wednesday evening they wandered down the cliff and sat upon the +shore, watching the sun set over the waters. Hugh took from his pocket +a little morocco case and placed it in Beatrice's hands. She opened +it, and cried out with admiration; there lay the most exquisite ring +she had ever seen, of pure pale gold, delicately and elaborately +chased, and set with three gleaming opals of rare beauty. + +"Look at the motto inside," said Hugh. + +She held the ring in her dainty white fingers, and read: "Until death +parts us." + +"Oh, Hugh," she cried, "that word again? I dread it; why is it always +coming before me?" + +He smiled at her fears, and asked her to let him place the ring upon +her finger. + +"In two years," he said, "I shall place a plain gold ring on this +beautiful hand. Until then wear this, Beatrice, for my sake; it is our +betrothal ring." + +"It shall not leave my finger," she said. "Mamma will not notice it, +and every one else will think she has given it to me herself." + +"And now," said Hugh, "promise me once more, Beatrice, you will be true +to me--you will wait for me--that when I return you will let me claim +you as my own?" + +"I do promise," she said, looking at the sun shining on the opals. + +Beatrice never forgot the hour that followed. Proud, impetuous, and +imperial as she was, the young man's love and sorrow touched her as +nothing had ever done. The sunbeams died away in the west, the +glorious mass of tinted clouds fell like a veil over the evening sky, +the waves came in rapidly, breaking into sheets of white, creamy foam +in the gathering darkness, but still he could not leave her. + +"I must go, Hugh," said Beatrice, at length; "mamma will miss me." + +She never forgot the wistful eyes lingering upon her face. + +"Once more, only once more," he said. "Beatrice, my love, when I +return you will be my wife?" + +"Yes," she replied, startled alike by his grief and his love. + +"Never be false to me," he continued. "If you were--" + +"What then?" she asked, with a smile, as he paused. + +"I should either kill myself or you," he replied, "perhaps both. Do not +make me say such terrible things. It could not be. The sun may fall +from the heavens, the sea rolling there may become dry land. +Nature--everything may prove false, but not you, the noblest, the +truest of women. Say 'I love you, Hugh,' and let those be your last +words to me. They will go with me over the wide ocean, and be my rest +and stay." + +"I love you, Hugh," she said, as he wished her. + +Something like a deep, bitter sob came from his white lips. Death +itself would have been far easier than leaving her. He raised her +beautiful face to his--his tears and kisses seemed to burn it--and then +he was gone. + +Gone! The romance of the past few weeks, the engrossing interest, all +suddenly collapsed. Tomorrow the old monotonous life must begin again, +without flattery, praise, or love. He had gone; the whole romance was +ended; nothing of it remained save the memory of his love and the ring +upon her finger. + +At first there fell upon Beatrice a dreadful blank. The monotony, the +quiet, the simple occupations, were more unendurable than ever; but in +a few days that feeling wore off, and then she began to wonder at what +she had done. The glamour fell from before her eyes; the novelty and +excitement, the romance of the stolen meetings, the pleasant homage of +love and worship no longer blinded her. Ah, and before Hugh Fernely +had been many days and nights upon the wide ocean, she ended by growing +rather ashamed of the matter, and trying to think of it as little as +she could! Once she half tried to tell Lillian; but the look of horror +on the sweet, pure face startled her, and she turned the subject by +some merry jest. + +Then there came a letter from Mrs. Vyvian announcing her return. The +girls were warmly attached to the lady, who had certainly devoted the +ten best years of her life to them. She brought with her many +novelties, new books, new music, amusing intelligence from the outer +world. For some days there was no lack of excitement and amusement; +then all fell again into the old routine. + +Mrs. Vyvian saw a great change in Beatrice. Some of the old +impetuosity had died away; she was as brilliant as ever, full of life +and gayety, but in some way there was an indescribable change. At +times a strange calm would come over the beautiful face, a far-off, +dreamy expression steal into the dark, bright eyes. She had lost her +old frankness. Time was when Mrs. Vyvian could read all her thoughts, +and very rebellious thoughts they often were. But now there seemed to +be a sealed chamber in the girl's heart. She never spoke of the +future, and for the first time her watchful friend saw in her a nervous +fear that distressed her. Carefully and cautiously the governess tried +to ascertain the cause; she felt sure at last that, young as she was, +carefully as she had been watched, Beatrice Earle had a secret in her +life that she shared with no one else. + + + +Chapter XIX + +There were confusion and dismay in the stately home of the Earles. One +sultry morning in August Lord Earle went out into the garden, paying no +heed to the excessive heat. As he did not return to luncheon, the +butler went in search of him and found his master lying as one dead on +the ground. He was carried to his own room, doctors were summoned in +hot haste from far and near; everything that science or love, skill or +wisdom could suggest was done for him, but all in vain. The hour had +come when he must leave home, rank, wealth, position--whatever he +valued most--when he must answer for his life and what he had done with +it--when he must account for wealth, talent, for the son given to +him--when human likings, human passions, would seem so infinitely +little. + +But while Lord Earle lay upon the bed, pale and unconscious, Lady +Earle, who knelt by him and never left him, felt sure that his mind and +heart were both active. He could not speak; he did not seem to +understand. Who knows what passes in those dread moments of silence, +when the light of eternity shows so clearly all that we have done in +the past? It may be that while he lay there, hovering as it were +between two worlds, the remembrance of his son struck him like a +two-edged sword--his son, his only child given to him to train, not +only for earth but for heaven--the boy he had loved and idolized, then +cast off, and allowed to become a wanderer on the face of the earth. +It may be that his stern, sullen pride, his imperious self-will, his +resolute trampling upon the voice of nature and duty, confronted him in +the new light shining upon him. Perhaps his own words returned to him, +that until he lay dead Ronald should never see Earlescourt again; for +suddenly the voice they thought hushed forever sounded strangely in the +silence of that death chamber. + +"My son!" cried the dying man, clasping his hands--"my son!" + +Those who saw it never forgot the blank, awful terror that came upon +the dying face as he uttered his last words. + +They bore the weeping wife from the room. Lady Earle, strong, and +resolute though she was, could not drive that scene from her mind. She +was ill for many days, and so it happened that the lord of Earlescourt +was laid in the family vault long ere the family at the Elms knew of +the change awaiting them. + +Ronald was summoned home in all haste; but months passed ere letters +reached him, and many more before he returned to England. + +Lord Earle's will was brief, there was no mention of his son's name. +There was a handsome provision for Lady Earle, the pretty little estate +of Roslyn was settled upon her; the servants received numerous +legacies; Sir Harry Laurence and Sir Hugh Charteris were each to +receive a magnificent mourning ring; but there was no mention of the +once-loved son and heir. + +As the heir at law, everything was Ronald's--the large amount of money +the late lord had saved, title, estates, everything reverted to him. +But Ronald would have exchanged all for one line of forgiveness, one +word of pardon from the father he had never ceased to love. + +It was arranged that until Ronald's return his mother should continue +to reside at Earlescourt, and the management of the estates was +intrusted to Mr. Burt, the family solicitor. + +Lady Earle resolved to go to the Elms herself; great changes must be +made there. Ronald's wife and children must take their places in the +world; and she felt a proud satisfaction in thinking that, thanks to +her sensible and judicious management, Dora would fill her future +position with credit. She anticipated Ronald's delight when he should +see his beautiful and accomplished daughters. Despite her great +sorrow, the lady of Earlescourt felt some degree of hope for the +future. She wrote to the Elms, telling Dora of her husband's death, +and announcing her own coming; then the little household understood +that their quiet and solitude had ended forever. + +The first thing was to provide handsome mourning. Dora was strangely +quiet and sad through it all. The girls asked a hundred questions +about their father, whom they longed to see. They knew he had left home +in consequence of some quarrel with his father--so much Lady Earle told +them--but they never dreamed that his marriage had caused the fatal +disagreement; they never knew that, for their mother's sake, Lady Earle +carefully concealed all knowledge of it from them. + +Lady Earle reached the Elms one evening in the beginning of September. +She asked first to see Dora alone. + +During the long years Dora had grown to love the stately, gentle lady +who was Ronald's mother. She could not resist her sweet, gracious +dignity and winning manners. So, when Lady Earle, before seeing her +granddaughters, went to Dora's room, wishing for a long consultation +with her, Dora received her with gentle, reverential affection. + +"I wish to see you first," said Lady Helena Earle, "so that we may +arrange our plans before the children know anything of them. Ronald +will return to England in a few months. Dora, what course shall you +adopt?" + +"None," she replied. "Your son's return has nothing whatever to do +with me." + +"But, surely," said lady Helena, "for the children's sake you will not +refuse at least an outward show of reconciliation?" + +"Mr. Earle has not asked it," said Dora--"he never will do so, Lady +Helena. It is as far from his thoughts as from mine." + +Lady Earle sat for some moments too much astounded for speech. + +"I never inquired the cause of your separation, Dora," she said, +gently, "and I never wish to know it. My son told me you could live +together no longer. I loved my own husband; I was a devoted and +affectionate wife to him. I bore with his faults and loved his +virtues, so that I can not imagine what I should do were I in your +place. I say to you what I should say to Ronald--they are solemn +words--'What therefore God hath joined together, let no man put +asunder.' Now let me tell you my opinion. It is this, that nothing +can justify such a separation as yours--nothing but the most outrageous +offenses or the most barbarous cruelty. Take the right course, Dora; +submit to your husband. Believe me, woman's rights are all fancy and +nonsense; loving, gentle submission is the fairest ornament of woman. +Even should Ronald be in the wrong, trample upon all pride and temper, +and make the first advances to him." + +"I can not," said Dora gravely. + +"Ronald was always generous and chivalrous," continued Lady Earle. +"Oh, Dora, have you forgotten how my son gave up all the world for you?" + +"No," she replied, bitterly; "nor has he forgotten it, Lady Earle." + +The remembrance of what she thought her wrongs rose visibly before her. +She saw again the magnificent face of Valentine Charteris, with its +calm, high-bred wonder. She saw her husband's white, angry, indignant +countenance--gestures full of unutterable contempt. Ah, no, never +again! Nothing could heal that quarrel. + +"You must take your place in the world," continued Lady Earle. "You are +no longer simply Mrs. Earle of the Elms; you are Lady Earle, of +Earlescourt, wife of its lord, the mother of his children. You have +duties too numerous for me to mention, and you must not shrink from +them." + +"I refuse all," she replied, calmly; "I refuse to share your son's +titles, his wealth, his position, his duties; I refuse to make any +advances toward a reconciliation; I refuse to be reconciled." + +"And why?" asked Lady Helena, gravely. + +A proud flush rose to Dora's face--hot anger stirred in her heart. + +"Because your son said words to me that I never can and never will +forget," she cried. "I did wrong--Lady Helena, I was mad, jealous, +blind--I did wrong--I did what I now know to be dishonorable and +degrading. I knew no better, and he might have pardoned me, +remembering that. But before the woman I believe to be my rival he +bitterly regretted having made me his wife." + +"They were hard words," said Lady Earle. + +"Very hard," replied Dora; "they broke my heart--they slew me in my +youth; I have never lived since then." + +"Can you never forgive and forget them, Dora?" asked Lady Helena. + +"Never," she replied; "they are burned into my heart and on my brain. +I shall never forget them; your son and I must be strangers, Lady +Earle, while we live." + +"I can say no more," sighed Lady Earle. "Perhaps a mightier voice will +call to you, Dora, and then you will obey." + +A deep silence fell upon them. Lady Helena was more grieved and +disconcerted than she cared to own. She had thought of taking her +son's wife and children home in triumph, but it was not to be. + +"Shall we speak of the children now?" she asked at length. "Some +arrangements must be made for them." + +"Yes," said Dora, "their father has claims upon them. I am ready to +yield to them. I do not believe he will ever love them or care for +them, because they are mine. At the same time, I give them up to him +and to you, Lady Earle. The sweetest and best years of their lives +have been spent with me; I must therefore not repine. I have but one +stipulation to make, and it is that my children shall never hear one +word against me." + +"You know little of me," said Lady Helena, "if you think such a thing +is possible. You would rather part with your children than accompany +them?" + +"Far rather," she replied. "I know you will allow them to visit me, +Lady Earle. I have known for many years that such a time must come, +and I am prepared for it." + +"But, my dear Dora," said Lady Earle, warmly, "have you considered what +parting with your children implies--the solitude, the desolation?" + +"I know it all," replied Dora. "It will be hard, but not so hard nor +so bitter as living under the same roof with their father." + +Carefully and quietly Dora listened to Lady Earle's plans and +arrangements--how her children were to go to Earlescourt and take the +position belonging to them. Mrs. Vyvian was to go with them and remain +until Lord Earle returned. Until then they were not to be introduced +into society; it would take some time to accustom them to so great a +change. When Lord Earl returned he could pursue what course he would. + +"He will be so proud of them!" said Lady Earle. "I have never seen a +girl so spirited and beautiful as Beatrice, nor one so fair and gentle +as Lillian. Oh, Dora, I should be happy if you were going with us." + +Never once during the few days of busy preparation did Dora's proud +courage give way. The girls at first refused to leave her; they +exhausted themselves in conjectures as to her continued residence at +the Elms, and were forced to be satisfied with Lady Earle's off-hand +declaration that their mother could not endure any but a private life. + +"Mamma has a title now," said Beatrice, wonderingly; "why will she not +assume it?" + +"Your mother's tastes are simple and plain," replied Lady Earle. "Her +wishes must be treated with respect." + +Dora did not give way until the two fair faces that had brightened her +house vanished. When they were gone, and a strange, hushed silence +fell upon the place, pride and courage gave way. In that hour the very +bitterness of death seemed to be upon her. + + + +Chapter XX + +It was a proud moment for Lady Earle when she led the two young girls +through the long line of servants assembled to receive them. They were +both silent from sheer wonder. They had left Florence at so early an +age that they had not the faintest remembrance of the pretty villa on +the banks of the Arno. All their ideas were centered in the Elms--they +had never seen any other home. + +Lady Earle watched the different effect produced upon them by the +glimpse of Earlescourt. Lillian grew pale; she trembled, and her +wondering eyes filled with tears. Beatrice, on the contrary, seemed +instantly to take in the spirit of the place. Her face flushed; a +proud light came into her glorious eyes; her haughty head was carried +more regally than ever. There was no timidity, no shyly expressed +wonder, no sensitive shrinking from new and unaccustomed splendor. + +They were deeply impressed with the magnificence of their new home. +For many long days Lady Earle employed herself in showing the numerous +treasures of art and vertu the house contained. The picture gallery +pleased Beatrice most; she gloried in the portraits of the grand old +ancestors, "each with a story to his name." One morning she stood +before Lady Helena's portrait, admiring the striking likeness. +Suddenly turning to the stately lady by her side, she said: "All the +Ladies Earle are here; where is my own mamma? Her face is sweet and +fair as any of these. Why is there no portrait of her?" + +"There will be one some day," said Lady Helena. "When your father +returns all these things will be seen to." + +"We have no brother," continued Beatrice. "Every baron here seems to +have been succeeded by his son--who will succeed my father?" + +"His next of kin," replied Lady Earle, sadly--"Lionel Dacre; he is a +third cousin of Lord Earle. He will have both title and estate." + +She signed deeply; it was a real trouble to Lady Helena that she should +never see her son's son, never love and nurse, never bless the heir of +Earlescourt. + +Lillian delighted most in the magnificent gardens, the thickly wild +wooded park, where every dell was filled with flowers and ferns, every +knoll crowned with noble trees. The lake, with white lilies sleeping +on its tranquil bosom and weeping willows touching its clear surface, +pleased her most of all. As they stood on its banks, Beatrice, looking +into the transparent depths, shuddered, and turned quickly away. + +"I am tired of water," she said; "nothing wearied me so much at +Knutsford as the wide, restless sea. I must have been born with a +natural antipathy to water." + +Many days passed before they were familiar with Earlescourt. Every day +brought its new wonders. + +A pretty suite of rooms had been prepared for each sister; they were in +the western wing, and communicated with each other. The Italian nurse +who had come with them from Florence had preferred remaining with Dora. +Lady Earle had engaged two fashionable ladies' maids, had also ordered +for each a wardrobe suitable to the daughters of Lord Earle. + +Mrs. Vyvian had two rooms near her charges. Knowing that some months +might elapse before Ronald returned, Lady Helena settled upon a course +of action. The young girls were to be kept in seclusion, and not to be +introduced to the gay world, seeing only a few old friends of the +family; they were to continue to study for a few hours every morning, +to drive or walk with Lady Earle after luncheon, to join her at the +seven o'clock dinner, and to pass the evening in the drawing room. + +It was a new and delightful life. Beatrice reveled in the luxury and +grandeur that surrounded her. She amused Lady Earle by her vivacious +description of the quiet home at the Elms. + +"I feel at home here," she said, "and I never did there. At times I +wake up, half dreading to hear the rustling of the tall elm trees, and +old Mrs. Thorne's voice asking about the cows. Poor mamma! I can not +understand her taste." + +When they became more accustomed to the new life, the strange +incongruity in their family struck them both. On one side a grand old +race, intermarried with some of the noblest families in England--a +stately house, title, wealth, rank, and position; on the other a simple +farmer and his homely wife, the plain old homestead, and complete +isolation from all they considered society. + +How could it be? How came it that their father was lord of Earlescourt +and their mother the daughter of a plain country farmer? For the first +time it struck them both that there was some mystery in the life of +their parents. Both grew more shy of speaking of the Elms, feeling +with the keen instinct peculiar to youth that there was something +unnatural in their position. + +Visitors came occasionally to Earlescourt. Sir Harry and Lady Laurence +of Holtham often called; Lady Charteris came from Greenoke, and all +warmly admired the lovely daughters of Lord Earle. + +Beatrice, with her brilliant beauty, her magnificent voice, and gay, +graceful manner, was certainly the favorite. Sir Harry declared she +was the finest rider in the county. + +There was an unusual stir of preparation once when Lady Earle told them +that the daughter of her devoted friend, Lady Charteris, was coming to +spend a few days at Earlescourt. Then, for the first time, they saw +the beautiful and stately lady whose fate was so strangely interwoven +with theirs. + +Valentine Charteris was no longer "the queen of the county." Prince di +Bergezi had won the beautiful English woman. He had followed her to +Greenoke and repeated his question. There was neither coquetry nor +affectation in Valentine--she had thought the matter over, and decided +that she was never likely to meet with any one else she liked and +respected so much as her Italian lover. He had the virtues, without +the faults, of the children of the South; a lavishly generous, princely +disposition; well-cultivated artistic tastes; good principles and a +chivalrous sense of honor. Perhaps the thing that touched her most was +his great love for her. In many respects he resembled Ronald Earle +more nearly than any one else she had ever met. + +To the intense delight of both parents, Miss Charteris accepted him. +For her sake the prince consented to spend every alternate year in +England. + +Three times had the whole country side welcomed the stately Italian and +his beautiful wife. This was their fourth visit to England, and, when +the princess heard from Lady Charteris that Ronald's two daughters, +whom she remembered as little babes, were at Earlescourt, nothing would +satisfy her but a visit there. + +The young girls looked in admiring wonder at the lady. They had never +seen any one so dazzling or so bright. The calm, grand, Grecian face +had gained in beauty; the magnificent head, with its wealth of golden +hair, the tall, stately figure, charmed them. And when Valentine took +them in her arms and kissed them her thoughts went back to the white, +wild face in the garden and the dark eyes that had flamed in hot anger +upon her. + +"I knew your mother years ago," she said; "has she never mentioned my +name? I used to nurse you both in the little villa at Florence. I was +one of your father's oldest friends." + +No, they had never heard her name; and Beatrice wondered that her +mother could have known and forgotten one so beautiful as the princess. + +The week she remained passed like a long, bright dream. Beatrice almost +worshiped Valentine; this was what she had dreamed of long ago; this +was one of the ideal ladies living in the bright, gay world she was +learning to understand. + +When the prince and princess left Earlescourt they made Lady Helena +promise that Beatrice and Lillian should visit them at Florence. They +spoke of the fair and coquettish Countess Rosali, still a reigning +belle, and said how warmly she would welcome them for their father's +sake. + +"You talk so much of Italy," said Valentine to Beatrice. "It is just +the land for the romance you love. You shall see blue skies and sunny +seas, vines, and myrtles, and orange trees in bloom; you shall see such +luxuriance and beauty that you will never wish to return to this cold, +dreary England." + +It was thus arranged that, when Lord Earle returned, the visit should +be paid. The evening after their guests' departure seemed long and +triste. + +"I will write to mamma," said Beatrice; "it is strange she never told +us anything of her friend. I must tell her all about the visit." + +Not daring to ask the girls to keep any secret from Dora, Lady Earle +was obliged to let the letter go. The passionate, lonely heart brooded +over every word. Beatrice dwelt with loving admiration on the calm, +grand beauty of the princess, her sweet and gracious manner, her kindly +recollection of Dora, and her urgent invitation to them. Dora read it +through calmly, each word stabbing her with cruel pain. The old, +fierce jealousy rose in her heart, crushing every gentle thought. She +tore the letter, so full of Valentine, into a thousand shreds. + +"She drew my husband from me," she cried, "with the miserable beauty of +her fair face, and now she will win my children." + +Then across the fierce tempest of jealous anger came one thought like a +ray of light. Valentine was married; she had married the wealthy, +powerful prince who had been Ronald's patron; so that, after all, even +if she had lured Ronald from her, he had not cared for her, or she had +soon ceased to care for him. + +Beatrice thought it still more strange when her mother's reply to that +long, enthusiastic letter came. Dora said simply that she had never +named the Princess di Borgesi because she was a person whom she did not +care to remember. + +Fifteen months passed, and at length came a letter from Lord Earle, +saying that he hoped to reach England before Christmas, and in any case +would be with them by Christmas day. It was a short letter, written in +the hurry of traveling; the words that touched his children most, were +"I am glad you have the girls at Earlescourt; I am anxious to see what +they are like. Make them happy, mother; let hem have all they want; +and, if it be possible, after my long neglect, teach them to love me." + +The letter contained no mention of their mother; no allusion was made +to her. The girls marked the weeks go by in some little trepidation. +What if, after all, this father, whom they did not remember, should not +like them: Beatrice did not think such a thing very probable, but +Lillian passed many an hour in nervous, fanciful alarm. + +It was strange how completely all the old life had died away. Both had +felt a kind of affection for the homely farmer and his wife--they sent +many presents to them--but Beatrice would curl her proud lip in scorn +when she read aloud that "Mr. And Mrs. Thorne desired their humble duty +to Lady Earle." + +Lady Earle felt no anxiety about her son's return; looking at his +daughters, she saw no fault in them. Beautiful, accomplished, and +graceful, what more could he desire? She inwardly thanked Providence +that neither of them bore the least resemblance to the Thornes. +Beatrice looked like one of the Ladies Earle just stepped out from a +picture; Lillian, in her fair, dove-like loveliness, was quite as +charming. What would Lady Earle--so truthful, so honorable--have +thought or said had she known that their bright favorite with the Earle +face had plighted her troth, unknown to any one, to the captain of a +trading vessel, who was to claim her in two years for his wife? + +Lady Earl had formed her own plans for Beatrice; she hoped the time +would come when she would be Lady Earle of Earlescourt. Nothing could +be more delightful, nothing easier, provided Beatrice would marry the +young heir, Lionel Dacre. + +One morning, as the sisters sat in Lillian's room, Lady Earle entered +with an unusual expression of emotion on her fair, high-bred face. She +held an open letter in her hand. + +"My dear children," she said, "you must each look your very best this +evening. I have a note here--your father will be home tonight." + +The calm, proud voice faltered then, and the stately mistress of +Earlescourt wept at the thought of her son's return as she had never +wept since he left her. + + + +Chapter XXI + +Once more Ronald Earle stood upon English shores; once again he heard +his mother tongue spoken all around him, once again he felt the charm +of quiet, sweet English scenery. Seventeen years had passed since he +had taken Dora's hand in his and told her he cared nothing for all he +was leaving behind him, nothing for any one in the world save +herself--seventeen years, and his love-dream had lasted but two! Then +came the cruel shock that blinded him with anger and shame; then came +the rude awakening from his dream when, looking his life bravely in the +face, he found it nothing but a burden--hope and ambition gone--the +grand political mission he had once believed to be his own impossible +nothing left to him of his glorious dreams but existence--and all for +what? For the mad, foolish love of a pretty face. He hated himself +for his weakness and folly. For that--for the fair, foolish woman who +had shamed him so sorely--he had half broken his mother's heart, and +had imbittered his father's life. For that he had made himself an +exile, old in his youth, worn and weary, when life should have been all +smiling around him. + +These thoughts flashed through his mind as the express train whirled +through the quiet English landscape. Winter snows had fallen, the +great bare branches of the tall trees were gaunt and snow-laden, the +fields were one vast expanse of snow, the frost had hardened the +icicles hanging from hedges and trees. The scene seemed strange to him +after so many years of the tropical sun. Yet every breath of the +sharp, frosty air invigorated him and brought him new life and energy. + +At length the little station was reached, and he saw the carriage with +his liveried servants awaiting him. A warm flush rose to Lord Earle's +face; for a moment he felt almost ashamed of meeting his old domestics. +They must all know now why he had left home. His own valet, Morton, was +there. Lord Earle had kept him, and the man had asked permission to go +and meet his old master. + +Ronald was pleased to see him; there were a few words of courteous +greeting from Lord Earle to all around, and a few still kinder words to +Morton. + +Once again Ronald saw the old trees of which he had dreamed so often, +the stately cedars, the grand spreading oaks, the tall aspens, the lady +beeches, the groves of poplars--every spot was familiar to him. In the +distance he saw the lake shining through the trees; he drove past the +extensive gardens, the orchards now bare and empty. He was not ashamed +of the tears that rushed warmly to his eyes when the towers and turrets +of Earlescourt came in sight. + +A sharp sense of pain filled his heart--keen regret, bitter remorse, a +longing for power to undo all that was done, to recall the lost +miserable years--the best of his life. He might return; he might do +his best to atone for his error; but neither repentance nor atonement +would give him back the father whose pride he had humbled in the dust. + +As the carriage rolled up the broad drive, a hundred instances of his +father's love and indulgence flashed across him--he had never refused +any request save one. He wisely and tenderly tried to dissuade him +from the false step that could never be retraced but all in vain. + +He remembered his father's face on that morning when, with outstretched +hands, he bade him leave his presence and never seek it more--when he +told him that whenever he looked upon his dead face he was to remember +that death itself was less bitter than the hour in which he had been +deceived. + +Sad, bitter memories filled his heart when the carriage stopped at the +door and Ronald caught sight of the old familiar faces, some in smiles, +some in tears. + +The library door was thrown open. Hardly knowing whither he went, Lord +Earle entered, and it was closed behind him. His eyes, dimmed with +tears, saw a tall, stately lady, who advanced to meet him with open +arms. + +The face he remembered so fair and calm bore deep marks of sorrow; the +proud, tender eyes were shadowed; the glossy hair was threaded with +silver; but it was his mother's voice that cried to him, "My son, my +son, thank Heaven you have returned!" + +He never remembered how long his mother held him clasped in her arms. +Earth has no love like a mother's love--none so tender, so true, so +full of sweet wisdom, so replete with pity and pardon. It was her own +son whom Lady Earle held in her arms. She forgot that he was a man who +had incurred just displeasure. He was her boy, her own treasure, and so +it was that her words of greeting were all of loving welcome. + +"How changed you are," she said, drawing him nearer to the fast-fading +light. "Your face is quite bronzed, and you look so many years +older--so sad, so worn! Oh, Ronald, I must teach you to grow young and +happy again!" + +He sighed deeply, and his mother's heart grew sad as she watched his +restless face. + +"Old-fashioned copy-books say, mother, that 'to be happy one must be +good.' I have not been good," he said with a slight smile, "and I +shall never be happy." + +In the faint waning light, through which the snow gleamed strangely, +mother and son sat talking. Lady Earle told Ronald of his father's +death--of the last yearning cry when all the pent-up love of years +seemed to rush forth and overpower him with its force. It was some +comfort to him, after all, that his father's last thoughts and last +words had been of him. + +His heart was strangely softened; a new hope came to him. Granted that +the best part of his life was wasted, he would do his best with the +remainder. + +"And my children," he said, "my poor little girls! I will not see them +until I am calm and refreshed. I know they are well and happy with +you." + +Then, taking advantage of his mood, Lady Helena said what she had been +longing to say. + +"Ronald," she began, "I have had much to suffer. You will never know +how my heart has been torn between my husband and my son. Let my last +few years be spent in peace." + +"They shall, mother," he said. "Your happiness shall be my study." + +"There can be no rest for me," continued his mother, "unless all +division in our family ends. Ronald, I, who never asked you a favor +before, ask one now. Seek Dora and bring her home reconciled and +happy." + +A dark angry frown such as she had never seen there before came into +Lord Earle's face. + +"Anything but that," he replied, hastily; "I can not do it, mother. I +could not, if I lay upon my death bed." + +"And why?" asked Lady Helena, simply, as she had asked Dora. + +"For a hundred reasons, the first and greatest of which is that she has +outraged all my notions of honor, shamed and disgraced me in the +presence of one whom I esteemed and revered; she has--But no, I will +not speak of my wife's errors, it were unmanly. I can not forgive her, +mother. I wish her no harm; let her have every luxury my wealth can +procure, but do not name her to me. I should be utterly devoid of all +pride if I could pardon her." + +"Pride on your side," said Lady Earle, sadly, "and temper on hers! Oh, +Ronald, how will it end? Be wise in time; the most honest and noble +man is he who conquers himself. Conquer yourself, my son, and pardon +Dora." + +"I could more easily die," he replied, bitterly. + +"Then," said Lady Earle, sorrowfully, "I must say to you as I said to +Dora--beware; pride and temper must bend and break. Be warned in time." + +"Mother," interrupted Ronald, bending over the pale face so full of +emotion, "let this be the last time. You distress yourself and me; do +not renew the subject. I may forgive her in the hour of death--not +before." + +Lady Helena's last hope died away; she had thought that in the first +hour of his return, when old memories had softened his heart, she would +prevail on him to seek his wife whom he had ceased to love, and for +their children's sake bring her home. She little dreamed that the +coming home, the recollection of his father, the ghost of his lost +youth and blasted hopes rising every instant, had hardened him against +the one for whom he had lost all. + +"You will like to see the children now," said Lady Helena. "I will +ring for lights. You will be charmed with both. Beatrice is much like +you--she has the Earle face, and, unless I am mistaken, the Earle +spirit, too." + +"Beatrice," said Lillian, as they descended the broad staircase, "I am +frightened. I wish I could remember something of papa his voice or his +smile; it is like going to see a stranger. And suppose, after all, he +does not like us!" + +"Suppose what is of greater importance," said Beatrice proudly "that we +do not like him!" + +But, for all her high spirits and hauteur, Beatrice almost trembled as +the library door opened and Lady Earle came forward to met them. +Beatrice raised her eyes dauntlessly and saw before her a tall, stately +gentleman with a handsome face, the saddest and noblest she had ever +seen--clear, keen eyes that seemed to pierce through all disguise and +read all thoughts. + +"There is Beatrice," said Lady Helena, as she took her hand gently; and +Ronald looked in startled wonder at the superb beauty of the face and +figure before him. + +"Beatrice," he said, kissing the proud, bright face, "can it be +possible? When I saw you last you were a little, helpless child." + +"I am not helpless now," she replied, with a smile; "and I hope you are +going to love me very much, papa. You have to make up for fifteen +years of absence. I think it will not be very difficult to love you." + +He seemed dazzled by her beauty--her frank, high spirit and fearless +words. Then he saw a golden head, with sweet, dove-like eyes, raised +to his. + +"I am Lillian, papa," said a clear, musical voice. "Look at me, +please--and love me too." + +He did both, charmed with the gentle grace of her manner, and the fair, +pure face. Then Lord Earle took both his children in his arms. + +"I wish," he said, in a broken voice and with tears in his eyes, "that +I had seen you before. They told me my little twin children had grown +into beautiful girls, but I did not realize it." + +And again, when she saw his proud happiness, Lady Helena longed to +plead for the mother of his children, that she might also share in his +love; but she dared not. His words haunted her. Dora would be forgiven +only in the hour of death. + + + +Chapter XXII + +The evening of his return was one of the happiest of Lord Earle's life. +He was charmed with his daughters. Lady Helena thought, with a smile, +that it was difficult to realize the relationship between them. +Although her son looked sad and care-worn, he seemed more like an elder +brother than the father of the two young girls. + +There was some little restraint between them at first. Lord Earle +seemed at a loss what to talk about; then Lady Helena's gracious tact +came into play. She would not have dinner in the large dining room, +she ordered it to be served in the pretty morning room, where the fire +burned cheerfully and the lamps gave a flow of mellow light. It was a +picture of warm, cozy English comfort, and Lord Earle looked pleased +when he saw it. + +Then, when dinner was over, she asked Beatrice to sing, and she, only +pleased to show Lord Earle the extent of her accomplishments, obeyed. +Her superb voice, with its clear, ringing tones, amazed him. Beatrice +sang song after song with a passion and fire that told how deep the +music lay in her soul. + +Then Lady Helena bade Lillian bring out her folio of drawings, and +again Lord Earle was pleased and surprised by the skill and talent he +had not looked for. He praised the drawings highly. One especially +attracted his attention--it was the pretty scene Lillian had sketched +on the May day now so long passed--the sun shining upon the distant +white sails, and the broad, beautiful sweep of sea at Knutsford. + +"That is an excellent picture," he said; "it ought to be framed. It is +too good to be hidden in a folio. You have just caught the right +coloring, Lillian; one can almost see the sun sparkling on the water. +Where is this sea-view taken from?" + +"Do you not know it?" she asked, looking at him with wonder in her +eyes. "It is from Knutsford--mamma's home." + +Ronald looked up in sudden, pained surprise. + +"Mamma's home!" The words smote him like a blow. He remembered Dora's +offense--her cold letter, her hurried flight, his own firm resolve +never to receive her in his home again--but he had not remembered that +the children must love her--that she was part of their lives. He could +not drive her memory from their minds. There before him lay the pretty +picture of "mamma's home." + +"This," said Lillian, "is the Elms. See those grand old trees, papa! +This is the window of Mamma's room, and this was our study." + +He looked with wonder. This, then, was Dora's home--the pretty, quaint +homestead standing in the midst of the green meadows. As he gazed, he +half wondered what the Dora who for fifteen years had lived there could +be like. Did the curling rings of black hair fall as gracefully as +ever? Had the blushing dimpled face grown pale and still? And then, +chasing away all softened thought, came the remembrance of that hateful +garden scene. Ah, no, he could never forgive--he could not speak of +her even to these, her children! The two pictures were laid aside, and +no more was said of framing them. + +Lord Earle said to himself, after his daughters had retired, that both +were charming; but, though he hardly owned it to himself, if he had a +preference, it was for brilliant, beautiful Beatrice. He had never seen +any one to surpass her. After Lady Helena had left him, he sat by the +fire dreaming, as his father long years ago had done before him. + +It was not too late yet, he thought, to retrieve the fatal mistake of +his life. He would begin at once. He would first give all his +attention to his estate; it should be a model for all others. He would +interest himself in social duties; people who lamented his foolish, +wasted youth should speak with warm admiration of his manhood; above +all matters he dreamed of great things for his daughters, especially +Beatrice. With her beauty and grace, her magnificent voice, her frank, +fearless spirit, and piquant, charming wit, she would be a queen of +society; through his daughter his early error would be redeemed. +Beatrice was sure to marry well; she would bring fresh honors to the +grand old race ha had shamed. When the annals of the family told, in +years to come, the story of his mistaken marriage, it would be amply +redeemed by the grand alliance Beatrice would be sure to contract. + +His hopes rested upon her and centered in her. As he sat watching the +glowing embers, there came to him the thought that what Beatrice was to +him he had once been to the father he was never more to see. Ah! If +his daughter should be like himself if she should ruin his hopes, throw +down the air castle he had built--should love unworthily, marry beneath +her, deceive and disappoint him! But no, it should not be--he would +watch over her. Lord Earle shuddered at the thought. + +During breakfast on the morning following his return Lady Helena asked +what his plans were for the day--whether he intended driving the girls +over to Holte. + +"No," said Lord Earle. "I wish to have a long conversation with my +daughters. We shall be engaged during the morning. After luncheon we +will go to Holte." + +Ronald, Lord Earle, had made up his mind. In the place where his +father had warned him, and made the strongest impression upon him, he +would warn his children, and in the same way; so he took them to the +picture gallery, where he had last stood with his father. + +With gentle firmness he said: "I have brought you here as I have +something to say to you which is best said here. Years ago, children, +my father brought me, as I bring you, to warn and advise me--I warn and +advise you. We are, though so closely related, almost strangers. I am +ready to love you and do love you. I intend to make your happiness my +chief study. But there is one thing I must have--that is, perfect +openness, one thing I must forbid--that is, deceit of any kind, on any +subject. If either of you have in your short lives a secret, tell it +to me now; if either of you love any one, even though it be one +unworthy, tell me now. I will pardon any imprudence, any folly, any +want of caution--everything save deceit. Trust me, and I will be +gentle as a tender woman; deceive me, and I will never forgive you." + +Both fair faces had grown pale--Beatrice's from sudden and deadly fear; +Lillian's from strong emotion. + +"The men of our race," said Lord Earle, "have erred at times, the women +never. You belong to a long line of noble, pure, and high-bred woman; +there must be nothing in your lives less high, and less noble than in +theirs; but if there had been--if, from want of vigilance, of training, +and of caution there should be anything in this short past, tell it to +me now, and I will forget it." + +Neither spoke to him one word, and a strange pathos came into his voice. + +"I committed one act of deceit in my life," continued Lord Earle; "it +drove me from home, and it made me an exile during the best years of my +life. It matters little what it was--you will never know; but it has +made me merciless to all deceit. I will never spare it; it has made me +harsh and bitter. You will both find in me the truest, the best of +friends; if in everything you are straightforward and honorable; but, +children, dearly as I love you, I will never pardon a lie or an act of +deceit." + +"I never told a lie in my life," said Lillian, proudly. "My mother +taught us to love the truth." + +"And you, my Beatrice?" he asked, gently as he turned to the beautiful +face half averted from him. + +"I can say with my sister," was the haughty reply, "I have never told a +lie." + +Even as she spoke her lips grew pale with fear, as she remembered the +fatal secret of her engagement to Hugh Fernely. + +"I believe it," replied Lord Earle. "I can read truth in each face. +Now tell me--have no fear--have you any secret in that past life? +Remember, no matter what you may have done, I shall freely pardon it. +If you should be in any trouble or difficulty, as young people are at +times, I will help you. I will do anything for you, if you will trust +me." + +And again Lillian raised her sweet face to his. + +"I have no secret," she said, simply. "I do not think I know a secret, +or anything like one. My past life is an open book, papa, and you can +read every page in it." + +"Thank Heaven!" said Lord Earle, as he placed his hand caressingly upon +the fair head. + +It was strange, and he remembered the omission afterward, that he did +not repeat the question to Beatrice--he seemed to consider that +Lillian's answer included her. He did not know her heart was beating +high with fear. + +"I know," he continued, gently, "that some young girls have their +little love secrets. You tell me you have none. I believe you. I have +but one word more to say. You will be out in the great world soon, and +you will doubtless both have plenty of admirers. Then will come the +time of trial and temptation; remember my words--there is no curse so +great as a clandestine love, no error so great or degrading. One of +our race was so cursed, and his punishment was great. No matter whom +you love and who loves you, let all be fair, honorable, and open as the +day. Trust me, do not deceive me. Let me in justice say I will never +oppose any reasonable marriage, but I will never pardon a clandestine +attachment. + +"However dearly I might love the one who so transgressed," continued +Lord Earle, "even if it broke my heart to part from her, I should send +her from me at once; she should never more be a child of mine. Do not +think me harsh or unkind; I have weighty reasons for every word I have +uttered. I am half ashamed to speak of such things to you, but it must +be done. You are smiling, Lillian, what is it?" + +"I should laugh, papa," she replied, "if you did not look so very +grave. We must see people in order to love them. Beatrice, how many +do we know in the world? Farmer Leigh, the doctor at Seabay, Doctor +Goode, who came to the Elms when mamma was ill, two farm laborers, and +the shepherd--that was the extent of our acquaintance until we came to +Earlescourt. I may now add Sir Henry Holt and Prince Borgesi to my +list. You forget, papa, we have lived out of the world." + +Lord Earle remembered with pleasure that it was true. "You will soon +be in the midst of a new world," he said, "and before you enter society +I thought it better to give you this warning. I place no control over +your affections; the only thing I forbid, detest, and will never +pardon, is any underhand, clandestine love affair. You know not what +they would cost." + +He remembered afterward how strangely silent Beatrice was, and how her +beautiful, proud face was turned from him. + +"It is a disagreeable subject," said Lord Earle, "and I am pleased to +have finished with it--it need never be renewed. Now I have one more +thing to say--I shall never control or force your affections, but in my +heart there is one great wish." + +Lord Earle paused for a few minutes; he was looking at the face of Lady +Alicia Earle, whom Beatrice strongly resembled. + +"I have no son," he continued, "and you, my daughters, will not inherit +title or estate--both go to Lionel Dacre. If ever the time should come +when Lionel asks either of you to be his wife, my dearest wish will be +accomplished. And now, as my long lecture is finished, and the bell +has rung, we will prepare for a visit to Sir Harry and Lady Laurence." + +There was not much time for thought during the rest of the day; but +when night came, and Beatrice was alone, she looked the secret of her +life in the face. + +She had been strongly tempted, when Lord Earle had spoken so kindly, to +tell him all. She now wished she had done so; all would have been +over. He would perhaps have chided her simple, girlish folly, and have +forgiven her. He would never forgive her now that she had deliberately +concealed the fact; the time for forgiveness was past. A few words, +and all might have been told; it was too late now to utter them. Proud +of her and fond of her as she saw Lord Earle was, there would be no +indulgence for her if her secret was discovered. + +She would have to leave the magnificent and luxurious home, the +splendor that delighted her, the glorious prospects opening to her, and +return to the Elms, perhaps never to leave it again. Ah, no! The +secret must be kept! She did not feel much alarmed; many things might +happen. Perhaps the "Seagull" might be lost she thought, without pain +or sorrow, of the possible death of the man who loved her as few love. + +Even if he returned, he might have forgotten her or never find her. +She did not feel very unhappy or ill at ease--the chances, she thought, +were many in her favor. She had but one thing to do to keep all +knowledge of her secret from Lord Earle. + + + +Chapter XXIII + +As time passed on all constraint between Lord Earle and his daughters +wore away; Ronald even wondered himself at the force of his own love +for them. He had made many improvements since his return. He did +wonders upon the estate; model cottages seemed to rise by magic in +place of the wretched tenements inhabited by poor tenants; schools, +almshouses, churches, all testified to his zeal for improvement. +People began to speak with warm admiration of the Earlescourt estate +and of their master. + +Nor did he neglect social duties; old friends were invited to +Earlescourt; neighbors were hospitably entertained. His name was +mentioned with respect and esteem; the tide of popularity turned in his +favor. As the spring drew near, Lord Earle became anxious for his +daughters to make their debut in the great world. They could have no +better chaperone than his own mother. Lady Helena was speaking to him +one morning of their proposed journey, when Lord Earle suddenly +interrupted her. + +"Mother," he said, "where are all your jewels? I never see you wearing +any." + +"I put them all away," said Lady Earle, "when your father died. I shall +never wear them again. The Earle jewels are always worn by the wife of +the reigning lord, not by the widow of his predecessor. Those jewels +are not mine." + +"Shall we look them over?" asked Ronald. "Some of them might be reset +for Beatrice and Lillian." + +Lady Helena rang for her maid, and the heavy cases of jewelry were +brought down. Beatrice was in raptures with them, and her sister +smiled at her admiration. + +The jewels might have sufficed for a king's ransom; the diamonds were +of the first water; the rubies flashed crimson; delicate pearls gleamed +palely upon their velvet beds; there were emeralds of priceless value. +One of the most beautiful and costly jewels was an entire suite of +opals intermixed with small diamonds. + +"These," said Lord Earle, raising the precious stones in his hands, +"are of immense value. Some of the finest opals ever seen are in this +necklace; they were taken from the crown of an Indian price and +bequeathed to one of our ancestors. So much is said about the unlucky +stone--the pierre du malheur, as the French call the opal--that I did +not care so much for them." + +"Give me the opals, papa," said Beatrice, laughing; "I have no +superstitious fears about them. Bright and beautiful jewels always +seemed to me one of the necessaries of life. I prefer diamonds, but +these opals are magnificent." + +She held out her hands, and for the first time Lord Earle saw the opal +ring upon her finger. He caught the pretty white hand in his own. + +"That is a beautiful ring," he said. "These opals are splendid. Who +gave it to you, Beatrice?" + +The question came upon her suddenly like a deadly shock; she had +forgotten all about the ring, and wore it only from habit. + +For a moment her heart seemed to stand still and her senses to desert +her. Then with a self-possession worthy of a better cause, Beatrice +looked up into her father's face with a smile. + +"It was given to me at the Elms," she said, so simply that the same +thought crossed the minds of her three listeners--that it had been +given by Dora and her daughter did not like to say so. + +Lord Earle looked on in proud delight while his beautiful daughters +chose the jewels they liked best. The difference in taste struck and +amused him. Beatrice chose diamonds, fiery rubies, purple amethysts; +Lillian cared for nothing but the pretty pale pearls and bright +emeralds. + +"Some of those settings are very old-fashioned," said Lord Earle. "We +will have new designs from Hunt and Boskell. They must be reset before +you go to London." + +The first thing Beatrice did was to take off the opal ring and lock it +away. She trembled still from the shock of her father's question. The +fatal secret vexed her. How foolish she had been to risk so much for a +few stolen hours of happiness--for praise and flattery--she could not +say for love. + + * * * * * + +The time so anxiously looked for came at last. Lord Earle took +possession of his town mansion, and his daughters prepared for their +debut. It was in every respect a successful one. People were in +raptures with the beautiful sisters, both so charming yet so unlike. +Beatrice, brilliant and glowing, her magnificent face haunted those who +saw it like a beautiful dream--Lillian, fair and graceful, as unlike +her sister as a lily to a rose. + +They soon became the fashion. No ball or soiree, no dance or concert +was considered complete without them. Artists sketched them together as +"Lily and Rose," "Night and Morning," "Sunlight and Moonlight." Poets +indited sonnets to them; friends and admirers thronged around them. As +Beatrice said, with a deep-drawn sigh of perfect contentment, "This is +life"--and she reveled in it. + +That same year the Earl of Airlie attained his majority, and became the +center of all fashionable interest. Whether he would marry and whom he +would be likely to marry were two questions that interested every +mother and daughter in Belgravia. There had not been such an eligible +parti for many years. The savings of a long minority alone amounted to +a splendid fortune. + +The young earl had vast estates in Scotland. Lynnton Hall and Craig +Castle, two of the finest seats in England, were his. His mansion in +Belgravia was the envy of all who saw it. + +Young, almost fabulously wealthy, singularly generous and amiable, the +young Earl of Airlie was the center of at least half a hundred of +matrimonial plots; but he was not easily managed. Mammas with blooming +daughters found him a difficult subject. He laughed, talked, danced, +walked, and rode, as society wished him to do; but no one had touched +his heart, or even his fancy. Lord Airlie was heart-whole, and there +seemed no prospect of his ever being anything else. Lady Constance +Tachbrook, the prettiest, daintiest coquette in London, brought all her +artillery of fascination into play, but without success. The beautiful +brunette, Flora Cranbourne, had laid a wager that, in the course of two +waltzes, she would extract three compliments from him, but she failed +in the attempt. Lord Airlie was pronounced incorrigible. + +The fact was that his lordship had been sensibly brought up. He +intended to marry when he could find some one to love him for himself, +and not for his fortune. This ideal of all that was beautiful, noble, +and true in woman the earl was always searching for, but as yet had not +found. + +On all sides he had heard of the beauty of Lord Earle's daughters, but +it did not interest him. He had been hearing of, seeing, and feeling +disappointed in beautiful women for some years. Many people made the +point of meeting the "new beauties," but he gave himself no particular +trouble. They were like every one else, he supposed. + +One morning, having nothing else to do, Lord Airlie went to a fete +given in the beautiful grounds of Lady Downham. He went early, +intending to remain only a short time. He found but a few guests had +arrived. After paying the proper amount of homage to Lady Downham, the +young earl wandered off into the grounds. + +It was all very pretty and pleasant, but he had seen the same before, +and was rather tired of it. The day was more Italian than English, +bright and sunny, the sky blue, the air clear and filled with +fragrance, the birds singing as they do sing under bright, warm skies. + +Flags were flying from numerous tents, bands of music were stationed in +different parts of the grounds, the fountains played merrily in the +sunlit air. Lord Airlie walked mechanically on, bowing in reply to the +salutations he received. + +A pretty little bower, a perfect thicket of roses, caught his +attention. From it one could see all over the lake, with its gay +pleasure boats. Lord Airlie sat down, believing himself to be quite +alone; but before he had removed a large bough that interfered with the +full perfection of the view he heard voices on the other side of the +thick, sheltering rose bower. + +He listened involuntarily, for one of the voices was clear and pure, +the other more richly musical than any he had ever heard at times sweet +as the murmur of the cushat dove, and again ringing joyously and +brightly. + +"I hope we shall not have to wait here long, Lillian," the blithe voice +was saying. "Lady Helena promised to take us on the lake." + +"It is very pleasant," was the reply; "but you always like to be in the +very center of gayety." + +"Yes," said Beatrice; "I have had enough solitude and quiet to last me +for life. Ah, Lillian, this is all delightful. You think so, but do +not admit it honestly as I do." + +There was a faint, musical laugh, and then the sweet voice resumed: + +"I am charmed, Lillian, with this London life; this is worth calling +life--every moment is a golden one. If there is a drawback, it +consists in not being able to speak one's mind." + +"What do you mean?" asked Lillian. + +"Do you not understand?" was the reply. "Lady Helena is always talking +to me about cultivating what she calls 'elegant repose.' Poor, dear +grandmamma! Her perfect idea of good manners seems to me to be a +simple absence--in society, at least--of all emotion and all feeling. +I, for one, do not admire the nil admirari system." + +"I am sure Lady Helena admires you, Bee," said her sister. + +"Yes," was the careless reply. "Only imagine, Lillian, yesterday, when +Lady Cairn told me some story about a favorite young friend of hers the +tears came to my eyes. I could not help it, although the drawing room +was full. Lady Helena told me I should repress all outward emotion. +Soon after, when Lord Dolchester told me a ridiculous story about Lady +Everton, I laughed--heartily, I must confess, though not loudly--and +she looked at me. I shall never accomplish 'elegant repose.'" + +"You would not be half so charming if you did," replied her sister. + +"Then it is so tempting to say at times what one really thinks! I can +not resist it. When Lady Everton tells me, with that tiresome simper +of hers, that she really wonders at herself, I long to tell her other +people do the same thing. I should enjoy, for once, the luxury of +telling Mrs. St. John that people flatter her, and then laugh at her +affectation. It is a luxury to speak the truth at all times, is it +not, Lily? I detest everything false, even a false word; therefore I +fear Lady Helena will never quite approve of my manner." + +"You are so frank and fearless! At the Elms, do you remember how every +one seemed to feel that you would say just the right thing at the right +time?" asked Lillian. + +"Do not mention that place," replied Beatrice; "this life is so +different. I like it so much, Lily--all the brightness and gayety. I +feel good and contented now. I was always restless and longing for +life; now I have all I wish for." + +There was a pause then, and Lord Airlie longed to see who the speakers +were--who the girl was that spoke such frank, bright words--that loved +truth, and hated all things false--what kind of face accompanied that +voice. Suddenly the young earl remembered that he was listening, and +he started in horror from his seat. He pushed aside the clustering +roses. At first he saw nothing but the golden blossoms of a drooping +laburnum; then, a little further on, he saw a fair head bending over +some fragrant flowers; then a face so beautiful, so perfect, that +something like a cry of surprise came from Lord Airlie's lips. + +He had seen many beauties, but nothing like this queenly young girl. +Her dark, bright eyes were full of fire and light; the long lashes +swept her cheek, the proud, beautiful lips, so haughty in repose, so +sweet when smiling, were perfect in shape. From the noble brow a waving +mass of dark hair rippled over a white neck and shapely shoulders. It +was a face to think and dream of, peerless in its vivid, exquisite +coloring and charmingly molded features. He hardly noticed the +fair-haired girl. + +"Who can she be?" thought Lord Airlie. "I believed that I had seen +every beautiful woman in London." + +Satisfied with having seen what kind of face accompanied the voice, the +young earl left the pretty rose thicket. His friends must have thought +him slightly deranged. He went about asking every one, "Who is here +today?" Among others, he saluted Lord Dolchester with that question. + +"I can scarcely tell you," replied his lordship. "I am somewhat in a +puzzle. If you want to know who is the queen of the fete, I can tell +you. It is Lord Earle's daughter, Miss Beatrice Earle. She is over +there, see with Lady Downham." + +Looking in the direction indicated, Lord Airlee saw the face that +haunted him. + +"Yes," said Lord Dolchester, with a gay laugh; "and if I were young and +unfettered, she would not be Miss Earle much longer." + + + +Chapter XXIV + +Lord Airlie gazed long and earnestly at the beautiful girl who looked +so utterly unconscious of the admiration she excited. + +"I must ask Lady Downham to introduce me," he said to himself, +wondering whether the proud face would smile upon him, and, if she +carried into practice her favorite theory of saying what she thought, +what she would say to him. + +Lady Downham smiled when the young earl made his request. + +"I have been besieged by gentlemen requesting introductions to Miss +Earle," she said. "Contrary to your general rule, Lord Airlie, you go +with the crowd." + +He would have gone anywhere for one word from those perfect lips. Lady +Downham led him to the spot where Beatrice stood, and in a few +courteous words introduced him to her. + +Lord Airlie was celebrated for his amiable, pleasing manner. He always +knew what to say and how to say it, but when those magnificent eyes +looked into his own, the young earl stood silent and abashed. In vain +he tried confusedly to utter a few words; his face flushed, and +Beatrice looked at him in wonder.--Could this man gazing so ardently at +her be the impenetrable Lord Airlie? + +He managed at length to say something about the beauty of the grounds +and the brightness of the day. Plainly as eyes could speak, hers +asked: Had he nothing to say? + +He lingered by her side, charmed and fascinated by her grace; she +talked to Lillian and to Lady Helena; she received the homage offered +to her so unconscious of his presence and his regard that Lord Airlie +was piqued. He was not accustomed to being overlooked. + +"Do you never grow tired of flowers and fetes, Miss Earle?" he asked at +length. + +"No," replied Beatrice, "I could never grow tired of flowers--who +could? As for fetes, I have seen few, and have liked each one better +than the last." + +"Perhaps your life has not been, like mine, spent among them," he said. + +"I have lived among flowers," she replied, "but not among fetes; they +have all the charm of novelty for me." + +"I should like to enjoy them as you do," he said. "I wish you would +teach me, Miss Earle." + +She laughed gayly, and the sound of that laugh, like a sweet, silvery +chime, charmed Lord Airlie still more. + +He found out the prettiest pleasure boat, and persuaded Beatrice to let +him row her across the lake. He gathered a beautiful water lily for +her. When they landed, he found out a seat in the prettiest spot and +placed her there. + +Her simple, gay manner delighted him. He had never met any one like +her. She did not blush, or look conscious, or receive his attentions +with the half-fluttered sentimental air common to most young ladies of +his acquaintance. + +She never appeared to remember that he was Lord Airlie, nor sought by +any artifice to keep him near her. The bright, sunny hours seemed to +pass rapidly as a dream. Long before the day ended, the young earl +said to himself that he had met his fate; that if it took years to win +her he would count them well spent that in all the wide world she was +the wife for him. + +Lord Earle was somewhat amused by the solicitude the young nobleman +showed in making his acquaintance and consulting his tastes. After +Lady Downham's fete he called regularly at the house. Lady Helena +liked him, but could hardly decide which of her grandchildren it was +that attracted him. + +The fastidious young earl, who had smiled at the idea of love and had +disappointed half the fashionable mothers in Belgravia, found himself a +victim at last. + +He was diffident of his own powers, hardly daring to hope that he +should succeed in winning the most beautiful and gifted girl in London. +He was timid in her presence, and took refuge with Lillian. + +All fashionable London was taken by surprise when Lord Airlie threw +open his magnificent house, and, under the gracious auspices of his +aunt, Lady Lecomte, issued invitations for a grand ball. + +Many were the conjectures, and great was the excitement. Lord Earle +smiled as he showed Lady Helena the cards of invitation. + +"Of course you will go," he said. "We have no engagement for that day. +See that the girls look their best, mother." + +He felt very proud of his daughters--Lillian, looking so fair and sweet +in her white silk dress and favorite pearls! Beatrice, like a queen, +in a cloud of white lace, with coquettish dashes of crimson. The Earle +diamonds shone in her dark hair, clasped the fair white throat, and +encircled the beautiful arms. A magnificent pomegranate blossom lay in +the bodice of her dress, and she carried a bouquet of white lilies +mixed with scarlet verbena. + +The excitement as to the ball had been great. It seemed like a step in +the right direction at last. The great question was, with whom would +Lord Airlie open the ball? Every girl was on the qui vive. + +The question was soon decided. When Beatrice Earle entered the room, +Lord Airlie went straight to meet her and solicited her hand for the +first dance. She did not know how much was meant by that one action. + +He wondered, as he looked upon her, the queen of the most brilliant +ball of the season, whether she would ever love him if it was within +the bounds of possibility that she should ever care for him. That +evening, for the first time, he touched the proud heart of Beatrice +Earle. On all sides she had heard nothing but praises of Lord Airlie +his wealth, his talents, his handsome person and chivalrous manner. +The ladies were eloquent in praise of their young host. She looked at +him, and for the first time remarked the noble, dignified carriage, the +tall, erect figure, the clear-cut patrician face--not handsome +according to the rules of beauty, but from the truth and honor written +there in nature's plainest hand. + +Then she saw--and it struck her with surprise how Lord Airlie, so +courted and run after, sought her out. She saw smiles on friendly +faces, and heard her name mingled with his. + +"My dear Miss Earle," said Lady Everton, "you have accomplished +wonders--conquered the unconquerable. I believe every eligible young +lady in London has smiled upon Lord Airlie, and all in vain. What +charm have you used to bring him to your feet?" + +"I did not know that he was at my feet," replied Beatrice. "You like +figurative language, Lady Everton." + +"You will find I am right," returned lady Everton. "Remember I was the +first to congratulate you." + +Beatrice wondered, in a sweet, vague way, if there could be anything in +it. She looked again at Lord Airlie. Surely any one might be proud of +the love of such a man. He caught her glance, and her face flushed. +In a moment he was by her side. + +"Miss Earle," he said, eagerly, "you told me the other day you liked +flowers. If you have not been in the conservatory, may I escort you +there?" + +She silently accepted his arm, and they went through the magnificent +suite of rooms into the cool, fragrant conservatory. + +The pretty fountain in the midst rippled musically, and the lamps +gleamed like pale stars among masses of gorgeous color. + +Beatrice was almost bewildered by the profusion of beautiful plants. +Tier upon tier of superb flowers rose until the eye was dazzled by the +varied hues and brightness--delicate white heaths of rare perfection, +flaming azaleas, fuchsias that looked like showers of purple-red wine. +The plant that charmed Beatrice most was one from far-off Indian +climes--delicate, perfumed blossoms, hanging like golden bells from +thick, sheltering green leaves. Miss Earle stood before it, silent in +sheer admiration. + +"You like that flower?" said Lord Airlie. + +"It is one of the prettiest I ever saw," she replied. + +In a moment he gathered the fairest sprays from the precious tree. She +cried out in dismay at the destruction. + +"Nay," said Lord Airlie, "if every flower here could be compressed into +one blossom, it would hardly be a fitting offering to you." + +She smiled at the very French compliment, and he continued--"I shall +always have a great affection for that tree." + +"Why?" she asked, unconsciously. + +"Because it has pleased you," he replied. + +They stood by the pretty plant, Beatrice touching the golden bells +softly with her fingers. Something of the magic of the scene touched +her. She did not know why the fountain rippled so musically, why the +flowers seemed doubly fair as her young lover talked to her. She had +been loved. She had heard much of love, but she herself had never +known what it really meant. She did not know why, after a time, her +proud, bright eyes drooped, and had never met Lord Airlie's gaze, why +her face flushed and grew pale, why his words woke a new, strange, +beautiful music in her heart--music that never died until-- + +"I ask for one spray--only one--to keep in memory of this pleasant +hour," said Lord Airlie, after a pause. + +She gave him a spray of the delicate golden bells. + +"I should like to be curious and rude," he said, "and ask if you ever +gave any one a flower before?" + +"No," she replied. + +"Then I shall prize this doubly," he assured her. + +That evening Lord Airlie placed the golden blossom carefully away. The +time came when he would have parted with any treasure on earth rather +than that. + +But his question had suddenly disturbed Beatrice. For a moment her +thoughts flew to the sea shore at Knutsford. The present faded from +her; she saw Hugh Fernely's face as it looked when he offered her the +beautiful lily. The very remembrance of it made her shudder as though +seized with deathly cold--and Lord Airlie saw it. + +"You are cold," he said; "how careless I am to keep you standing here!" +He helped her to draw the costly lace shawl around her shoulders, and +Beatrice was quickly herself again, and they returned to the ball room; +but Lord Airlie lingered by Miss Earle. + +"You have enjoyed the ball, Beatrice," said Lord Earle, as he bade his +daughters good night. + +"I have, indeed, papa," she replied. "This has been the happiest +evening of my life." + +"I can guess why," thought Lord Earle, as he kissed the bright face +upraised to him; "there will be no wretched underhand love business +there." + +He was not much surprised on the day following when Lord Airlie was the +first morning caller, and the last to leave, not going until Lady +Helena told him that they should all be at the opera that evening and +should perhaps see him there. He regretted that he had promised Lady +Morton his box for the night, when Lady Earle felt herself bound to ask +him to join them in theirs. + +All night Beatrice had dreamed of the true, noble face which began to +haunt her. She, usually so regardless of all flattery, remembered +every word Lord Airlie had spoken. Could it be true, as Lady Everton +had said, that he cared for her? + +Her lover would have been spared many anxious hours could he have seen +how the golden blossoms were tended and cared for. Long afterward they +were found with the little treasures which young girls guard so +carefully. + +When Lord Airlie had taken his departure and Lord Earle found himself +alone with his mother, he turned to her with the happiest look she had +ever seen upon his face. + +"That seems to me a settled affair," he said. "Beatrice will make a +grand countess--Lady Airlie of Lynnton. He is the finest young fellow +and the best match in England. Ah, mother, my folly might have been +punished more severely. There will no mesalliance there." + +"No," said Lady Earle, "I have no fears for Beatrice; she is too proud +ever to do wrong." + + + +Chapter XXV + +It was a pretty love story, although told in crowded London ball rooms +instead of under the shade of green trees. Beatrice Earle began by +wondering if Lord Airlie cared for her; she ended by loving him herself. + +It was no child's play this time. With Beatrice, to love once was to +love forever, with fervor and intensity which cold and worldly natures +can not even understand. + +The time came when Lord Airlie stood out distinct from all the world, +when the sound of his name was like music, when she saw no other face, +heard no other voice, thought of nothing else save him. He began to +think there might be some hope for him; the proud, beautiful face +softened and brightened for him as it did for no other, and the +glorious dark eyes never met his own, the frank, bright words died away +in his presence. Seeing all these things, Lord Airlie felt some little +hope. + +For the first time he felt proud and pleased with the noble fortune and +high rank that were his by birthright. He had not cared much for them +before; now he rejoiced that he could lavish wealth and luxury upon one +so fair and worthy as Beatrice Earle. + +Lord Airlie was not a confident lover. There were times when he felt +uncertain as to whether he should succeed. Perhaps true and +reverential love is always timid. Lord Earle had smiled to himself +many long weeks at the "pretty play" enacted before him, and Lady +Helena had wondered when the young man would "speak out" long before +Lord Airlie himself presumed to think that the fairest and proudest +girl in London would accept him. + +No day ever passed during which he did not manage to see her. He was +indefatigable in finding out the balls, soirees, and operas she would +attend. He was her constant shadow, never happy out of her sight, +thinking of her all day, dreaming of her all night, yet half afraid to +risk all and ask her to be his wife, lest he should lose her. + +To uninterested speculators Lord Airlie was a handsome, kindly, +honorable young man. Intellectual, somewhat fastidious, lavishly +generous, a great patron of fine arts; to Beatrice Earle he was the +ideal of all that was noble and to be admired. He was a prince among +men. The proud heart was conquered. She loved him and said to herself +that she would rather love him as a neglected wife than be the +worshiped wife of any other man. + +She had many admirers; "the beautiful Miss Earle" was the belle of the +season. Had she been inclined to coquetry or flirtation she would not +have been so eagerly sought after. The gentlemen were quite as much +charmed by her utter indifference and haughty acceptance of their +homage as by her marvelous beauty. + +At times Beatrice felt sure that Lord Airlie loved her; then a sudden +fit of timidity would seize her young lover, and again she would doubt +it. One thing she never doubted--her own love for him. If her dreams +were all false, and he never asked her to be his wife, she said to +herself that she would never be the wife of any other man. + +The remembrance of Hugh Fernely crossed her mind at times--not very +often, and never with any great fear or apprehension. It seemed to her +more like a dark, disagreeable dream than a reality. Could it be +possible that she, Beatrice Earle, the daughter of that proud, noble +father, so sternly truthful, so honorable, could ever have been so mad +or so foolish? The very remembrance of it made the beautiful face +flush crimson. She could not endure the thought, and always drove it +hastily from her. + +The fifteenth of July was drawing near; the two years had nearly +passed, yet she was not afraid. He might never return, he might forget +her, although, remembering his looks and words, that, she feared, could +not be. + +If he went to Seabay--if he went to the Elms, it was not probable that +he would ever discover her whereabouts, or follow her to claim the +fulfillment of her absurd promise. At the very worst, if he discovered +that she was Lord Earle's daughter, she believed that her rank and +position would dazzle and frighten him. Rarely as those thoughts came +to her, and speedily as she thrust them from her, she considered them a +dear price for the little novelty and excitement that had broken the +dead level calm of life at the Elms. + +Lord Airlie, debating within himself whether he should risk, during the +whirl and turmoil of the London season, the question upon which the +happiness of his life depended, decided that he would wait until Lord +Earle returned to Earlescourt, and follow him there. + +The summer began to grow warm; the hawthorn and apple blossoms had all +died away; the corn waved in the fields, ripe and golden; the hay was +all gathered in; the orchards were all filled with fruit. The +fifteenth of July--the day that in her heart Beatrice Earle had half +feared--was past and gone. She had been nervous and half frightened +when it came, starting and turning deathly pale at the sound of the +bell or of rapid footsteps. She laughed at herself when the day ended. +How was it likely he would find her? What was there in common between +the beautiful daughter of Lord Earle and Hugh Fernely, the captain of a +trading vessel? Nothing, save folly and a foolish promise rashly asked +and rashly given. + +Three days before Lord Earle left London, he went by appointment to +meet some friends at Brookes's. While there, a gentleman entered the +room who attracted his attention, most forcibly--a young man of tall +and stately figure, with a noble head, magnificently set upon broad +shoulders; a fine, manly face, with proud, mobile features--at times +all fire and light, the eyes clear and glowing, again, gentle as the +face of a smiling woman. Lord Earle looked at him attentively; there +seemed to be something familiar in the outline of the head and face, +the haughty yet graceful carriage. + +"Who is that?" he inquired of his friend, Captain Langdon. "I have seen +that gentleman before, or have dreamed of him." + +"Is it possible that you do not know him?" cried the captain. "That is +Lionel Dacre, 'your next of kin,' if I am not mistaken." + +Pleasure and pain struggled in Lord Earle's heart. He remembered +Lionel many years ago, long before he committed the foolish act that +had cost him so much. Lionel had spent some time with him at +Earlescourt; he remembered a handsome and high-spirited boy, proud and +impetuous, brave to rashness, generous to a fault; a fierce hater of +everything mean and underhand; truthful and honorable--his greatest +failing, want of cool, calm thought. + +Lionel Dacre was poor in those days; now he was heir to Earlescourt, +heir to the title that, with all his strange political notions, Ronald +Earle ever held in high honor; heir to the grand old mansion and fair +domain his father had prized so highly. Pleasure and pain were +strangely intermingled in his heart when he remembered that no son of +his would every succeed him, that he should never train his successor. +The handsome boy that had grown into so fine a man must take his place +one day. + +Lord Earle crossed the room, and going up to the young man, laid one +hand gently upon his shoulder. + +"Lionel," he said, "it is many years since we met. Have you no +remembrance of me?" + +The frank, clear eyes looked straight into his. Lord Earle's heart +warmed as he gazed at the honest, handsome face. + +"Not the least in the world," replied Mr. Dacre, slowly. "I do not +remember ever to have seen you before." + +"Then I must have changed," said Lord Earle. "When I saw you last, +Lionel, you were not much more than twelve years old, and I gave you a +'tip' the day you went back to Eton. Charlie Villiers was with you." + +"Then you are Lord Earle," returned Lionel. "I came to London purposely +to see you," and his frank face flushed, and he held out his hand in +greeting. + +"I have been anxious to see you," said Lord Earle; "but I have not been +long in England. We must be better acquainted; you are my heir at law." + +"Your what?" said Mr. Dacre, wonderingly. + +"My heir," replied Lord Earle. "I have no son; my estates are +entailed, and you are my next of kin." + +"I thought you had half a dozen heirs and heiresses," said Lionel. "I +remember some story of a romantic marriage. Today I hear of nothing +but the beautiful Miss Earle." + +"I have no son," interrupted Lord Earle, sadly. "I wrote to you last +week, asking you to visit me. Have you any settled home?" + +"No," replied the young man gayly. "My mother is at Cowes, and I have +been staying with her." + +"Where are you now?" asked Lord Earle. + +"I am with Captain Poyntz, at his chambers; I promised to spend some +days with him," replied Lionel, who began to look slightly bewildered. + +"I must not ask you to break an engagement," said Lord Earle, "but will +you dine with us this evening, and, when you leave Captain Poyntz, come +to us?" + +"I shall be very pleased," said Lionel, and the two gentlemen left +Brookes's together. + +"I must introduce you to Lady Earle and my daughters," said Ronald, as +they walked along. "I have been so long absent from home and friends +that it seems strange to claim relationship with any one." + +"I could never understand your fancy for broiling in Africa, when you +might have been happier at home," said Lionel. + +"Did you not know? Have you not heard why I went abroad?" asked Lord +Earle, gravely. + +"No," replied Lionel. "Your father never invited me to Earlescourt +after you left." + +In a few words Lord Earle told his heir that he had married against his +father's wish, and in consequence had never been pardoned. + +"And you gave up everything," said Lionel Dacre--"home, friends, and +position, for the love of a woman. She must have been well worth +loving." + +Lord Earle grew pale, as with sudden pain. Had Dora been so well worth +loving? Had she been worth the heavy price? + +"You are my heir," he said gravely--"one of my own race; before you +enter our circle, Lionel, and take your place there, I must tell you +that my wife and I parted years ago, never to meet again. Do not +mention her to me--it pains me." + +Lionel looked at the sad face; he could understand the shadows there +now. + +"I will not," he said. "She must have been--" + +"Not one word more," interrupted Lord Earle. "In your thoughts lay no +unjust blame on her. She left me of her own free will. My mother lives +with me; she will be pleased to see you. Remember--seven sharp." + +"I shall not forget," said Lionel, pained at the sad words and the sad +voice. + +As Lord Earle went home for the first time during the long years, a +softer and more gentle thought of Dora came to him. "She must have +been--" What--what did Lionel suspect of her? Could it be that, +seeing their divided lives, people judged as his young kinsman had +judged--that they thought Dora to blame--criminal, perhaps? And she +had never in her whole life given one thought to any other than +himself; nay, her very errors--the deed he could not pardon--sprung +from her great affection for him. Poor Dora! The pretty, blushing +face, with its sweet, shy eyes, and rosy lips, came before him--the +artless, girlish love, the tender worship. If it had been anything +else, any other fault, Ronald must have forgiven her in that hour. But +his whole heart recoiled again as the hated scene rose before him. + +"No," he said, "I can not forgive it. I can not forget it. Men shall +respect Dora; no one must misjudge her; but I can not take her to my +heart or my home again. In the hour of death," he murmured, "I will +forgive her." + + + +Chapter XXVI + +Lady Earle thought her son looked graver and sadder that day than she +had ever seen him. She had not the clew to his reflections; she did +not know how he was haunted by the thought of the handsome, gallant +young man who must be his heir--how he regretted that no son of his +would ever succeed him--how proud he would have been of a son like +Lionel. He had but two children, and they must some day leave +Earlescourt for homes of their own. The grand old house, the fair +domain, must all pass into the hands of strangers unless Lionel married +one of the beautiful girls he loved so dearly. + +Lady Helena understood a little of what was passing in his mind when he +told her that he had met Lionel Dacre, who was coming to dine with him +that day. + +"I used to hope Beatrice might like him," said Lady Earle; "but that +will never be--Lord Airlie has been too quick. I hope he will not fall +in love with her; it would only end in disappointment." + +"He may like Lillian," said Lord Earle. + +"Yes," assented Lady Helena. "Sweet Lily--she seems almost too pure +and fair for this dull earth of ours." + +"If they both marry, mother," said Ronald, sadly, "we shall be quite +alone." + +"Yes," she returned, "quite alone," and the words smote her with pain. +She looked at the handsome face, with its sad, worn expression. Was +life indeed all over for her son--at the age, too, when other men +sunned themselves in happiness, when a loving wife should have graced +his home, cheered and consoled him, shared his sorrows, crowned his +life with love? In the midst of his wealth and prosperity, how lonely +he was! Could it be possible that one act of disobedience should have +entailed such sad consequences? Ah, if years ago Ronald had listened +to reason, to wise and tender counsel--if he had but given up Dora and +married Valentine Charteris, how different his life would have been, +how replete with blessings and happiness, how free from care! + +Lady Earle's eyes grew dim with tears as these thoughts passed through +her mind. She went up to him and laid her hand upon his shoulder. + +"Ronald," she said, "I will do my best to make home happy after our +bonny birds are caged. For your sake, I wish things had been +different." + +"Hush, mother," he replied gently. "Words are all useless. I must +reap as I have sown; the fruits of disobedience and deceit could never +beget happiness. I shall always believe that evil deeds bring their +own punishment. Do not pity me--it unnerves me. I can bear my fate." + +Lady Helena was pleased to see Lionel again. She had always liked him, +and rejoiced now in his glorious manhood. He stood before the two +sisters, half dazzled by their beauty. The fair faces smiled upon him; +pretty, white hands were outstretched to meet his own. + +"I am bewildered by my good fortune," he said. "I shall be the envy of +every man in London; people will no longer call me Lionel Dacre. I +shall be known as the cousin of 'Les Demoiselles Earle.' I have +neither brother nor sister of my own. Fancy the happiness of falling +into the midst of such a family group." + +"And being made welcome there!" interrupted Beatrice. Lionel bowed +profoundly. At first he fancied he preferred this brilliant, beautiful +girl to her fair, gentle sister. Her frank, fearless talk delighted +him. After the general run of young ladies--all fashioned, he thought, +after one model--it was refreshing to meet her. Her ideas were so +original. + +Lord Airlie joined the little dinner party, and then Lionel Dacre read +the secret which Beatrice hardly owned even to herself. + +"I shall not be shipwrecked on that rock," he said to himself. "When +Beatrice Earle speaks to me her eyes meet mine; she smiles, and does +not seem afraid of me; but when Lord Airlie speaks she turns from him, +and her beautiful eyes droop. She evidently cares more for him than +for all the world besides." + +But after a time the fair, spirituelle loveliness of Lillian stole into +his heart. There was a marked difference between the two sisters. +Beatrice took one by storm, so to speak; her magnificent beauty and +queenly grace dazzled and charmed one. With Lillian it was different. +Eclipsed at first sight by her more brilliant sister, her fair beauty +grew upon one by degrees. The sweet face, the thoughtful brow, the deep +dreamy eyes, the golden ripples of hair, the ethereal expression on the +calm features, seemed gradually to reveal their charm. Many who at +first overlooked Lillian, thinking only of her brilliant sister, ended +by believing her to be the more beautiful of the two. + +They stood together that evening, the two sisters, in the presence of +Lord Airlie and Lionel Dacre. Beatrice had been singing, and the air +seemed still to vibrate with the music of her passionate voice. + +"You sing like a siren," said Mr. Dacre; he felt no diffidence in +offering so old a compliment to his kins-woman. + +"No," replied Beatrice; "I may sing well--in fact, I believe I do. My +heart is full of music, and it overflows on my lips; but I am no siren, +Mr. Dacre. No one ever heard of a siren with dusky hair and dark brows +like mine." + +"I should have said you sing like an enchantress," interposed Lord +Airlie, hoping that he was apter in his compliments. + +"You have been equally wrong, my lord," she replied, but she did not +laugh at him as she had done at Lionel. "If I were an enchantress," +she continued, "I should just wave my wand, and that vase of flowers +would come to me; as it is, I must go to it. Who can have arranged +those flowers? They have been troubling me for the last half hour." +She crossed the room, and took from a small side table an exquisite +vase filled with blossoms. + +"See," she cried, turning to Lionel, "white heath, white roses, white +lilies, intermixed with these pale gray flowers! There is no contrast +in such an arrangement. Watch the difference which a glowing +pomegranate blossom or a scarlet verbena will make." + +"You do not like such quiet harmony?" said Lionel, smiling, thinking +how characteristic the little incident was. + +"No," she replied; "give me striking contrasts. For many years the web +of my life was gray-colored, and I longed for a dash of scarlet in its +threads." + +"You have it now," said Mr. Dacre, quietly. + +"Yes," she said, as she turned her beautiful, bright fact to him; "I +have it now, never to lose it again." + +Lord Airlie, looking on and listening, drinking in every word that fell +from her lips, wondered whether love was the scarlet thread interwoven +with her life. He sighed deeply as he said to himself that it would +not be; this brilliant girl could never care for him. Beatrice heard +the sigh and turned to him. + +"Does your taste resemble mine, Lord Airlie?" + +"I," interrupted Lord Airlie--"I like whatever you like, Miss Earle." + +"Yourself best of all," whispered Lionel to Beatrice with a smile. + + * * * * * + +As Mr. Dacre walked home that evening, he thought long and anxiously +about the two young girls, his kins-women. What was the mystery? he +asked himself--what skeleton was locked away in the gay mansion? Where +was Lord Earle's wife--the lady who ought to have been at the head of +his table--the mother of his children? Where was she? Why was her +place empty? Why was her husband's face shadowed and lined with care? + +"Lillian Earle is the fairest and sweetest girl I have ever met," he +said to himself. "I know there is danger for me in those sweet, true +eyes, but if there be anything wrong--if the mother is blameworthy--I +will fly from the danger. I believe in hereditary virtue and in +hereditary vice. Before I fall in love with Lillian, I must know her +mother's story." + +So he said, and he meant it. There was no means of arriving at the +knowledge. The girls spoke at times of their mother, and it was always +with deep love and respect. Lady Helena mentioned her, but her name +never passed the lips of Lord Earle. Lionel Dacre saw no way of +obtaining information in the matter. + +There was no concealment as to Dora's abode. Once, by special +privilege, he was invited into the pretty room where the ladies sat in +the morning--a cozy, cheerful room, into which visitors never +penetrated. There, upon the wall, he saw a picture framed a beautiful +landscape, a quiet homestead in the midst of rich, green meadows; and +Lillian told him, with a smile, that was the Elms, at Knutsford, "where +mamma lived." + +Lionel was too true a gentleman to ask why she lived there; he praised +the painting, and then turned the subject. + +As Lady Earle foresaw, the time had arrived when Dora's children partly +understood there was a division in the family, a breach never to be +healed. "Mamma was quite different from papa," they said to each +other; and Lady Helena told them their mother did not like fashion and +gayety, that she had been simply brought up, used always to quietness +and solitude, so that in all probability she would never come to +Earlescourt. + +But as time went on, and Beatrice began to understand more of the great +world, she had an instinctive idea of the truth. It came to her by +slow degrees. Her father had married beneath him, and her mother had +no home in the stately hall of Earlescourt. At first violent +indignation seized her; then calmer reflection told her she could not +judge correctly. She did not know whether Lord Earle had left his +wife, or whether her mother had refused to live with him. + +It was the first cloud that shadowed the life of Lord Earle's beautiful +daughter. The discovery did not diminish her love for the quiet, sad +mother, whose youth and beauty had faded so soon. If possible, she +loved her more; there was a pitying tenderness in her affection. + +"Poor mamma!" thought the young girl--"poor, gentle mamma! I must be +doubly kind to her, and love her better than ever." + +Dora did not understand how it happened that her beautiful Beatrice +wrote so constantly and so fondly to her--how it happened that week +after week costly presents found their way to the Elms. + +"The child must spend all her pocket money on me," she said to herself. +"How well and dearly she loves me--my beautiful Beatrice!" + +Lady Helena remembered the depth of her mother's love. She pitied the +lonely, unloved wife, deprived of husband and children. She did all in +her power to console her. She wrote long letters, telling Dora how +greatly her children were admired, and how she would like their mother +to witness their triumph. She told how many conquests Beatrice had +made; how the proud and exclusive Lord Airlie was always near her, and +that Beatrice, of her own fancy, liked him better than any one else. + +"Neither Lord Earle nor myself could wish a more brilliant future for +Beatrice," wrote Lady Helena. "As Lady Airlie of Lynnton, she will be +placed as her birth and beauty deserve." + +But even Lady Helena was startled when she read Dora's reply. It was a +wild prayer that her child should be saved--spared the deadly perils of +love and marriage--left to enjoy her innocent youth. + +"There is no happy love," wrote poor Dora, "and never can be. Men can +not be patient, gentle, and true. It is ever self they +worship--self-reflected in the woman they love. Oh, Lady Helena, let +my child be spared! Let no so-called love come near her! Love found +me out in my humble home, and wrecked all my life. Do not let my +bright, beautiful Beatrice suffer as I have done. I would rather fold +my darlings in my arms and lie down with them to die than live to see +them pass through the cruel mockery of love and sorrow which I have +endured. Lady Helena, do not laugh; your letter distressed me. I +dreamed last night, after reading it, that I placed a wedding veil on +my darling's head, when, as it fell round her, it changed suddenly into +a shroud. A mother's love is true, and mine tells me that Beatrice is +in danger." + + + +Chapter XXVII + +"I have been abroad long enough," said Lord Earle, in reply to some +remark made by Lady Helena. "The girls do not care for the +sea--Beatrice dislikes it even; so I think we can not do better than to +return to Earlescourt. It may not be quite fashionable, but it will be +very pleasant." + +"Yes," said Lady Earle; "there is no place I love so well as home. We +owe our neighbors something, too. I am almost ashamed when I remember +how noted Earlescourt once was for its gay and pleasant hospitality. +We must introduce the girls to our neighbors. I can foresee quite a +cheerful winter." + +"Let us get over the summer and autumn," said Ronald with a smile, +"then we will look the winter bravely in the face. I suppose, mother, +you can guess who has managed to procure an invitation to Earlescourt!" + +"Lord Airlie?" asked Lady Helena. + +"Yes," was the laughing reply. "It did me good, mother--it made me +feel young and happy again to see and hear him. His handsome, frank +face clouded when I told him we were going; then he sighed said London +would be like a desert--declared he could not go to Lynnton, the place +was full of work-people. He did not like Scotland, and was as homeless +as a wealthy young peer with several estates could well be. I allowed +him to bewilder himself with confused excuses and blunders, and then +asked him to join us at Earlescourt. He almost 'jumped for joy,' as +the children say. He will follow us in a week or ten days. Lionel will +come with us." + +"I am very pleased," said Lady Earle. "Next to you, Ronald, I love +Lionel Dacre; his frank, proud, fearless disposition has a great charm +for me. He is certainly like Beatrice. How he detests everything +false, just as she does!" + +"Yes," said Ronald, gravely; "I am proud of my children. There is no +taint of untruth or deceit there, mother; they are worthy of their +race. I consider Beatrice the noblest girl I have ever known; and I +love my sweet Lily just as well." + +"You would not like to part with them now?" said Lady Earle. + +"I would sooner part with my life!" he replied. "I am not given to +strong expressions, mother, but even you could never guess how my life +is bound up in theirs." + +"Then let me say one word, Ronald," said his mother; "remember Dora +loves them as dearly and as deeply as you do. Just think for a moment +what it has cost her to give them up to you! She must see them soon, +with your full consent and permission. They can go to her if you will." + +"You are right, mother," he said, after a few minutes. "They are +Dora's children, and she ought to see them; but they must not return to +that farm house--I can not bear the thought of it. Surely they can meet +on neutral ground--at your house, say, or in London; and let it be at +Christmas." + +"It had better be in London," said Lady Helena. "I will write to Dora, +and tell her. The very anticipation of it will make her happy until +the time arrives--she loves the children so dearly." + +And again a softened thought of Dora came to her husband. Of course +she loved them. The little villa at Florence rose before him; he saw +vividly, as though he had left it but yesterday, the pretty vine-shaded +room where Dora used to sit nursing the little ones. He remembered her +sweet patience, her never-failing, gentle love. Had he done right to +wound that sad heart afresh by taking those children from her? Was it +a just and fitting reward for the watchful love and care of those +lonely years? + +He would fain have pardoned her, but he could not; and he said to +himself again: "In the hour of death! I will forgive her then." + + * * * * * + +The glowing August, so hot and dusty in London, was like a dream of +beauty at Earlescourt. The tall trees gave grateful shelter, baffling +the sun's warm rays; the golden corn stood in the broad fields ready +for the sickle; the hedge-rows were filled with flowers. The beech +trees in the park were in full perfection. Fruit hung ripe and heavy in +the orchards. It was no longer the blossoming promise of spring, but +the perfect glory of summer. + +For many long years Earlescourt had not been so gay. The whole +country-side rang with fashionable intelligence. The house was filled +with visitors, Lord Airlie heading the list. Lionel Dacre, thinking +but little of the time when the grand old place would be his own, was +full of life and spirits. + +Long arrears of hospitalities and festivities had to be repaid to the +neighborhood. Beatrice and Lillian had to make their debut there. +Lady Helena decided upon commencing the programme with a grand dinner +party, to be followed by a ball in the evening. Ronald said something +about the weather being warm for dancing. + +"We danced in London, papa," said Beatrice, "when the heat was so great +that I should not have felt any surprise if the whole roomful of people +had dissolved. Here we have space--large, cool rooms, fresh air, a +conservatory as large as a London house; it will be child's play in +comparison with what we have gone through." + +"Miss Earle is quite right," said Lord Airlie. "A ball during the +season in London is a toil; here it would be nothing but a pleasure." + +"Then a ball let it be," said Lord Earle. "Lillian, make out a list of +invitations, and head it with Sir Harry and Lady Laurence of Holtham +Hall. That reminds me, their eldest son, Gaspar, came home yesterday +from Germany; do not forget to include him." + +"Little Gaspar," cried Lady Helena--"has he returned? I should like to +see him." + +"Little Gaspar," said Lord Earle, laughing, "is six feet high now, +mother. You forget how time flies; he is taller than Lionel, and a +fine, handsome young fellow he is. He will be quite an acquisition." + +Lord Earle was too much engrossed to remark the uneasiness his few +words had caused. Lord Airlie winced at the idea of a rival a handsome +man, and sentimental, too, as all those people educated in Germany are! + +"I can not understand what possesses English people to send their sons +abroad for education," he said to Beatrice--"and to Germany of all +places in the world." + +"Why should they not?" she asked. + +"The people are so absurdly sentimental," he replied. "Whenever I see +a man with long hair and dreamy eyes, I know he is a German." + +"You are unjust," said Beatrice, as she left him to join Lillian. + +"You are jealous," said Lionel, who had overheard the conversation. +"Look out for a rival in the lists, my lord." + +"I wish this tiresome ball were over," sighed Lord Airlie. "I shall +have no chance of speaking while it is on the tapis." + +But he soon forgot his chagrin. The formidable Gaspar appeared that +very morning, and, although Lord Airlie could perceive that he was at +once smitten with Beatrice's charms, he also saw that she paid no heed +whatever to the new-comer; indeed, after a few words of courteous +greeting, she returned to the point under discussion--what flowers +would look best in the ball room. + +"If we have flowers at all," she said, imperiously, "let them be a +gorgeous mass of bloom--something worth looking at; not a few pale +blossoms standing here and there like 'white sentinels'; let us have +flowers full of life and fragrance. Lillian, you know what I mean; you +remember Lady Manton's flowers--tier after tier of magnificent color." + +"You like to do everything en reine, Beatrice," said Lady Helena, with +a well-pleased smile. + +"If you have not flowers sufficient, Miss Earle," said Lord Airlie, "I +will send to Lynnton. My gardener considers himself a past master of +his art." + +"My dear Lord Airlie," said Lady Earle, "we have flowers in profusion. +You have not been through the conservatories. It would while away the +morning pleasantly for you all. Beatrice, select what flowers you +will, and have them arranged as you like." + +"See," said the triumphant beauty, "what a grand thing a strong will +is! Imagine papa's saying he thought thirty or forty plants in full +flower would be sufficient! We will surprise him. If the gardener +loses his reason, as Lady Earle seems to think probable, he must be +taken care of." + +Lord Airlie loved Beatrice best in such moods; imperious and piquant, +melting suddenly into little gleams of tenderness, then taking refuge +in icy coldness and sunny laughter. Beautiful, dazzling, capricious, +changing almost every minute, yet charming as she changed, he would not +have bartered one of her proudest smiles or least words for anything on +earth. + +He never forgot that morning spent among the flowers. It was a glimpse +of elysium to him. The way in which Beatrice contrived to do as she +liked amused him; her face looked fairer than ever among the blooming +flowers. + +"There is the bell for lunch," she said at last. "We have been here +nearly three hours." + +"Most of your attendants look slightly deranged," said Lionel. "I am +sure I saw poor Donald weeping over his favorite plants. He told me +confidentially they would be fit for nothing after the heat of the ball +room." + +"I shall invent some means of consolation for him," she replied. "I +like dancing among the bright flowers. Why should we not have +everything gay and bright and beautiful, if we can?" + +"Why not?" said Lionel, gravely. "Ah, Miss Earle, why are we not +always young and beautiful and happy? Why must flowers die, beauty +fade, love grow old? Ask a philosopher--do not ask me. I know the +answer, but let some one else give it to you." + +"Philosophy does not interest me at present," she said. "I like +flowers, music, and dancing better. I hope I shall never tire of them; +sometimes--but that is only when I am serious or tired--I feel that I +shall never live to grow old. I can not imagine my eyes dim or my hair +gray. I can not imagine my heart beating slowly. I can not realize a +day when the warmth and beauty of life will have changed into cold and +dullness." + +Even as she spoke a gentle arm stole round her, a fair, spirituelle +face, eyes full of clear, saintly light looked into hers, and a soft +voice whispered to her of something not earthly, not of flowers and +music, not of life and gayety, something far beyond these, and the +proud eyes for a moment grew dim with tears. + +"Lily," she said, "I am not so good as you, but I will endeavor to be. +Let me enjoy myself first, just for a short time; I will be good, dear." + +Her mood changed then, and Lord Airlie thought her more entrancing than +ever. + +"That is the kind of wife I want," thought Lionel Dacre to himself, +looking at Lillian--"some one to guide me, to teach me. Ah, if women +only understood their mission! That girl looked as I can imagine only +guardian angels look--I wish she would be mine." + +Lord Airlie left the conservatory, with its thousand flowers, more in +love than ever. + +He would wait, he said to himself, until the ball was over; then he +would ask Beatrice Earle to be his wife. If she refused him, he would +go far away where no one knew him; if she accepted him, he would be her +devoted slave. She should be a queen, and he would be her knight. + +Ah! What thanks would he return to Heaven if so great a blessing +should be his. + + + +Chapter XXVIII + +Lord Airlie muttered something that was not a benediction when, on the +morning following, Gaspar Laurence made his appearance at Earlescourt. + +"We can not receive visitors this morning," said Beatrice, half +impatiently. "Mr. Laurence must have forgotten the ball tonight." + +But Mr. Laurence had forgotten nothing of the kind. It was a delicious +morning, the sun shining brightly and clearly, the westerly breeze +blowing fresh and cool. He had thought it likely that the young ladies +would spend the morning out-of-doors, and begged permission to join +them. + +Lady Earle was pleased with the idea. Lord Airlie mentioned something +about fatigue, but he was overruled. + +"Stroll in the grounds," said Lady Helena; "go down by the lake; I will +join you there afterward. A few hours in the fresh air will be the +best preparation for the ball." + +They went together. Gaspar's preference soon became apparent he would +not leave Beatrice, and Lord Airlie devotedly wished him at the +antipodes. + +They sat down under the shade of a tall lady-birch, the deep, sunlit +lake shining through the trees. Then Gaspar, taking a little book in +his hands, asked: + +"Have you read 'Undine,' Miss Earle--Fouque's 'Undine?'" + +"No," she replied; "I am half ashamed to say so." + +"It is the sweetest, saddest story ever written," he continued. "This +is just the morning for it. May I read it to you?" + +There was a general and pleased murmur of assent. Lord Airlie muttered +to himself that he knew the fellow would air his German sentiment--at +their expense. + +Still it was very pleasant. There was a gentle ripple on the deep +lake, the water washed among the tall reeds, and splashed with a faint, +musical murmur on the stones; the thick leafy branches rustled in the +wind; the birds sang in the trees. + +Gaspar Laurence read well; his voice was clear and distinct; not a word +of the beautiful story was lost. + +Beatrice listened like one in a dream. Her proud, bright face +softened, her magnificent eyes grew tender and half sad. Gaspar read +on--of the fair and lovely maiden, of the handsome young knight and his +love, of the water sprite, grim old Kuhlehorn, and the cottage where +Undine dwelt, of the knight's marriage, and then of proud, beautiful +Bertha. + +The rippling of the lake and the singing of the birds seemed like an +accompaniment to the words, so full of pathos. Then Gaspar came to +Bertha's love for the knight--their journey on the river to the huge +hand rising and snatching the jewel from Undine's soft fingers, while +the knight's love grew cold. + +Even the waters of the lake seemed to sob and sigh as Gaspar read on of +sweet, sad Undine and of her unhappy love, of Bertha's proud triumph, +her marriage with the knight, and the last, most beautiful scene of +all--Undine rising from the unsealed fountain and going to claim her +love. + +"How exquisite!" said Beatrice, drawing a long, deep breath. "I did not +know there was such a story in the world. That is indeed a creation of +genius. I shall never forget Undine." + +Her eyes wandered to the sweet spirituelle face and fair golden hair of +her sister. Lionel Dacre's glance followed hers. + +"I know what you are thinking of," he said--"Miss Lillian is a perfect +Undine. I can fancy her, with clasped hands and sad eyes, standing +between the knight and Bertha, or rising with shadowy robes from the +open fountain." + +"It is a beautiful creation," said Beatrice, gently. "Lillian would be +an ideal Undine--she is just as gentle, as fair, as true. I am like +Bertha, I suppose; at least I know I prefer my own way and my own will." + +"You should give some good artist a commission to paint a picture," +said Lord Airlie. "Choose the scene in the boat Undine bending over +the water, a dreamy expression on her fair face; Bertha sitting by the +knight, proud, bright, and half scornful of her companion. Imagine the +transparent water Undine's little hand half lost in it, and the giant +fingers clasping hers. I wonder that an artist has never painted that +scene." + +"Who would do for the knight?" said Beatrice. "Lillian and I will +never dispute over a knight." + +"Artists would find some difficulty in that picture," said Lillian. +"How could one clothe a beautiful ideal like Undine? Sweeping robes and +waving plumes might suit Bertha; but how could one depict Undine?" + +"The knight is the difficulty," laughed Lionel. + +"Why should we not go out on the lake now?" said Gaspar; "I will row." + +"I have been wishing for the last ten minutes," replied Beatrice, "to +be upon the lake. I want to put my hand in the water and see what +comes." + +Gaspar was not long in getting a pleasure boat out of the boat house. +Lionel managed to secure a seat near his Undine, and Lord Airlie by his +Beatrice. + +It was even more pleasant on the water than on the land; the boat moved +easily along, the fresh, clear breeze helping it. + +"Steer for those pretty water lilies," said Beatrice, "they look so +fresh and shining in the sun." + +And as they floated over the water, her thoughts went back to that May +morning when Lillian sat upon the cliffs and sketched the white far-off +sails. How distant it seemed! She longed then for life. Now every +sweet gift which life could bestow was here, crowned with love. Yet +she sighed as Hugh Fernely's face rose before her. If she could but +forget it! After all it had been on her side but a mockery of love. +Yet another sigh broke from her lips, and then Lord Airlie looked +anxiously at her. + +"Does anything trouble you, Miss Earle?" he asked. "I never remember +to have seen you so serious before." + +She looked for a moment wistfully into his face. Ah, if he could help +her, if he could drive this haunting memory from her, if ever it could +be that she might tell him of this her trouble and ask him to save her +from Hugh Fernely! But that was impossible. Almost as though in answer +to her thought, Gaspar Laurence began to tell them of an incident that +had impressed him. A gentleman, a friend of his, after making +unheard-of sacrifices to marry a lady who was both beautiful and +accomplished, left her suddenly, and never saw her again, the reason +being that he discovered that she had deceived him by telling him a +willful lie before her marriage. Gaspar seemed to think she had been +hardly used. Lord Airlie and Lionel differed from him. + +"I am quite sure," said Lord Airlie, "that I could pardon anything +sooner than a lie; all that is mean, despicable, and revolting to me is +expressed in the one word, 'liar.' Sudden anger, passion, hot +revenge--anything is more easily forgiven. When once I discover that a +man or woman has told me a lie, I never care to see their face again." + +"I agree with you," said Lionel; "perhaps I even go further. I would +never pardon an air of deceit; those I love must be straightforward, +honest, and sincere always." + +"Such a weight of truth might sink the boat," said Beatrice, +carelessly; but Lord Airlie's words had gone straight to her heart. If +he only knew. But he never would. And again she wished that in reply +to her father's question she had answered truthfully. + +The time came when Lillian remembered Mr. Dacre's words, and knew they +had not been spoken in vain. + +Beatrice had taken off her glove, and drew her hand trough the cool, +deep water; thinking intently of the story she had just heard--of +Undine and the water-sprites--she leaned over the boat's side and gazed +into the depths. The blue sky and white fleecy clouds, the tall green +trees and broad leaves, were all reflected there. There was a strange, +weird fascination in the placid water--what went on in the depths +beneath? What lay beneath the ripples? Suddenly she drew back with a +startled cry a cry that rang out in the clear summer air, and haunted +Lord Airlie while he lived. He looked at her; her face had grown +white, even to the very lips, and a nameless, awful dread lay in her +dark eyes. + +"What is it?" he asked, breathlessly. She recovered herself with a +violent effort, and tried to smile. + +"How foolish I am!" she said; "and what is worse you will all laugh at +me. It was sheer fancy and nonsense, I know; but I declare that +looking down into the water, I saw my own face there with such a +wicked, mocking smile that it frightened me." + +"It was the simple reflection," said Lionel Dacre. "I can see mine. +Look again, Miss Earle." + +"No," she replied, with a shudder; "it is only nonsense, I know, but it +startled me. The face seemed to rise from the depths and smile--oh, +oh, such a smile! When shall I forget it?" + +"It was only the rippling of the water which distorted the reflection," +said Lord Airlie. + +Beatrice made no reply, but drew her lace shawl around her as though +she were cold. + +"I do not like the water," she said presently; "it always frightens me. +Let us land, Mr. Laurence, please. I will never go on the lake again." + +Gaspar laughed, and Mr. Dacre declared Beatrice had had too strong a +dose of Undine and the water-sprites. Lord Airlie felt her hand +tremble as he helped her to leave the boat. He tried to make her +forget the incident by talking of the ball and the pleasure it would +bring. She talked gayly, but every now and then he saw that she +shuddered as though icily cold. + +When they were entering the house she turned round, and, in her +charming, imperious way, said: + +"None of you must tell papa about my fright. I should not like him to +think that an Earle could be either fanciful or a coward. I am brave +enough on land." + +The heat had tried both girls, and Lady Helena said they must rest +before dinner. She made Beatrice lie down upon the cosy little couch +in her dressing room. She watched the dark eyes close, and thought how +beautiful the young face looked in repose. + +But the girl's sleep was troubled. Lady Earle, bending over her, heard +her sigh deeply and murmur something about the "deep water." She awoke, +crying out that she saw her own face, and Lady Earle saw great drops of +perspiration standing in beads upon her brow. + +"What have you been dreaming of, child?" she asked. "Young girls like +you ought to sleep like flowers." + +"Flowers never quite close their eyes," said Beatrice, with a smile. +"I shut mine, but my brain is active, it seems, even in sleep. I was +dreaming of the lake, Lady Helena. Dreams are very wonderful; do they +ever come true?" + +"I knew one that did," replied Lady Earle. "When I was young, I had a +friend whom I loved very dearly--Laura Reardon. A gentleman, a Captain +Lemuel, paid great attention to her. She loved him--my poor Laura--as +I hope few people love. For many months he did everything but make an +offer--saw her ever day, sent her flowers, books, and music, won her +heart by a thousand sweet words and gentle deeds. She believed he was +in earnest, and never suspected him of being a male flirt. He left +London, suddenly, saying goodbye to her in the ordinary way, and +speaking of his return in a few weeks. + +"She came to me one morning and told me a strange dream. She dreamed +she was dead, and lay buried in the center aisle of an old country +church. At the same time, and in the usual vague manner of dreams, she +was conscious of an unusual stir. She heard carriages drive up to the +church door; she heard the rustling of dresses, the sound of footsteps +above her head, the confused murmur of a crowd of people; then she +became aware that a marriage was going on. She heard the minister ask: + +"'George Victor Lemuel, will you have this woman for your lawful wedded +wife?' + +"The voice she knew and loved best in the world replied: + +"'I will.' + +"'Alice Ferrars, will you take this man for your lawful wedded husband?" + +"'I will,' replied the clear, low voice. + +"She heard the service finished, the wedding bells peal, the carriages +drive away. I laughed at her, Beatrice; but the strange thing is, +Captain George Lemuel was married on the very day Laura dreamed the +dream. He married a young lady, Alice Ferrars, and Laura had never +heard of the name before she dreamed it. The marriage took place in an +old country church. That dream came true, Beatrice; I never heard of +another dream like it." + +"Did your friend die?" she asked. + +"No," replied Lady Helena; "she did not die, but her life was spoiled +by her unhappy love." + +"I should have died had it been my disappointment," said Beatrice; "the +loss of what one loves must be more bitter than death." + + * * * * * + +Far and near nothing was spoken of but the ball at Earlescourt. +Anything so brilliant or on so grand a scale had not been given in the +county for many years. + +Lord Earle felt proud of the arrangements as he looked through the ball +room and saw the gorgeous array of flowers, tier upon tier of +magnificent bloom, a sight well worth coming many miles to see. Here +and there a marble statue stood amid the flowers. Little fountains of +scented water rippled musically. He stopped for a few moments looking +at the blossoms and thinking of his beautiful child. + +"How she loves everything bright and gay!" he said to himself. "She +will be queen of the ball tonight." + +As Lord Earle stood alone in his library that evening, where he had +been reading, stealing a quiet half hour, there came a gentle knock at +the door. + +"Come in," he said, and there stood before him something that he +thought must be a vision. + +"Grandmamma sent me," said Beatrice, blushing, "to see if I should do. +You are to notice my diamonds, papa, and tell me if you approve of the +setting." + +As he looked at the radiant figure a sense of wonder stole over him. +Could this magnificent beauty really be Dora's daughter--Dora who had +stained her pretty hand with strawberry juice so many years ago? + +He knew nothing of the details of the dress, he saw only the beautiful +face and glorious eyes, the crowns of waving hair, the white, stately +neck and exquisite arms. Before him was a gleam of pale pink satin, +shrouded with lace so fine and delicate that it looked like a fairy +web; and the Earle diamonds were not brighter than the dark eyes. They +became the wearer well. They would have eclipsed a fair, faded beauty; +they added radiance to Beatrice's. + +"Where is Lillian?" he asked; and she knew from the tone of his voice +how proud and satisfied he was. + +"I am here, papa," said a gentle voice. "I wanted you to see Beatrice +first." + +Lord Earle hardly knew which to admire the more. Lillian looked so +fair and graceful; the pure, spiritual face and tender eyes had new +beauty; the slender, girlish figure contrasted well with the stately +dignity of Beatrice. + +"I hope it will be a happy evening for you both," he said. + +"I feel sure it will for me," said Beatrice, with a smile. "I am +thoroughly happy, and am looking forward to the ball with delight." + +Lord Earle smiled half sadly as he gazed at her bright face, wondering +whether, in years to come, it would be clouded or shadowed. + +"Will you dance, papa?" asked Beatrice, with a gleam of mischief in her +dark eyes. + +"I think not," he replied; and Ronald Earle's thoughts went back to the +last time he had ever danced--with Valentine Charteris. He remembered +it well. Ah, no! All those pleasant, happy days were over for him. + + + +Chapter XXIX + +The dinner party was over, and carriage after carriage rolled up to the +Hall; the rooms began to fill; there was a faint sound of music, a +murmur of conversation and laughter. + +"You have not forgotten your promise to me, Miss Earle?" said Lord +Airlie. "I am to have the first dance and the last, certainly, and as +many more as you can spare." + +"I have not forgotten," replied Beatrice. She was never quite at her +ease with him, although she loved him better than any one else on +earth. There was ever present with her the consciousness that she did +so love him, and the wonder whether he cared for her. + +They opened the ball, and many significant comments were made upon the +fact. Gaspar Laurence was present. He was deeply engaged for more +than two hours in making up his mind whether he should ask Beatrice to +dance with him or not--she looked so beautiful, so far above him. +Gaspar could not help loving her--that was impossible; the first moment +he saw her he was entranced. But his was a humble, hopeless kind of +adoration. He would sooner have dreamed of wooing and winning a royal +princess than of ever asking Beatrice to be his wife. + +At length he summoned up courage, and was rewarded by a bright smile +and kind words. Poor Gaspar! When the beautiful face was near him, +and her hand rested on his shoulder, he thought he must be dreaming. + +"There," he said, when the dance was over; "I shall not dance again. I +should not like to lose the memory of that waltz." + +"Why not?" she asked, wonderingly. + +"I must be candid with you," said Gaspar, sadly. "Perhaps my +confession is a vain one; but I love you, Miss Earle--so dearly that +the ground on which you stand is sacred to me." + +"That is not a very timid declaration," said Beatrice with a smile. +"You are courageous, Mr. Laurence. I have only seen you three times." + +"It would make no difference," said Gaspar, "whether I had seen you +only once, or whether I met you every day. I am not going to pain you, +Miss Earle. Think kindly of me--I do not ask more; only remember that +living in this world there is one who would stand between you and all +peril--who would sacrifice his life for you. You will not forget?" + +"I will not," said Beatrice, firmly. "Never could I forget such words. +I am willing to be your friend--I know how to value you." + +"I shall be happier with your friendship than with the love of any +other woman," said Gaspar, gratefully. + +Just then Lord Earle came and took Mr. Laurence away. Beatrice stood +where he had left her, half screened from sight by the luxuriant +foliage and magnificent flowers of a rare American plant. There was a +thoughtful, tender expression on her face that softened it into +wondrous beauty. She liked Gaspar, and was both pleased and sorry that +he loved her. Very pleasant was this delicious homage of +love--pleasant was it to know that strong, brave, gifted men laid all +they had in the world at her feet--to know that her looks, smiles, and +words moved them as nothing else could. + +Yet she was sorry for Gaspar. It must be sad to give all one's love +and expect no return. She would be his friend, but she could never be +anything more. She could give him her sincere admiration and esteem, +but not her love. + +The proud, beautiful lips quivered, and the bright eyes grew dim with +tears. No, not her love--that was given, and could never be recalled; +in all the wide world, from among all men's, Lord Airlie's face stood +out clear and distinct. Living or dying, Lord Earle's daughter knew +she could care for no other man. + +She had taken in her hand one of the crimson flowers of the plant above +her, and seemed lost in contemplating it. She saw neither the blossom +nor the leaves. She was thinking of Lord Airlie's face, and the last +words he had said to her, when suddenly a shadow fell before her, and +looking up hastily, she saw him by her side. He appeared unlike +himself, pale and anxious. + +"Beatrice," said he, "I must speak with you. Pray come with me, away +from all these people. I can bear this suspense no longer." + +She looked at him, and would have refused; but she saw in his face that +which compelled obedience. For Lord Airlie had watched Gaspar +Laurence--he had watched the dance and the interview that followed it. +He saw the softened look on her face, and it half maddened him. For +the first time in his life Lord Airlie was fiercely jealous. He +detested this fair-haired Gaspar, with his fund of German romance and +poetry. + +Could it be that he would win the prize he himself would have died to +secure? What was he saying to her that softened the expression on her +face? What had he said that left her standing there with a tender +light in her dark eyes which he had never seen before? He could not +bear the suspense; perhaps a ball room might not be the most +appropriate place for an offer of marriage, but he must know his fate, +let it be what it might. He went up to her and made his request. + +"Where are you going?" asked Beatrice, suddenly, for Lord Airlie had +walked rapidly through the suite of rooms, crowded with people, and +through the long conservatory. + +"We are not alone," he replied. "See, Lady Laurence and Mr. Gresham +prefer the rose garden here to those warm rooms. I must speak with +you, Miss Earle. Let me speak now." + +They stood in the pretty garden, where roses of varied hues hung in +rich profusion; the air was heavy with perfume. The moon shone +brightly in the evening sky; its beams fell upon the flowers, bathing +them in floods of silver light. + +A little rustic garden seat stood among the sleeping roses; and there +Beatrice sat, wondering at the strong emotion she read in her lover's +face. + +"Beatrice," he said, "I can bear it no longer. Why did Gaspar Laurence +bend over you? What was he saying? My darling, do you not know how I +love you--so dearly and so deeply that I could not live without you? +Do you not know that I have loved you from the first moment I ever +beheld you? Beatrice, my words are weak. Look at me--read the love in +my face that my lips know not how to utter." + +But she never raised her eyes to him; the glorious golden light of love +that had fallen upon her dazzled her. + +"You must not send me from you, Beatrice," he said, clasping her hands +in his. "I am a strong man, not given to weakness; but, believe me, if +you send me from you, it will kill me. Every hope of my life is +centered in you. Beatrice, will you try to care for me?" + +She turned her face to his--the moonlight showed clearly the bright +tears in her dark eyes. For answer she said, simply: + +"Do not leave me--I care for you now; my love--my love--did you not +know it?" + +The sweet face and quivering lips were so near him that Lord Airlie +kissed the tears away; he also kissed the white hands that clasped his +own. + +"You are mine--my own," he whispered, "until death; say so, Beatrice." + +"I am yours," she said, "even in death." + +It was a stolen half hour, but so full of happiness that it could never +fade from memory. + +"I must go," said Beatrice, at length, unclasping the firm hand that +held her own. "Oh, Lord Airlie, how am I to meet all my friends? Why +did you not wait until tomorrow?" + +"I could not," he said; "and you perhaps would not then have been so +kind." + +He loved her all the more for her simplicity. As they left the garden, +Lord Airlie gathered a white rose and gave it to Beatrice. Long +afterward, when the leaves had become yellow and dry, the rose was +found. + +They remained in the conservatory a few minutes, and then went back to +the ball room. + +"Every waltz must be mine now," said Lord Airlie. "And, Beatrice, I +shall speak to Lord Earle tonight. Are you willing?" + +Yes, she was willing. It was very pleasant to be taken possession of +so completely. It was pleasant to find a will stronger than her own. +She did not care how soon all the world knew that she loved him. The +only thing she wondered at was why he should be so unspeakably happy. + + + +Chapter XXX + +Beatrice never recollected how the ball ended; to her it was one long +trance of happiness. She heard the music, the murmur of voices, as +though in a dream. There were times when everything seemed brighter +than usual--that was when Lord Airlie stood by her side. Her heart was +filled with unutterable joy. + +It was strange, but in that hour of happiness she never even thought of +Hugh Fernely; the remembrance of him never once crossed her mind. +Nothing marred the fullness of her content. + +She stood by Lord Earle's side as guest after guest came up to say +adieu. She saw Lord Airlie waiting for her father. + +"Lord Earle will be engaged for some time, I fear," he said; "I must +see him tonight. Beatrice, promise me you will not go to rest until +your father has given us his consent." + +She could not oppose him. When girls like Beatrice Earle once learn to +love, there is something remarkable in the complete abandonment of +their will. She would fain have told him, with gay, teasing words, +that he had won concession enough for one night; as it was, she simply +promised to do as he wished. + +Lord Earle received the parting compliments of his guests, wondering at +the same time why Lord Airlie kept near him and seemed unwilling to +lose sight of him. The happy moment arrived when the last carriage +rolled away, and the family at Earlescourt were left alone. Lady Earle +asked the two young girls to go into her room for half an hour to "talk +over the ball." Lionel, sorry the evening was over, retired to his +room; then Hubert Airlie went to Lord Earle and asked if he might speak +with him for ten minutes. + +"Will it not do tomorrow?" inquired Ronald, smiling, as he held up his +watch. "See, it is past three o'clock." + +"No," replied Lord Airlie; "I could not pass another night in suspense." + +"Come with me, then," said the master of Earlescourt, as he led the way +to the library, where the lamps were still alight. + +"Now, what is it?" he asked, good-humoredly, turning to the excited, +anxious lover. + +"Perhaps I ought to study my words," said Lord Airlie; "but I can not. +Lord Earle, I love your daughter Beatrice. Will you give her to me to +be my wife?" + +"Sooner than to any one else in the world," replied Ronald. "Is she +willing?" + +"I think so," was the answer, Lord Airlie's heart thrilling with +happiness as he remembered her words. + +"Let us see," said Lord Earle. He rang the bell, and sent for his +daughter. + +Lord Airlie never forgot the beautiful, blushing face half turned from +him as Beatrice entered the room. + +"Beatrice," said her father, clasping her in his arms, "is this true? +Am I to give you to Lord Airlie?" + +"If you please, papa," she whispered. + +"I do please," he cried. "Hubert, I give you a treasure beyond all +price. You may judge of my daughter's love from her own word. I know +it has never been given to any one but you. You are my daughter's +first lover, and her first love. You may take her to your heart, well +satisfied that she has never cared for any one else. It is true, +Beatrice, is it not?" + +"Yes," she said, faltering for a moment as, for the first time, she +remembered Hugh. + +"Tomorrow," continued Lord Earle, "we will talk of the future; we are +all tired tonight. You will sleep in peace, Airlie, I suppose?" + +"If I sleep at all," he replied. + +"Well, you understand clearly that, had the choice rested with me I +should have selected you from all others to take charge of my +Beatrice," said Lord Earle. "Do not wait to thank me. I have a faint +idea of how much a grateful lover has to say. Good night." + + * * * * * + +"What is it, Beatrice?" asked Lillian, as the two sisters stood alone +in the bright little dressing room. + +"I can hardly tell you in sober words," she replied. "Lord Airlie has +asked me to be his wife--his wife; and oh, Lily, I love him so dearly!" + +Pride and dignity all broke down; the beautiful face was laid upon +Lillian's shoulder, and Beatrice wept happy tears. + +"I love him so, Lily," she went on; "but I never thought he cared for +me. What have I ever done that I should be so happy?" + +The moonbeams never fell upon a sweeter picture than these fair young +sisters; Lillian's pure, spirituelle face bent over Beatrice. + +"I love him, Lily," she continued, "for himself. He is a king among +men. Who is so brave, so generous, so noble? If he were a beggar, I +should care just as much for him." + +Lillian listened and sympathized until the bright, dark eyes seemed to +grow weary; then she bade her sister goodnight, and went to her own +room. + +Beatrice Earle was alone at last--alone with her happiness and love. +It seemed impossible that her heart and brain could ever grow calm or +quiet again. It was all in vain she tried to sleep. Lord Airlie's +face, his voice, his words haunted her. + +She rose, and put on a pretty pink dressing gown. The fresh air, she +thought, would make her sleep, so she opened the long window gently, +and looked out. + +The night was still and clear; the moon hung over the dark trees; +floods of silvery light bathed the far-off lake, the sleeping flowers, +and the green grass. There was a gentle stir amid the branches; the +leaves rustled in the wind; the blue, silent heavens above bright and +calm. The solemn beauty of the starlit sky and the hushed murmur +appealed to her. Into the proud, passionate heart there came some +better, nobler thoughts. Ah, in the future that lay so brilliant and +beautiful before her she would strive to be good, she would be true and +steadfast, she would think more of what Lily loved and spoke about at +times. Then her thoughts went back to her lover, and that happy half +hour in the rose garden. From her window she could see it--the moon +shone full upon it. The moonlight was a fair type of her life that was +to be, bright, clear, unshadowed. Even as the thought shaped itself in +her mind, a shadow fell among the trees. She looked, and saw the figure +of a tall man walking down the path that divided the little garden from +the shrubbery. He stood still there, gazing long and earnestly at the +windows of the house, and then went out into the park, and disappeared. + +She was not startled. A passing wonder as to who it might be struck +her. Perhaps it was one of the gamekeepers or gardeners, but she did +not think much about it. A shadow in the moonlight did not frighten +her. + +Soon the cool, fresh air did its work; the bright, dark eyes grew tired +in real earnest, and at length Beatrice retired to rest. + +The sun was shining brightly when she awoke. By her side lay a +fragrant bouquet of flowers, the dew-drops still glistening upon them, +and in their midst a little note which said: + +"Beatrice, will you come into the garden for a few minutes before +breakfast, just to tell me all that happened last night was not a +dream?" + +She rose quickly. Over her pretty morning-dress she threw a light +shawl, and went down to meet Lord Airlie. + +"It was no dream," she said, simply, holding out her hand in greeting +to him. + +"Dear Beatrice, how very good of you!" replied Lord Airlie; adding +presently: "we have twenty minutes before the breakfast bell will ring; +let us make the best of them." + +The morning was fresh, fair, and calm, a soft haze hanging round the +trees. + +"Beatrice," said Lord Airlie, "you see the sun shining there in the +high heavens. Three weeks ago I should have thought it easier for that +same sun to fall than for me to win you. I can scarcely believe that +my highest ideal of woman is realized. It was always my ambition to +marry some young girl who had never loved any one before me. You never +have. No man ever held your hand as I hold it now, no man ever kissed +your face as I kissed it last night." + +As he spoke, a burning flush covered her face. She remembered Hugh +Fernely. He loved her better for the blush, thinking how pure and +guileless she was. + +"I fear I shall be a very jealous lover," he continued. "I shall envy +everything those beautiful eyes rest upon. Will you ride with me this +morning? I want to talk to you about Lynnton--my home, you know. You +will be Lady Airlie of Lynnton, and no king will be so proud as I +shall." + +The breakfast bell rang at last. When Beatrice entered the room, Lady +Earle went up to her. + +"Your papa has told me the news," she said. "Heaven bless you, and +make you happy, dear child!" + +Lionel Dacre guessed the state of affairs, and said but little. The +chief topic of conversation was the ball, interspersed by many +conjectures on the part of Lord Earle as to why the post-bag was so +late. + +It did not arrive until breakfast was ended. Lord Earle distributed +the letters; there were three for Lord Airlie, one to Lady Earle from +Dora, two for Lionel, none for Lillian. Lord Earle held in his hand a +large common blue envelope. + +"Miss Beatrice Earle," he said; "from Brookfield. What large writing! +The name was evidently intended to be seen." + +Beatrice took the letter carelessly from him; the handwriting was quite +unknown to her; she knew no one in Brookfield, which was the nearest +post-town--it was probably some circular, some petition for charity, +she thought. Lord Airlie crossed the room to speak to her, and she +placed the letter carelessly in the pocket of her dress, and in a few +minutes forgot all about it. + +Lord Airlie was waiting; the horses had been ordered for an early hour. +Beatrice ran upstairs to put on her riding habit, and never gave a +thought to the letter. + +It was a pleasant ride; in the after-days she looked back upon it as +one of the brightest hours she had ever known. Lord Airlie told her +all about Lynnton, his beautiful home--a grand old castle, where every +room had a legend, every tree almost a tradition. + +For he intended to work wonders; a new and magnificent wing should be +built, and on one room therein art, skill, and money should be lavished +without stint. + +"Her boudoir" he said, "should be fit for a queen and for a fairy." + +So they rode through the pleasant, sunlit air. A sudden thought struck +Beatrice. + +"I wonder," she said, "what mamma will think? You must go to see her, +Hubert. She dreaded love and marriage so much. Poor mamma!" + +She asked herself, with wondering love, what could have happened that +her mother should dread what she found so pleasant? Lord Airlie +entered warmly into all her plans and wishes. Near the grand suite of +rooms that were to be prepared for his beautiful young wife, Lord +Airlie spoke of rooms for Dora, if she would consent to live with them. + +"I must write and tell mamma today," said Beatrice. "I should not like +her to hear it from any one but myself." + +"Perhaps you will allow me to inclose a note," suggested Lord Airlie, +"asking her to tolerate me." + +"I do not think that will be very difficult," laughingly replied his +companion. + +Their ride was a long one. On their return Beatrice was slightly +tired, and went straight to her own room. She wrote a long letter to +Dora, who must have smiled at her description of Lord Airlie. He was +everything that was true, noble, chivalrous, and grand. The world did +not hold such another. When the letter was finished it was time to +dress for dinner. + +"Which dress will you wear, miss?" asked the attentive maid. + +"The prettiest I have," said the young girl, her bright face glowing +with the words she had just written. + +What dress could be pretty enough for him? One was found at last that +pleased her--a rich, white crepe. But she would wear no +jewels--nothing but crimson roses. One lay in the thick coils of her +dark hair, another nestled against her white neck, others looped up the +flowing skirt. + +Beatrice's toilet satisfied her--this, too, with her lover's fastidious +taste to please. She stood before the large mirror, and a pleased +smile overspread her face as she saw herself reflected therein. + +Suddenly she remembered the letter. The morning-dress still hung upon +a chair. She took the envelope from the pocket. + +"Shall you want me again, Miss Earle?" asked her maid. + +"No," replied Beatrice, breaking the seal; "I am ready now." + +The girl quitted the room, and Beatrice, standing before the mirror, +drew out a long, closely written letter, turning presently, in +amazement, to the signature, wondering who could be the writer. + + + +Chapter XXXI + +The sun shone brightly upon the roses that gleamed in her hair and +nestled against the white neck. Could it be lingering in cruel mockery +upon the pale face and the dark eyes so full of wild horror? As +Beatrice Earle read that letter, the color left even her lips, her +heart seemed to stand still, a vague, nameless dread took hold of her, +the paper fell from her hands, and with a long, low cry she fell upon +her knees, hiding her face in her hands. + +It had fallen at last--the cruel blow that even in her dreams and +thoughts she had considered impossible. Hugh Fernely had found her +out, and claimed her as his own! + +This letter, which had stricken joy and beauty from the proud face and +left it white and cold almost as the face of the dead was from him; and +the words it contained were full of such passionate love that they +terrified her. The letter ran as follows: + +"My own Beatrice,--From peril by sea and land I have returned to claim +you. Since we parted I have stood face to face with death in its most +terrible form. Each time I conquered because I felt I must see you +again. It is a trite saying that death is immortal. Death itself +would not part me from you--nay, if I were buried, and you came to my +grave and whispered my name, it seems to me I must hear you. + +"Beatrice, you promised to be my wife--you will not fail me? Ah, no, it +can not be that the blue heavens above will look on quietly and witness +my death blow! You will come to me, and give me a word, a smile to +show how true you have been. + +"Last evening I wandered round the grounds, wondering which were the +windows of my love's chamber, and asking myself whether she was +dreaming of me. Life has changed for you since we sat upon the cliffs +at Knutsford and you promised to be my wife. I heard at the farm all +about the great change, and how the young girl who wandered with me +through the bonny green woods is the daughter of Lord Earle. Your +home, doubtless, is a stately one. Rank and position like yours might +frighten some lovers--they do not daunt me. You will not let them +stand between us. You can not, after the promises you uttered. + +"Beatrice, my voyage has been a successful one; I am not a rich man, +but I have enough to gratify every wish to your heart. I will take you +away to sunny lands over the sea where life shall be so full of +happiness that you will wish it never to end. + +"I wait your commands. Rumor tells me Lord Earl is a strange, +disappointed man. I will not yet call upon you at your own home; I +shall await your reply at Brookfield. Write at once, Beatrice, and +tell me how and when I may meet you. I will go anywhere, at any time. +Do not delay--my heart hungers and thirsts for one glance of your +peerless face. Appoint an hour soon. How shall I live until it comes? +Until then think of me as + + "Your devoted lover, Hugh Fernely. + "Address Post Office, Brookfield." + +She read every word carefully and then slowly turned the letter over +and read it again. Her white lips quivered with indignant passion. +How dared he presume so far? His love! Ah, if Hubert Airlie could have +read those words! Fernely's love! She loathed him; she hated, with +fierce, hot hatred, the very sound of his name. Why must this most +wretched folly of her youth rise up against her now? What must she do? +Where could she turn for help and counsel? + +Could it be possible that this man she hated so fiercely had touched +her face and covered her hands with kisses and tears? She struck the +little white hands which held the letter against the marble stand, and +where Hugh Fernely's tears had fallen a dark bruise purpled the fair +skin; white hard, fierce words came from the beautiful lips. + +"Was I blind, foolish, mad?" she cried. "Dear Heaven, save me from the +fruits of my own folly!" + +Then hot anger yielded to despair. What should she do? Look which way +she might, there was no hope. If Lord Earle once discovered that she +had dealt falsely with him, she would be driven from the home she had +learned to love. He would never pardon such concealment, deceit, and +folly as hers. She knew that. If Lord Airlie ever discovered that any +other man had called her his love, had kissed her face, and claimed her +as his own, she would lose his affection. Of that she was also quite +sure. + +If she would remain at Earlescourt, if she would retain her father's +affection and Lord Airlie's love, they must never hear of Hugh Fernely. +There could be no doubt on that head. + +What should she do with him? Could she buy him off? Would money +purchase her freedom? Remembering his pride and his love, she thought +not. Should she appeal to his pity--tell him all her heart and life +were centered in Lord Airlie? Should she appeal to his love for pity's +sake? + +Remembering his passionate words, she knew it would be useless. Had she +but been married before he returned--were she but Lady Airlie of +Lynnton--he could not have harmed her. Was the man mad to think he +could win her--she who had had some of the most noble-born men in +England at her feet? Did he think she would exchange her grand old +name for his obscure one--her magnificence for his poverty. + +There was no more time for thought; the dinner bell had sounded for the +last time, and she must descend. She thrust the letter hastily into a +drawer, and locked it, and then turned to her mirror. She was startled +at the change. Surely that pale face, with its quivering lips and +shadowed eyes could not be hers. What should she do to drive away the +startled fear, the vague dread, the deadly pallor? The roses she wore +were but a ghastly contrast. + +"I must bear it better," she said to herself. "Such a face as this +will betray my secret. Let me feel that I do not care that it will all +come right in the end." + +She said the words aloud, but the voice was changed and hoarse. + +"Women have faced more deadly peril than this," she continued, "and +have won. Is there any peril I would not brave for Hubert Airlie's +sake?" + +Beatrice Earle left the room. She swept, with her beautiful head +erect, through the wide corridors and down the broad staircase. She +took her seat at the sumptuous table, whereon gold and silver shone, +whereon everything recherche and magnificent was displayed. But she +had with her a companion she was never again to lose, a haunting fear, +a skeleton that was never more to quit her side, a miserable +consciousness of folly that was bringing sore wretchedness upon her. +Never again was she to feel free from fear and care. + +"Beatrice," said Lady Earle when dinner was over, "you will never learn +prudence." + +She started, and the beautiful bloom just beginning to return, vanished +again. + +"Do not look alarmed, my dear," continued Lady Helena; "I am not angry. +I fear you were out too long today. Lord Airlie must take more care of +you; the sun was very hot, and you look quite ill. I never saw you +look as you do tonight." + +"We had very little sun," replied Beatrice, with a laugh as she tried +to make a gay one; "we rode under the shade in the park. I am tired, +but not with my ride." + +It was a pleasant evening, and when the gentlemen joined the ladies in +the drawing room, the sunbeams still lingered on flower and tree. The +long windows were all open, and the soft summer wind that came in was +laden with the sweet breath of the flowers. + +Lord Airlie asked Beatrice to sing. It was a relief to her; she could +not have talked; all the love and sorrow, all the fear and despair that +tortured her, could find vent in music. So she sat in the evening +gloaming, and Lord Airlie, listening to the superb voice, wondered at +the pathos and sadness that seemed to ring in every note. + +"What weird music, Beatrice!" he said, at length. "You are singing of +love, but the love is all sorrow. Your songs are generally so bright +and happy. What has come over you?" + +"Nothing," was the reply, but he, bending over her, saw the dark eyes +were dim with tears. + +"There," cried Lord Airlie, "you see I am right. You have positively +sung yourself to tears." + +He drew her from the piano, and led her to the large bay window where +the roses peeped in. He held her face up to the mellow evening light, +and looked gravely into her beautiful eyes. + +"Tell me," he said, simply, "what has saddened you, Beatrice you have +no secrets from me. What were you thinking of just now when you sang +that dreamy 'Lebenwold?' Every note was like a long sigh." + +"Shall you laugh if I tell you?" she asked. + +"No," he replied; "I can not promise to sigh, but I will not smile." + +"I was thinking what I should do if--if anything happened to part us." + +"But nothing ever will happen," he said; "nothing can part us but +death. I know what would happen to me if I lost you, Beatrice." + +"What?" she asked, looking up into the handsome, kindly face. + +"I should not kill myself," he said, "for I hold life to be a sacred +gift; but I should go where the face of no other woman would smile upon +me. Why do you talk so dolefully, Beatrice? Let us change the subject. +Tell me where you would like to go when we are married--shall it be +France, Italy, or Spain?" + +"Would nothing ever make you love me less, Hubert?" she asked. "Neither +poverty nor sickness?" + +"No," he replied; "nothing you can think of or invent." + +"Nor disgrace?" she continued; but he interrupted her half angrily. + +"Hush!" he said, "I do not like such a word upon your lips; never say +it again. What disgrace can touch you? You are too pure, too good." + +She turned from him, and he fancied a low moan came from her trembling +lips. + +"You are tired, and--pray forgive me, Beatrice--nervous too," said Lord +Airlie; "I will be your doctor. You shall lie down here upon this +couch. I will place it where you can see the sun set in the west, and +I will read to you something that will drive all fear away. I thought +during dinner that you looked ill and worn." + +Gently enough he drew the couch to the window, Lady Earle watching him +the while with smiling face. He induced Beatrice to lie down, and then +turned her face to the garden where the setting sun was pleasantly +gilding the flowers. + +"Now, you have something pleasant to look at," said Lord Airlie, "and +you shall have something pleasant to listen to. I am going to read +some of Schiller's 'Marie Stuart.'" + +He sat at her feet, and held her white hands in his. He read the +grand, stirring words that at times seemed like the ring of martial +music, and again like the dirge of a soul in despair. + +His clear, rich voice sounded pleasantly in the evening calm. +Beatrice's eyes lingered on the western sky all aflame, but her +thoughts were with Hugh Fernely. + +What could she do? If she could but temporize with him, if she could +but pacify him, for a time, until she was married, all would be safe. +He would not dare to talk of claiming Lady Airlie it would be vain if +he did. Besides, she would persuade Lord Airlie to go abroad; and, +seeing all pursuit useless, Hugh would surely give her up. Even at the +very worst, if Hubert and she were once married, she would not fear; if +she confessed all to him, he would forgive her. He might be very +angry, but he would pardon his wife. If he knew all about it before +marriage, there was no hope for her. + +She must temporize with Fernely--write in a style that would convey +nothing, and tell him that he must wait. He could not refuse. She +would write that evening a letter that should give him no hope, nor yet +drive him to despair. + +"That is a grand scene, is it not?" said Lord Airlie suddenly; then he +saw by Beatrice's startled look that she had not listened. + +"I plead guilty at once," she replied. "I was thinking--do not be +angry--I was thinking of something that relates to yourself. I heard +nothing of what you read, Hubert. Will you read it again?" + +"Certainly not," he said, with a laugh of quiet amusement. "Reading +does not answer; we will try conversation. Let us resume the subject +you ran away from before--where shall we go for our wedding trip?" + +Only three days since she would have suggested twenty different places; +she would have smiled and blushed, her dark eyes growing brighter at +every word. Now she listened to her lover's plans as if a ghostly hand +had clutched her heart and benumbed her with fear. + + * * * * * + +That evening it seemed to Beatrice Earle as though she would never be +left alone. In the drawing room stood a dainty little escritoire used +by the ladies of Earlescourt. Here she dared not write lest Lord +Airlie should, as he often did, linger by her, pretending to assist +her. If she went into the library, Lord Earle would be sure to ask to +whom she was writing. There was nothing to be done but to wait until +she retired to her own room. + +First came Lady Earle, solicitous about her health, recommending a long +rest and a quiet sleep; then Lillian, full of anxiety, half longing to +ask Beatrice if she thought Lionel Dacre handsomer and kinder than any +one else; then the maid Suzette, who seemed to linger as though she +would never go. + +At length she was alone, the door locked upon the outer world. She was +soon seated at her little desk, where she speedily wrote the following +cold letter, that almost drove Hugh Fernely mad: + +"My dear Hugh,--Have you really returned? I thought you were lost in +the Chinese Seas, or had forgotten the little episode at Knutsford. I +can not see you just yet. As you have heard, Lord Earle has peculiar +notions--I must humor them. I will write again soon, and say when and +where I can see you. Yours sincerely, Beatrice Earle." + +She folded the letter and addressed it as he wished; then she left her +room and went down into the hall, where the post-bag lay open upon the +table. She placed the missive inside, knowing that no one would take +the trouble to look at the letters; then she returned, as she had come, +silently. + +The letter reached Brookfield at noon the following day. When Hugh +Fernely opened it he bit his lips with rage. Cold, heartless lines! +Not one word was there of welcome. Not one of sorrow for his supposed +death; no mention of love, truth, or fidelity; no promise that she +would be his. What could such a letter mean? + +He almost hated the girl whom he had loved so well. Yet he could not, +would not, believe anything except that perhaps during his long absence +she had grown to think less kindly of him. She had promised to be his +wife, and let come what might, he would make her keep her word. + +So he said, and Hugh Fernely meant it. His whole life was centered in +her and he would not tamely give her up. + +The letter dispatched, Beatrice awaited the reply with a suspense no +words can describe. A dull wonder came over her at times why she must +suffer so keenly. Other girls had done what she had done--nay, fifty +times worse--and no Nemesis haunted them. Why was this specter of fear +and shame to stand by her side every moment and distress her? + +It was true it had been very wrong of her to meet this tiresome Hugh +Fernely in the pleasant woods and on the sea shore; but it had broken +the monotony that had seemed to be killing her. His passionate love +had been delicious flattery; still she had not intended anything +serious. It had only been a novelty and an amusement to her, although +to him perhaps it had been a matter of life or death. But she had +deceived Lord Earle. If, when he had questioned her, and sought with +such tender wisdom to win her confidence, if she had told him her story +then, he would have saved her from further persecution and from the +effects of her own folly; if she had told him then, it would not have +mattered there would have been no obstacle to her love for Lord Airlie. + +It was different now. If she were to tell Lord Earle, after his +deliberate and emphatic words, she could expect no mercy; yet, she said +to herself, other girls have done even worse, and punishment had not +overtaken them so swiftly. + +At last she slept, distressed and worn out with thought. + + + +Chapter XXXII + +For the first time in her life, when the bright sun shone into her +room, Beatrice turned her face to the wall and dreaded the sight of +day. The post-bag would leave the hall at nine in the morning--Hugh +would have the letter at noon. Until then she was safe. + +Noon came and went, but the length of the summer's day brought nothing +save fresh misery. At every unusual stir, every loud peal of the bell, +every quick footstep, she turned pale, and her heart seemed to die +within her. + +Lady Earle watched her with anxious eyes. She could not understand the +change that had come over the brilliant young girl who had used to be +the life of the house. Every now and then she broke out into wild +feverish gayety. Lillian saw that something ailed her sister--she +could not tell what. + +For the fiftieth time that day, when the hall door bell sounded, +Beatrice looked up with trembling lips she vainly tried to still. At +last Lady Earle took the burning hands in her own. + +"My dear child," she said, "you will have a nervous fever if you go on +in this way. What makes you start at every noise? You look as though +you were waiting for something dreadful to happen." + +"No one ever called me nervous," replied Beatrice, with a smile, +controlling herself with an effort; "mamma's chief complaint against me +was that I had no nerves;" adding presently to herself: "This can not +last. I would rather die at once that live in this agony." + +The weary day came to a close, however, and it was well for Beatrice +that Lord Airlie had not spent it with her. The gentlemen at +Earlescourt had all gone to a bachelor's dinner, given by old Squire +Newton of the Grange. It was late when they returned, and Lord Airlie +did not notice anything unusual in Beatrice. + +"I call this a day wasted," he said, as he bade her goodnight; "for it +has been a day spent away from you. I thought it would never come to +an end." + +She sighed, remembering what a dreary day it had been to her. Could she +live through such another? Half the night she lay awake, wondering if +Hugh's answer to her letter would come by the first post, and whether +Lord Earle would say anything if he noticed another letter from +Brookfield. Fortune favored her. In the morning Lord Earle was deeply +engrossed by a story Lionel was telling, and asked Beatrice to open the +bag for him. She again saw a hated blue envelope bearing her own name. +When all the other letters were distributed, she slipped hers into the +pocket of her dress, without any one perceiving the action. + +Breakfast was over at last; and leaving Lord Airlie talking to Lillian, +Beatrice hastened to read the letter. None of Hugh's anger was there +set down; but if she had cared for him her heart must have ached at the +pathos of his simple words. He had received her note, he said--the +note so unworthy of her--and hastened to tell her that he was obliged +to go to London on some important business connected with his ship, and +that he should be absent three weeks. He would write to her at once on +his return, and he should insist upon seeing her then, as well as exact +the fulfillment of her promise. + +It was a respite; much might happen in three weeks. She tore the +letter into shreds, and felt as though relieved of a deadly weight. If +time could but be gained, she thought--if something could happen to +urge on her marriage with Hubert Airlie before Hugh returned! At any +rate, for the moment she was free. + +She looked like herself again when Lord Airlie came to ask her if she +would ride or walk. The beautiful bloom had returned to her face and +the light to her eyes. All day she was in brilliant spirits. There +was no need now to tremble at a loud ring or a rapid step. Three weeks +was a long time--much might happen. "Oh, if Lord Airlie would but force +me to marry him soon!" + +That very evening Lord Airlie asked her if she would go out with him. +He wanted to talk to her alone, for he was going away on the morrow, +and had much to say to her. + +"Where are you going?" she asked with sad, wondering eyes, her chance +of escaping seeming rapidly to diminish. + +"I am going to Lynnton," he replied, "to see about plans for the new +buildings. They should be begun at once. For even if we remain abroad +a whole year they will then be hardly finished. I shall be away ten +days or a fortnight. When I return, Beatrice, I shall ask you a +question. Can you guess what it will be?" + +There was no answering smile on her face. Perhaps he would be absent +three weeks. What chance of escape had she now? + +"I shall ask you when you will fulfill your promise," he +continued--"when you will let me make you in deed and in word my wife. +You must not be cruel to me, Beatrice. I have waited long enough. You +will think about it while I am gone, will you not?" + +Lord Earle smiled as he noted his daughter's face. Airlie was going +away, and therefore she was dull--that was just as it should be. He +was delighted that she cared so much for him. He told Lady Helena that +he had not thought Beatrice capable of such deep affection. Lady +Helena told him she had never known any one who could love so well or +hate so thoroughly as Beatrice. + +The morning came, and Lord Airlie lingered so long over his farewell +that Lady Helena began to think he would alter his mind and remain +where he was. He started at last, however, promising to write every +day to Beatrice, and followed by the good wishes of the whole household. + +He was gone, and Hugh was gone; for three weeks she had nothing to +fear, nothing to hope, and a settled melancholy calm fell upon her. +Her father and Lady Helena thought she was dull because her lover was +away; the musical laugh that used to gladden Lord Earle's heart was +hushed; she became unusually silent; the beautiful face grew pale and +sad. They smiled and thought it natural. Lillian, who knew every +expression of her sister's face, grew anxious, fearing there was some +ailment either of body or mind of which none of them were aware. + +They believed she was thinking of her absent lover and feeling dull +without him. In reality her thoughts were centered upon one idea--what +could she do to get rid of Hugh Fernely? Morning, noon, and night that +one question was always before her. She talked when others did, she +laughed with them; but if there came an interval of silence the +beautiful face assumed a far-off dreamy expression Lillian had never +seen there before. Beatrice was generally on her guard, watchful and +careful, but there were times when the mask she wore so bravely fell +off, and Lillian, looking at her then, knew all was not well with her +sister. + +What was to be done to get free from Hugh? Every hour in the day fresh +plans came to her--some so absurd as to provoke feverish, unnatural +laughter, but none that were feasible. With all her daring wit, her +quick thought, her vivid fancy--with all her resource of mind and +intellect, she could do nothing. Day and night the one question was +still there--what could she do to get free from Hugh Fernely? + + + +Chapter XXXIII + +A whole week passed, and the "something" Beatrice longed for had not +happened. Life went on quietly and smoothly. Her father and Lady +Earle busied themselves in talking of preparations for the marriage. +Lionel Dacre and Lillian slowly drifted into the fairyland of hope, +Lord Airlie wrote every day. No one dreamed of the dark secret that +hung over Earlescourt. + +Every morning Beatrice, with the sanguine hopefulness of youth, said to +herself, "Something will happen today;" every night she thought, +"Something must happen tomorrow;" but days and nights went on calmly, +unbroken by any event or incident such as she wished. + +The time of reprieve was rapidly passing. What should she do if, at +the end of three weeks, Lord Airlie returned and Hugh Fernely came back +to Earlescourt? Through the long sunny hours that question tortured +her--the suspense made her sick at heart. There were times when she +thought it better to die at once than pass through this lingering agony +of fear. + +But she was young, and youth is ever sanguine; she was brave, and the +brave rarely despair. She did not realize the difficulties of her +position, and she did not think it possible that anything could happen +to take her from Hubert Airlie. + +Only one person noted the change in Beatrice, and that was her sister, +Lillian Earle. Lillian missed the high spirits, the brilliant +repartee, the gay words that had made home so bright; over and over +again she said to herself all was not well with her sister. + +Lillian had her own secret--one she had as yet hardly whispered to +herself. From her earliest childhood she had been accustomed to give +way to Beatrice. Not that there was any partiality displayed, but the +willful young beauty generally contrived to have her own way. By her +engaging manners and high spirits she secured every one's attention; +and thus Lillian was in part overlooked. + +She was very fair and gentle, this golden-haired daughter of Ronald +Earle. Her face was so pure and spirituelle that one might have +sketched it for the face of a seraph; the tender violet eyes were full +of eloquence, the white brow full of thought. Her beauty never +dazzled, never took any one by storm; it won by slow degrees a place in +one's heart. + +She was of a thoughtful, unobtrusive nature; nothing could have made +her worldly, nothing could have made her proud. + +Sweet, calm, serene, ignorant alike of all the height of happiness and +the depths of despair--gifted, too with a singularly patient +disposition and amiable temper, no one had ever seen Lillian Earle +angry or hasty; her very presence seemed full of rest and peace. + +Nature had richly endowed her. She had a quick, vivid fancy, a rare +and graceful imagination; and perhaps her grandest gift was a strong +and deep love for things not of this world. Not that Lillian was given +to "preaching," or being disagreeably "goody," but high and holy +thoughts came naturally to her. When Lord Earle wanted amusement, he +sent for Beatrice--no one could while away long hours as she could; +when he wanted comfort, advice, or sympathy, he sought Lillian. Every +one loved her, much as one loves the sunbeams that bring bright light +and warmth. + +Lionel Dacre loved her best of all. His only wonder was that any one +could even look at Beatrice when Lillian was near. He wondered +sometimes whether she had not been made expressly for him--she was so +strong where he was weak, her calm serene patience controlled his +impetuosity, her gentle thoughtfulness balanced his recklessness, her +sweet, graceful humility corrected his pride. + +She influenced him more than he knew--one word from her did wonders +with him. He loved her for her fair beauty, but most of all for the +pure, guileless heart that knew no shadow of evil upon which the world +had never even breathed. + +Lionel Dacre had peculiar ideas about women. His mother, who had been +a belle in her day, was essentially worldly. The only lessons she had +ever taught him were how to keep up appearance, how to study +fashionable life and keep pace with it. + +She had been a lady of fashion, struggling always with narrow means; +and there were times when her son's heart grew sick, remembering the +falseness, the meanness, the petty cunning maneuvers she had been +obliged to practice. + +As he grew older and began to look around the world, he was not +favorably impressed. The ladies of his mother's circle were all +striving together to get the foremost place. He heard of envy, +jealousy, scandal, untruth, until he wondered if all women were alike. + +He himself was of a singularly truthful, honorable nature--all deceit, +all false appearances were hateful to him. He had formed to himself an +ideal of a wife, and he resolved to live and die unmarried unless he +could find some one to realize it. + +Lillian Earle did. He watched her keenly; she was truthful and open as +the day. He never heard a false word from her not even one of the +trifling excuses that pass current in society for truth. He said to +himself, if any one was all but perfect, surely she was. To use his +own expression, he let his heart's desire rest in her; all he had ever +hoped for or dreamed of was centered in her. He set to work +deliberately and with all the ardor of his impetuous nature to win her +love. + +At first she did not understand him; then by degrees he watched the +pure young heart awaken to consciousness. It was as pretty a +development of love as ever was witnessed. At the sound of his +footsteps or his voice the faint color flushed into her face, light +came into her eyes; and when he stood by her side, bending his handsome +head to read her secret, she would speak a word or two, and then hurry +away from him. If he wished to join her in her walks or rides, she +begged to be excused with trembling lips and drooping eyes. + +She hardly knew herself what had come to her--why the world seemed +suddenly to have grown so fair--what made fresh luster in the sky +above. A vague, delicious happiness stirred in the gentle heart. She +longed for, yet half dreaded, Lionel's presence. When he was near her, +the little hands trembled and the sweet face grew warm and flushed. +Yet the measure of her content and happiness seemed full. + +Lionel saw it all, and he wondered why such a precious treasure as the +love of this pure, innocent girl should be his. What had he ever done +to deserve it? Through her he began to respect all other women, +through her he began to value the high and holy teachings he had +hitherto overlooked. She was his ideal realized. If ever the time +should come for him to be disappointed in her, then he would believe +all things false--but it never could be. + +How should he tell her of his love? It would be like trying to cage a +startled, timid bird. He stood abashed before her sweet innocence. + +But the time came when he resolved to woo and win her--when he felt +that his life would be unbearable without her; and he said to himself +that sweet Lillian Earle should be his wife, or he would never look +upon a woman's face again. + +Lionel felt some slight jealousy of Beatrice; he paid dearly enough for +it in the dark after-days. He fancied that she eclipsed Lillian. He +thought that if he spoke to Lord Earle of his love, he would insist +upon both marriages taking place on one day; and then his fair gentle +love would, as usual, be second to her brilliant sister. + +"That shall never be," he said to himself. "Lillian shall have a +wedding day of her own, the honors unshared. She shall be the one +center of attraction." + +He determined to say nothing to Lord Earle until Beatrice was married; +surely her wedding must take place soon--Lord Airlie seemed unable to +exist out of her presence. When they were married and gone, Lillian +should have her turn of admiration and love. It was nothing but proud, +jealous care for her that made him delay. + +And Lillian discovered her own secret at last. She knew she loved +Lionel. He was unlike every one else. Who was so handsome, so brave, +so good? She liked to look shyly at the frank, proud face and the +careless wave of hair thrown back from his brow; his voice made music +in her heart, and she wondered whether he really cared for her. + +In her rare sweet humility she never saw how far she was above him; she +never dreamed that he looked up to her as a captain to his queen. He +was always by her side, he paid her a thousand graceful attentions, he +sought her advice and sympathy, some unspoken words seemed ever on his +lips. Lillian Earle asked herself over and over again whether he loved +her. + +She was soon to know. From some careless words of Lord Earle's, Lionel +gathered that Beatrice's marriage would take place in November. Then +he decided, if he could win her consent, that Lillian's wedding should +be when the spring flowers were blooming. + +August, with its sunny days, was at an end. Early in September Lillian +stood alone on the shore of the deep, clear lake. Lionel saw her +there, and hastened to join her, wondering at the grave expression on +her face. + +"What are you thinking of, Lillian?" he asked. "You look sad and +anxious." + +"I was thinking of Beatrice," she replied. "She seems so changed, so +different. I can not understand it." + +"I can," said Lionel. "You forget that she will soon leave the old +life far behind her. She is going into a new world; a change so great +may well make one thoughtful." + +"She loves Lord Airlie," returned Lillian--she could hear even then the +musical voice saying, "I love him so dearly, Lily"--"she can not be +unhappy." + +"I do not mean that," he replied; "thought and silence are not always +caused by unhappiness. Ah, Lily," he cried, "I wonder if you guess +ever so faintly at the thoughts that fill my heart! I wonder if you +know how dearly I love you. Nay, do not turn from me, do not look +frightened. To me you are the truest, noblest, and fairest woman in +the world. I love you so dearly, Lily, that I have not a thought or +wish away from you. I am not worthy to win you, I know--you are as far +above me as the sun shining overhead but, if you would try, you might +make me what you would. Could you like me?" + +The sweet flushed face was raised to his; he read the happiness shining +in the clear eyes. But she could not speak to him; words seemed to die +upon her lips. Lionel took the little white hands and clasped them in +his own. + +"I knew I should frighten you, Lily," he said, gently. "Forgive me if +I have spoken too abruptly. I do not wish you to decide at once. Take +me on trial--see if you can learn to love me weeks, months, or years +hence. I am willing to wait a whole life time for you, my darling, and +should think the time well spent. Will it be possible for you ever to +like me?" + +"I like you now," she said, simply. + +"Then promise to endeavor to love me," he persisted; "will you, Lily? +I will do anything you wish me; I will try my best to be half as good +as you are. Promise me, darling--my life hangs on your answer." + +"I promise," she said; and he knew how much the words meant. + +On the little hand that rested in his own he saw a pretty ring; it was +a large pearl set in gold. Lionel drew it from her finger. + +"I shall take this, Lily," he said; "and, when Beatrice is married and +gone, I shall go to Lord Earle and ask him to give you to me. I will +not go now; we will keep our secret for a short time. Two love affairs +at once would be too much. You will learn to love me, and when the +spring time comes, perhaps you will make me happy as Beatrice will by +then have made Lord Airlie. I shall keep the ring. Lillian, you are +my pearl, and this will remind me of you. Just to make me very happy, +say you are pleased." + +"I will say more than that," she replied, a happy smile rippling over +her face; "I have more than half learned my lesson." + +He kissed the pretty hand, and looked at the fair, flushed face he +dared not touch with his lips. + +"I can not thank you," he said, his voice full of emotion. "I will +live for you, Lily, and my life shall prove my gratitude. I begin to +wish the spring were nearer. I wonder if you will have learned your +lesson then." + + + +Chapter XXXIV + +Lord Airlie's return to Earlescourt had been delayed. The changes to +take place at Lynnton involved more than he thought. It was quite three +weeks before he could leave the Hall and seek again the presence he +loved best on earth. + +Three weeks, yet nothing had happened. Beatrice had watched each day +begin and end until her heart grew faint with fear; she was as far as +ever from finding herself freed from Hugh Fernely. + +Lord Airlie, on his arrival, was startled by the change in her +brilliant face. Yet he was flattered by it. He thought how intensely +she must love him if his absence could affect her so strongly. He +kissed her pale face over and over again, declaring that he would not +leave her any more--no one else knew how to take care of her. + +They were all pleased to welcome him for every one liked Lord Airlie, +and the family circle did not seem complete without him. That very +night he had an interview with Lord Earle and besought him to allow the +marriage to take place as soon as possible. He had been miserable away +from Beatrice, he declared, and he thought she looked pale and grave. +Would Lord Earle be willing to say November, or perhaps the latter end +of October? + +"My daughter must arrange the time herself" said Lord Earle; "whatever +day she chooses will meet with my approval." + +Lord Airlie went to the drawing room where he had left Beatrice, and +told her Lord Earle's answer; she smiled, but he saw the white lips +quiver as she did so. + +Only one month since his passionate, loving words would have made the +sweetest music to her; she listened and tried to look like herself, but +her heart was cold with vague, unutterable dread. + +"The fourteenth of October"--clever Lord Airlie, by some system of +calculation known only to himself, persuaded Beatrice that that was the +"latter end of the month." + +"Not another word," he said, gayly. "I will go and tell Lord Earle. +Do not say afterward that you have changed your mind, as many ladies +do. Beatrice, say to me, 'Hubert, I promise to marry you on the +fourteenth of October.'" + +She repeated the words after him. + +"It will be almost winter," he added; "the flowers will have faded, the +leaves will have fallen from the trees; yet no summer day will ever be +so bright to me as that." + +She watched him quit the room, and a long, low cry came from her lips. +Would it ever be? She went to the window and looked at the trees. +When the green leaves lay dead she would be Lord Airlie's wife, or +would the dark cloud of shame and sorrow have fallen, hiding her +forever from his sight? + +Ah, if she had been more prudent! How tame and foolish, how +distasteful the romance she had once thought delightful seemed now! If +she had but told all to Lord Earle! + +It was too late now! Yet, despite the deadly fear that lay at her +heart, Beatrice still felt something like hope. Hope is the last thing +to die in the human breast--it was not yet dead in hers. + +At least for that one evening--the first after Lord Airlie's +return--she would be happy. She would throw the dark shadow away from +her, forget it, and enjoy her lover's society. He could see smiles on +her face, and hear bright words such as he loved. Let the morrow bring +what it would, she would be happy that night. And she kept her word. + +Lord Airlie looked back afterward on that evening as one of the +pleasantest of his life. There was no shadow upon the beautiful face +he loved so well. Beatrice was all life and animation; her gay, sweet +words charmed every one who heard them. Even Lionel forgot to be +jealous, and admired her more than he ever had before. + +Lord Earle smiled as he remarked to Lady Helena that all her fears for +her grandchild's health were vain--the true physician was come at last. + +When Lord Airlie bade Beatrice good night, he bent low over the white, +jeweled hand. + +"I forget all time when with you," he said; "it does not seem an hour +since I came to Earlescourt." + +The morrow brought the letter she had dreaded yet expected to see. + +It was not filled with loving, passionate words, as was the first Hugh +had written. He said the time had come when he must have an +answer--when he must know from her own lips at what period he might +claim the fulfillment of her promise--when she would be his wife. + +He would wait no longer. If it was to be war, let the war begin he +should win. If peace, so much the better. In any case he was tired of +suspense, and must know at once what she intended to do. He would +trust to no more promises; that very night he would be at Earlescourt, +and must see her. Still, though he intended to enforce his rights, he +would not wantonly cause her pain. He would not seek the presence of +her father until she had seen him and they had settled upon some plan +of action. + +"I know the grounds around Earlescourt well," he wrote. "I wandered +through them for many nights three weeks ago. A narrow path runs from +the gardens to the shrubbery--meet me there at nine; it will be dark +then, and you need not fear being seen. Remember, Beatrice, at nine +tonight I shall be there; and if you do not come, I must seek you in +the house, for see you I will." + +The letter fell from her hands; cold drops of fear and shame stood upon +her brow; hatred and disgust filled her heart. Oh, that she should +ever have placed herself in the power of such a man! + +The blow had fallen at last. She stood face to face with her shame and +fear. How could she meet Hugh Fernely? What should she say to him? +How must such a meeting end? It would but anger him the more. He +should not even touch her hand in greeting, she said to herself; and +how would he endure her contempt? + +She would not see him. She dared not. How could she find time? Lord +Airlie never left her side. She could not meet Hugh. The web seemed +closing round her, but she would break through it. + +She would send him a letter saying she was ill, and begging him to wait +yet a little longer. Despite his firm words, she knew he would not +refuse it if she wrote kindly. Again came the old hope something might +happen in a few days. If not, she must run away; if everything failed +and she could not free herself from him, then she would leave home; in +any case she would not fall into his hands--rather death than that. + +More than once she thought of Gaspar's words. He was so true, so +brave--he would have died for her. Ah, if he could but help her, if +she could but call him to her aid! In this, the dark hour of her life +by her own deed she had placed herself beyond the reach of all human +help. + +She would write--upon that she was determined; but who would take the +letter? Who could she ask to stand at the shrubbery gate and give to +the stranger a missive from herself? If she asked such a favor from a +servant, she would part with her secret to one who might hold it as a +rod of iron over her. She was too proud for that. There was only one +in the world who could help her, and that was her sister Lillian. + +She shrank with unutterable shame from telling her. She remembered how +long ago at Knutsford she had said something that had shocked her +sister, and the scared, startled expression of her face was with her +still. It was a humiliation beyond all words. Yet, if she could +undergo it, there would be comfort in Lillian's sympathy. Lillian +would take the letter, she would see Hugh, and tell him she was ill. +Ill she felt in very truth. Hugh would be pacified for a time if he saw +Lillian. She could think of no other arrangement. That evening she +would tell her sister--there was rest even in the thought. + +Long before dinner Lady Helena came in search of Beatrice--it was high +time, she said, that orders should be sent to London for her trousseau, +and the list must be made out at once. + +She sat calmly in Lady Helena's room, writing in obedience to her +words, thinking all the time how she should tell Lillian, how best make +her understand the deadly error committed, yet save herself as much as +she could. Lady Earle talked of laces and embroidery, of morning +dresses and jewels, while Beatrice went over in her mind every word of +her confession. + +"That will do," said Lady Earle, with a smile; "I have been very +explicit, but I fear it has been in vain. Have you heard anything I +have said, Beatrice?" + +She blushed, and looked so confused that Lady Helena said, laughingly: + +"You may go--do not be ashamed. Many years ago I was just as much in +love myself, and just as unable to think of anything else as you are +now." + +There was some difficulty in finding Lillian; she was discovered at +last in the library, looking over some fine old engravings with Mr. +Dacre. He looked up hastily when Beatrice asked her sister to spare +her half an hour. + +"Do not go, Lily," he said, jestingly; "it is only some nonsense about +wedding dresses. Let us finish this folio." + +But Beatrice had no gay repartee for him. She looked grave, although +she tried to force a smile. + +"I can not understand that girl," he said to himself, as the library +door closed behind the two sisters. "I could almost fancy that +something was distressing her." + +"Lily," said Beatrice, "I want you very much. I am sorry to take you +from Lionel; you like being with him, I think." + +The fair face of her sister flushed warmly. + +"But I want you, dear," said Beatrice. "Oh, Lily, I am in bitter +trouble! No one can help me but you." + +They went together into the little boudoir Beatrice called her own. +She placed her sister in the easy lounging chair drawn near the window, +and then half knelt, half sat at her feet. + +"I am in such trouble, Lily!" she cried. "Think how great it is when I +know not how to tell you." + +The sweet, gentle eyes looked wonderingly into her own. Beatrice +clasped her sister's hands. + +"You must not judge me harshly," she said, "I am not good like you, +Lily; I never could be patient and gentle like you. Do you remember, +long ago, at Knutsford, how I found you one morning upon the cliffs, +and told you that I hated my life? I did hate it, Lillian," she +continued. "You can never tell how much; its quiet monotony was +killing me. I have done wrong; but surely they are to blame who made +my life what it was then--who shut me out from the world, instead of +giving me my rightful share of its pleasures. I can not tell you what +I did, Lily." + +She laid her beautiful, sad face on her sister's hands. Lillian bent +over her, and whispered how dearly she loved her, and how she would do +anything to help her. + +"That very morning," she said, never raising her eyes to her sister's +face--"that morning, Lily, I met a stranger--a gentleman he seemed to +me--and he watched me with admiring eyes. I met him again, and he spoke +to me. He walked by my side through the long meadows, and told me +strange stories of foreign lands he had visited--such stories! I +forgot that he was a stranger, and talked to him as I am talking to you +now. I met him again and again. Nay, do not turn from me; I shall die +if you shrink away." + +The gentle arms clasped her more closely. + +"I am not turning from you," replied Lillian. "I can not love you more +than I do now." + +"I met him" continued Beatrice, "every day, unknown to every one about +me. He praised my beauty, and I was filled with joy; then he talked to +me of love, and I listened without anger. I swear to you," she said, +"that I did it all without thought; it was the novelty, the flattery, +the admiration that pleased me, not he himself, I believe Lily. I +rarely thought of him. He interested me; he had eloquent words at his +command, and seeing how I loved romance, he told me stories of +adventure that held me enchanted and breathless. I lost sight of him +in thinking of the wonders he related. They are to blame, Lily, who +shut me out from the living world. Had I been in my proper place here +at home, where I could have seen and judged people rightly, it would +not have happened. At first it was but a pleasant break in a life +dreary beyond words; then I looked for the daily meed of flattery and +homage. I could not do without it. Lily, will you hold me to have +been mad when I tell you the time came when I allowed that man to hold +my hands as you are doing, to kiss my face, and win from me a promise +that I would be his wife?" + +Beatrice looked up then and saw the fair, pitying face almost as white +as snow. + +"Is it worse than you thought?" she asked. + +"Oh, yes," said Lillian; "terrible, irretrievable, I fear!" + + + +Chapter XXXV + +There was unbroken silence for some minutes; then Lillian bent over her +sister, and said: + +"Tell me all, darling; perhaps I can help you." + +"I promised to be his wife, Lily," continued Beatrice. "I am sure I +did not mean it. I was but a child. I did not realize all that the +words meant. He kissed my face, and said he should come to claim me. +Believe me, Lily, I never thought of marriage. Brilliant pictures of +foreign lands filled my mind; I looked upon Hugh Fernely only as a +means of escape from a life I detested. He promised to take me to +places the names of which filled me with wonder. I never thought of +leaving you or mamma--I never thought of the man himself as of a lover." + +"You did not care for him, then, as you do for Lord Airlie?" interposed +Lillian. + +"Do not pain me!" begged Beatrice. "I love Hubert with the love that +comes but once in life; that man was nothing to me except that his +flattery, and the excitement of contriving to meet him, made my life +more endurable. He gave me a ring, and said in two years' time he +should return to claim me. He was going on a long voyage. Lily, I +felt relieved when he was gone--the novelty was over--I had grown +tired. Besides, when the glamour fell from my eyes, I was ashamed of +what I had done. I tried to forget all about him; every time the +remembrance of him came to my mind I drove it from me. I did not think +it possible he would ever return. It was but a summer's pastime. That +summer has darkened my life. Looking back, I own I did very wrong. +There is great blame attaching to me, but surely they who shut me out +from the living world were blameworthy also. + +"Remember all through my story, darling, that I am not so good, not so +patient and gentle as you. I was restless at the Elms, like a bird in a +cage; you were content. I was vain, foolish, and willful; but, looking +back at the impetuous, imperious child, full of romance, untrained, +longing for the strife of life, longing for change, for excitement, for +gayety, chafing under restraint, I think there was some little excuse +for me. There was no excuse for what followed. When papa spoke to +us--you remember it, Lily--and asked so gently if we had either of us a +secret in our lives--when he promised to pardon anything, provided we +kept nothing from him--I ought to have told him then. There is no +excuse for that error. I was ashamed. Looking round upon the noble +faces hanging on the wall, looking at him, so proud, so dignified, I +could not tell him what his child had done. Oh, Lily, if I had told +him, I should not be kneeling here at your feet now." + +Lillian made no reply, but pressed the proud, drooping figure more +closely to her side. + +"I can hardly tell the rest," said Beatrice; "the words frighten me as +I utter them. This man, who has been the bane of my life, was going +away for two years. He was to claim me when he returned. I never +thought he would return; I was so happy, I could not believe it." Here +sobs choked her utterance. + +Presently she continued: "Lily, he is here; he claims me, and also the +fulfillment of my promise to be his wife." + +A look of unutterable dread came over the listener's fair, pitying face. + +"He wrote to me three weeks since; I tried to put him off. He wrote +again this morning, and swears he will see me. He will be here tonight +at nine o'clock. Oh, Lily, save me, save me, or I shall die!" + +Bitter sobs broke from the proud lips. + +"I never knelt to any one before," Beatrice said; "I kneel to you, my +sister. No one else can help me. You must see him for me, give him a +letter from me, and tell him I am very ill. It is no untruth, Lily. I +am ill, my brain burns, and my heart is cold with fear. Will you do +this for me?" + +"I would rather almost give you my life," said Lillian gently. + +"Oh, do not say that, Lily! Do you know what there is at stake? Do you +remember papa's words--that, if ever he found one of us guilty of any +deceit, or involved in any clandestine love affair, even if it broke +his heart he would send the guilty one from him and never see her +again? Think, darling, what it would be for me to leave +Earlescourt--to leave all the magnificence I love so dearly, and drag +out a weary life at the Elms. Do you think I could brook Lord Earle's +angry scorn and Lady Helena's pained wonder? Knowing our father as you +know him, do you believe he would pardon me?" + +"I do not," replied Lily, sadly. + +"That is not all," continued Beatrice. "I might bear anger, scorn, and +privation, but, Lily, if this miserable secret is discovered, Lord +Airlie will cease to love me. He might have forgiven me if I had told +him at first; he would not know that I had lied to him and deceived +him. I can not lose him--I can not give him up. For our mother's +sake, for my sake, help me, Lily. Do what I have asked!" + +"If I do it," said Lillian, "it will give you but a few days' reprieve; +it will avail nothing; he will be here again." + +"I shall think of some means of escape in a few days," answered +Beatrice wistfully. "Something must happen, Lily, fortune could not be +so cruel to me; it could not rob me of my love. If I can not free +myself, I shall run away. I would rather suffer anything than face +Lord Airlie or my father. Say you will help me for my love's sake! Do +not let me lose my love!" + +"I will help you," said Lillian; "it is against my better +judgment--against my idea of right--but I can not refuse you. I will +see the man, and give him your letter. Beatrice, let me persuade you. +You can not free yourself. I see no way--running away is all +nonsense--but to tell Lord Earle and your lover; anything would be +better than to live as you do, a drawn sword hanging over your heart. +Tell them, and trust to their kindness; at least you will have peace of +mind then. They will prevent him from annoying you." + +"I can not," she said, and the breath came gasping from her lips. +"Lillian, you do not know what Lord Airlie is to me. I could never +meet his anger. If ever you love any one you will understand better. +He is everything to me. I would suffer any sorrow, even death, rather +than see his face turned coldly from me." + +She loosened her grasp of Lillian's hands and fell upon the floor, +weeping bitterly and passionately. Her sister, bending over her, heard +the pitiful words--"My love, my love! I can not lose my love!" + +The passionate weeping ceased, and the proud, sad face grew calm and +still. + +"You can not tell what I have suffered, Lily," she said, humbly. "See, +my pride is all beaten down, only those who have had a secret, eating +heart and life away, can tell what I have endured. A few more days of +agony like this, and I shall be free forever from Hugh Fernely." + +Her sister tried to soothe her with gentle words, but they brought no +comfort. + +"He will be here at nine," she said; "it is six now. I will write my +letter. He will be at the shrubbery gate. I will manage so that you +shall have time. Give him the note I will write, speak to him for me, +tell him I am ill and can not see him. Shall you be frightened?" + +"Yes," replied Lillian, gently; "but that will not matter. I must +think of you, not of myself." + +"You need not fear him," said Beatrice. "Poor Hugh, I could pity him +if I did not hate him. Lily, I will thank you when my agony is over; I +can not now." + +She wrote but a few words, saying she was ill and unable to see him; he +must be satisfied, and willing to wait yet a little longer. + +She gave the letter to her sister. Lillian's heart ached as she noted +the trembling hands and quivering lips. + +"I have not asked you to keep my secret, Lily," said Beatrice, +sorrowfully. + +"There is no need," was the simple reply. + + * * * * * + +Sir Harry and Lady Laurence dined that day at Earlescourt, and it was +nearly nine before the gentlemen, who did not sit long over their wine, +came into the drawing room. The evening was somewhat chilly; a bright +fire burned in the grate, and the lamps were lighted. Sir Harry sat +down to his favorite game of chess with Lady Helena; Lord Earle +challenged Lady Laurence to a game at ecarte. The young people were +left to themselves. + +"In twenty years' time," said Lionel to Lillian, "we may seek refuge in +cards; at present music and moonlight are preferable, Lily. You never +sing to me; come to the piano now." + +But she remembered the dreaded hour was drawing near. + +"Pray excuse me," she begged; "I will sing for you presently." + +He looked surprised; it was the first time she had ever refused him a +favor. + +"Shall we finish the folio of engravings?" he asked. + +Knowing that, when once she was seated by his side, it would be +impossible to get away, she again declined; but this time the fair face +flushed, and the sweet eyes drooped. + +"How guilty you look," he said. "Is there any mystery on hand? Are you +tired of me? Or is there to be another important consultation over the +wedding dresses?" + +"I have something to attend to," she replied, evasively. "Get the +folio ready--I shall not be long." + +Beatrice, who had listened to the brief dialogue in feverish suspense, +now came to the rescue, asking Lionel to give them the benefit of his +clear, ringing tenor in a trio of Mendelssohn's. + +"My 'clear, ringing tenor' is quite at your service," he said with a +smile. "Lily is very unkind to me tonight." + +They went to the piano, where Lord Airlie awaited them; and Lillian, +looking at her small, jeweled watch--Lord Earle's present--saw that it +wanted three minutes to nine. + +She at once quitted the room, unobserved, as she thought; but Lionel +saw her go. + +No words can tell how distasteful and repugnant was the task she had +undertaken. She would have suffered anything almost to have evaded it. +She, who never had a secret; she, whose every word and action were open +as the day; she, who shrank from all deceit and untruth as from a +deadly plague, to be mixed up with a wretched clandestine love affair +like this! She, to steal out of her father's house at night, to meet a +stranger, and plead her sister's cause with him! The thought horrified +her; but the beautiful face in its wild sorrow, the sad voice in its +passionate anguish, urged her on. + +Lillian went hastily to her own room. She took a large black shawl and +drew it closely round her, hiding the pretty evening dress and the rich +pearls. Then, with the letter in her hand, she went down the staircase +that led from her rooms to the garden. + +The night was dark; heavy clouds sailed swiftly across the sky, the +wind moaned fitfully, bending the tall trees as it were in anger, then +whispering round them as though suing for pardon. Lillian had never +been out at night alone before, and her first sensation was one of +fear. She crossed the gardens where the autumn flowers were fading; +the lights shone gayly from the Hall windows; the shrubbery looked dark +and mysterious. She was frightened at the silence and darkness, but +went bravely on. He was there. By the gate she saw a tall figure +wrapped in a traveling cloak; as she crossed the path, he stepped +hastily forward, crying with a voice she never forgot: + +"Beatrice, at last you have come!" + +"It is not Beatrice," she said, shrinking from the outstretched arms. +"I am Lillian Earle. My sister is ill, and has sent you this." + + + +Chapter XXXVI + +Hugh Fernely took the letter from Lillian's hands, and read it with a +muttered imprecation of disappointment. The moon, which had been +struggling for the last hour with a mass of clouds, shone out faintly; +by its light Lillian saw a tall man with a dark, handsome face browned +with the sun of warm climes, dark eyes that had in them a wistful +sadness, and firm lips. He did not look like the gentlemen she was +accustomed to. He was polite and respectful. When he heard her name, +he took off his hat, and stood uncovered during the interview. + +"Wait!" he cried. "Ah, must I wait yet longer? Tell your sister I +have waited until my yearning wish to see her is wearing my life away." + +"She is really ill," returned Lillian. "I am alarmed for her. Do not +be angry with me if I say she is ill through anxiety and fear." + +"Has she sent you to excuse her?" he asked, gloomily. "It is of no +use. Your sister is my promised wife, Miss Lillian, and see her I +will." + +"You must wait at least until she is willing," said Lillian, and her +calm, dignified manner influenced him even more than her words, as she +looked earnestly into Hugh Fernely's face. + +It was not a bad face, she thought; there was no cruelty or meanness +there. She read love so fierce and violent in it that it startled her. +He did not look like one who would wantonly and willfully make her +sister wretched for life. Hope grew in her heart as she gazed. She +resolved to plead with him for Beatrice, to ask him to forget a +childish, foolish promise--a childish error. + +"My sister is very unhappy," she said, bravely; "so unhappy that I do +not think she can bear much more; it will kill her or drive her mad." + +"It is killing me," he interrupted. + +"You do not look cruel, Mr. Fernely," continued Lillian. "Your face is +good and true--I would trust you. Release my sister. She was but a +foolish, impetuous child when she made you that promise. If she keeps +it, all her life will be wretched. Be generous and release her." + +"Did she bid you ask me?" he interrogated. + +"No," she replied; "but do you know what the keeping of the promise +will cost her? Lord Earle will never forgive her. She will have to +leave home, sister, friends--all she loves and values most. Judge +whether she could ever care for you, if you brought this upon her." + +"I can not help it," he said gloomily. "She promised to be my wife, +Miss Lillian--Heaven knows I am speaking truthfully--and I have lived +on her words. You do not know what the strong love of a true man is. +I love her so that if she chose to place her little foot upon me, and +trample the life out of me, I would not say her nay. I must see +her--the hungry, yearning love that fills my heart must be satisfied." +Great tears shone in his eyes, and deep sobs shook his strong frame. + +"I will not harm her," he said, "but I must see her. Once, and once +only, her beautiful face lay on my breast--that beautiful, proud face! +No mother ever yearned to see her child again more than I long to see +her. Let her come to me, Miss Lillian; let me kneel at her feet as I +did before,--If she sends me from her, there will be pity in death; but +she can not. There is not a woman in the world who could send such +love as mine away! You can not understand," he continued. "It is more +than two years since I left her; night and day her face has been before +me. I have lived upon my love; it is my life--my everything. I could +no more drive it from my breast than I could tear my heart from my body +and still live on." + +"Even if my sister cared for you," said Lillian, gently--for his +passionate words touched her--"you must know that Lord Earle would +never allow her to keep such a promise as she made." + +"She knew nothing of Lord Earle when it was made," he replied, "nor did +I. She was a beautiful child, pining away like a bright bird shut up +in a cage. I promised her freedom and liberty; she promised me her +love. Where was Lord Earle then? She was safe with me. I loved her. +I was kinder to her than her own father; I took care of her--he did +not." + +"It is all changed now," said Lillian. + +"But I can not change," he answered. "If fortune had made me a king, +should I have loved your sister less! Is a man's heart a plaything? +Can I call back my love? It has caused me woe enough." + +Lillian knew not what to say in the presence of this mighty love; her +gentle efforts at mediation were bootless. She pitied him she pitied +Beatrice. + +"I am sure you can be generous," she said, after a short silence. +"Great, true, noble love is never selfish. My sister can never be +happy with you; then release her. If you force her, or rather try to +force her, to keep this rash promise, think how she will dislike you. +If you are generous, and release her, think how she will esteem you." + +"Does she not love me?" he asked; and his voice was hoarse with pain. + +"No," replied Lillian, gently; "it is better for you to know the truth. +She does not love you--she never will." + +"I do not believe it," he cried. "I will never believe it from any +lips but her own! Not love me! Great Heaven! Do you know you are +speaking of the woman who promised to be my wife? If she tells me so, +I will believe her." + +"She will tell you," said Lillian, "and you must not blame her. Come +again when she is well." + +"No," returned Hugh Fernely; "I have waited long enough. I am here to +see her, and I swear I will not leave until she has spoken to me." + +He drew a pencil case from his pocket, and wrote a few lines on the +envelope which Beatrice had sent. + +"Give that to your sister," he said, softly; "and, Miss Lillian, I +thank you for coming to me. You have been very kind and gentle. You +have a fair, true face. Never break a man's heart for pastime, or +because the long sunny hours hang heavy upon your hands." + +"I wish I could say something to comfort you," she said. He held out +his hand and she could not refuse hers. + +"Goodbye, Miss Lillian! Heaven bless you for your sympathy." + +"Goodbye," she returned, looking at the dark, passionate face she was +never more to see. + +The moon was hidden behind a dense mass of thick clouds. Hugh Fernely +walked quickly down the path. Lillian, taking the folded paper, +hastened across the gardens. But neither of them saw a tall, erect +figure, or a pale, stricken face; neither of them heard Lionel Dacre +utter a low cry as the shawl fell from Lillian's golden head. + +He had tried over the trio, but it did not please him; he did not want +music--he wanted Lillian. Beatrice played badly, too, as though she +did not know what she was doing. Plainly enough Lord Airlie wanted him +out of the way. + +"Where are you going?" asked Beatrice, as he placed the music on the +piano. + +"To look for a good cigar," he replied. "Neither Airlie nor you need +pretend to be polite, Bee, and say you hope I will not leave you." He +quitted the drawing room, and went to his own room, where a box of +cigars awaited him. He selected one, and went out into the garden to +enjoy it. Was it chance that led him to the path by the shrubbery? +The wind swayed the tall branches, but there came a lull, and then he +heard a murmur of voices. Looking over the hedge, he saw the tall +figure of a man, and the slight figure of a young girl shrouded in a +black shawl. + +"A maid and her sweetheart," said Lionel to himself. "Now that is not +precisely the kind of thing Lord Earle would like; still, it is no +business of mine." + +But the man's voice struck him--it was full of the dignity of true +passion. He wondered who he was. He saw the young girl place her hand +in his for a moment, and then hasten rapidly away. + +He thought himself stricken mad when the black shawl fall and showed in +the faint moonlight the fair face and golden hair of Lillian Earle. + + * * * * * + +When Lillian re-entered the drawing room, the pretty ormulu clock was +chiming half past nine. The chess and card tables were just as she had +left them. Beatrice and Lord Airlie were still at the piano. Lionel +was nowhere to be seen. She went up to Beatrice and smilingly asked +Lord Airlie if he could spare her sister for five minutes. + +"Ten, if you wish it," he replied, "but no longer;" and the two sisters +walked through the long drawing room into the little boudoir. + +"Quick, Lillian," cried Beatrice, "have you seen him? What does he +say?" + +"I have seen him," she replied; "there is no time now to tell all he +said. He sent this note," and Lillian gave the folded paper into her +sister's hand, and then clasped both hands in her own. + +"Let me tell you, Beatrice darling, before you read it," she said, +"that I tried to soften his heart; and I think, if you will see him +yourself, and ask for your freedom, you will not ask in vain." + +A light that was dazzling as sunshine came into the beautiful face. + +"Oh, Lily," she cried, "can it be true? Do not mock me with false +hopes; my life seems to tremble in the balance." + +"He is not cruel," said Lillian. "I am sorry for him. If you see him I +feel sure he will release you. See what he says." + +Beatrice opened the letter; it contained but a few penciled lines. She +did not give them to Lillian to read. + +"Beatrice," wrote Hugh Fernely, "you must tell me with your own lips +that you do not love me. You must tell me yourself that every sweet +hope you gave me was a false lie. I will not leave Earlescourt again +without seeing you. On Thursday night, at ten o'clock, I will be at +the same place--meet me, and tell me if you want your freedom. Hugh." + +"I shall win!" she cried. "Lily, hold my hands--they tremble with +happiness. See, I can not hold the paper. He will release me, and I +shall not lose my love--my love, who is all the world to me. How must +I thank you? This is Tuesday; how shall I live until Thursday? I feel +as though a load, a burden, the weight of which no words can tell, were +taken from me. Lily, I shall be Lord Airlie's wife, and you will have +saved me." + +"Beatrice," said Lord Earle, as the sisters, in returning, passed by +the chess table, "our game is finished, will you give us a song?" + +Never had the magnificent voice rung out so joyously, never had the +beautiful face looked so bright. She sang something that was like an +air of triumph--no under current of sadness marred its passionate +sweetness. Lord Airlie bent over her chair enraptured. + +"You sing like one inspired, Beatrice," he said. + +"I was thinking of you," she replied; and he saw by the dreamy, rapt +expression of her face that she meant what she had said. + +Presently Lord Airlie was summoned to Lady Helena's assistance in some +little argument over cards, and Beatrice, while her fingers strayed +mechanically over the keys, arrived at her decision. She would see +Hugh. She could not avert that; and she must meet him as bravely as +she could. After all, as Lillian had said, he was not cruel, and he +did love her. The proud lip curled in scornful triumph as she thought +how dearly he loved her. She would appeal to his love, and beseech him +to release her. + +She would beseech him with such urgency that he could not refuse. Who +ever refused her? Could she not move men's hearts as the wind moves +the leaves? He would be angry at first, perhaps fierce and passionate, +but in the end she would prevail. As she sat there, dreamy, tender +melodies stealing, as it were, from her fingers, she went in fancy +through the whole scene. She knew how silent the sleeping woods would +be--how dark and still the night. She could imagine Hugh's face, +browned by the sun and travel. Poor Hugh! In the overflow of her +happiness she felt more kindly toward him. + +She wished him well. He might marry some nice girl in his own station +of life, and be a prosperous, happy man, and she would be a good friend +to him if he would let her. No one would ever know her secret. +Lillian would keep it faithfully, and down the fair vista of years she +saw herself Lord Airlie's beloved wife, the error of her youth repaired +and forgotten. + +The picture was so pleasant that it was no wonder her songs grew more +triumphant. Those who listened to the music that night never forgot it. + + + +Chapter XXXVII + +Lionel Dacre stood for some minutes stunned with the shock and +surprise. He could not be mistaken; unless his senses played him +false, it was Lillian Earle whom he had mistaken for a maid meeting her +lover. It was Lillian he had believed so pure and guileless who had +stolen from her father's home under the cover of night's darkness and +silence--who had met in her father's grounds one whom she dared not +meet in the light of day. + +If his dearest friend had sworn this to Lionel he would not have +believed it. His own senses he could not doubt. The faint, feeble +moonlight had as surely fallen on the fair face and golden hair of +Lillian Earle as the sun shone by day in the sky. + +He threw away his cigar, and ground his teeth with rage. Had the skies +fallen at his feet he could not have been more startled and amazed. +Then, after all, all women were alike. There was in them no truth; no +goodness; the whole world was alike. Yet he had believed in her so +implicitly--in her guileless purity, her truth, her freedom from every +taint of the world. That fair, spirituelle form had seemed to him only +as a beautiful casket hiding a precious gem. Nay, still more, though +knowing and loving her, he had begun to care for everything good and +pure that interested her. Now all was false and hateful. + +There was no truth in the world, he said to himself. This girl, whom +he had believed to be the fairest and sweetest among women, was but a +more skillful deceiver than the rest. His mother's little deceptions, +hiding narrow means and straitened circumstances, were as nothing +compared with Lillian's deceit. + +And he had loved her so! Looking into those tender eyes, he had +believed love and truth shone there; the dear face that had blushed and +smiled for him had looked so pure and guileless. + +How long was it since he had held her little hands clasped within his +own, and, abashed before her sweet innocence, had not dared to touch +her lips, even when she had promised to love him? How he had been +duped and deceived! How she must have laughed at his blind folly! + +Who was the man? Some one she must have known years before. There was +no gentleman in Lord Earle's circle who would have stolen into his +grounds like a thief by night. Why had he not followed him, and +thrashed him within an inch of his life? Why had he let him escape? + +The strong hands were clinched tightly. It was well for Hugh Fernely +that he was not at that moment in Lionel's power. Then the fierce, hot +anger died away, and a passion of despair seized him. A long, low cry +came from his lips, a bitter sob shook his frame. He had lost his +fair, sweet love. The ideal he had worshiped lay stricken; falsehood +and deceit marked its fair form. + +While the first smart of pain was upon him, he would not return to the +house; he would wait until he was calm and cool. Then he would see how +she dared to meet him. + +His hands ceased to tremble; the strong, angry pulsating of his heart +grew calmer. He went back to the drawing room; and, except that the +handsome face was pale even to the lips, and that a strange, angry +light gleamed in the frank, kindly eyes, there was little difference in +Lionel Dacre. + +She was there, bending over the large folio he had asked her to show +him; the golden hair fell upon the leaves. She looked up as he +entered; her face was calm and serene; there was a faint pink flush on +the cheeks, and a bright smile trembled on her features. + +"Here are the drawings," she said; "will you look over them?" + +He remembered how he had asked her to sing to him, and she refused, +looking confused and uneasy the while. He understood now the reason +why. + +He took a chair by her side; the folio lay upon a table placed in a +large room, lighted by a silver lamp. They were as much alone there as +though they had been in another room. She took out a drawing, and laid +it before him. He neither saw it nor heard what she remarked. + +"Lillian," he said, suddenly, "if you were asked what was the most +deadly sin a woman could commit, what should you reply?" + +"That is a strange question," she answered. "I do not know, Lionel. I +think I hate all sin alike." + +"Then I will tell you," he said bitterly; "it is false, foul +deceit--black, heartless treachery." + +She looked up in amazement at his angry tone; then there was for some +moments unbroken silence. + +"I can not see the drawings," he said; "take them away. Lillian Earle, +raise your eyes to mine; look me straight in the face. How long is it +since I asked you to be my wife?" + +Her gentle eyes never wavered, they were fixed half in wonder on his, +but at his question the faint flush on her cheeks grew deeper. + +"Not very long," she replied; "a few days." + +"You said you loved me," he continued. + +"I do," she said. + +"Now, answer me again. Have you ever loved or cared for any one else, +as you say you do for me?" + +"Never," was the quiet reply. + +"Pray pardon the question--have you received the attentions of any +lover before receiving mine?" + +"Certainly not," she said, wondering still more. + +"I have all your affection, your confidence, your trust; you have never +duped or deceived me; you have been open, truthful, and honest with me?" + +"You forget yourself, Lionel," she said, with gentle dignity; "you +should not use such words to me." + +"Answer!" he returned. "You have to do with a desperate man. Have you +deceived me?" + +"Never," she replied, "In thought, word, or deed." + +"Merciful Heaven!" he cried. "That one can be so fair and so false!" + +There was nothing but wonder in the face that was raised to his. + +"Lillian," he said, "I have loved you as the ideal of all that was pure +and noble in woman. In you I saw everything good and holy. May Heaven +pardon you that my faith has died a violent death." + +"I can not understand you," she said, slowly. "Why do you speak to me +so?" + +"I will use plainer words," he replied--"so plain that you can not +mistake them. I, your betrothed husband, the man you love and trust, +ask you, Lillian Earle, who was it you met tonight in your father's +grounds?" + +He saw the question strike her as lightning sometimes strikes a fair +tree. The color faded from her lips; a cloud came over the clear, +dove-like eyes; she tried to answer, but the words died away in a faint +murmur. + +"Do you deny that you were there?" he asked. "Remember, I saw you, and +I saw him. Do you deny it?" + +"No," she replied. + +"Who was it?" he cried; and his eyes flamed so angrily upon her that +she was afraid. "Tell me who it was. I will follow him to the world's +end. Tell me." + +"I can not, Lionel," she whispered; "I can not. For pity's sake, keep +my secret!" + +"You need not be afraid," he said, haughtily. "I shall not betray you +to Lord Earle. Let him find out for himself what you are, as I have +done. I could curse myself for my own trust. Who is he?" + +"I can not tell you," she stammered, and he saw her little white hands +wrung together in agony. "Oh, Lionel, trust me--do not be angry with +me." + +"You can not expect me," he said, although he was softened by the sight +of her sorrow, "to know of such an action and not to speak of it, +Lillian. If you can explain it, do so. If the man was an old lover of +yours, tell me so; in time I may forget the deceit, if you are frank +with me now. If there be any circumstance that extenuates or explains +what you did, tell it to me now." + +"I can not," she said, and her fair face drooped sadly away from him. + +"That I quite believe," he continued, bitterly. "You can not and will +not. You know the alternative, I suppose?" + +The gentle eyes were raised to his in mute, appealing sorrow, but she +spoke not. + +"Tell me now," he said, "whom it was you stole out of the house to +meet--why you met him? Be frank with me; and, if it was but girlish +nonsense, in time I may pardon you. If you refuse to tell me, I shall +leave Earlescourt, and never look upon your false, fair face again." + +She buried her face in her hands, and he heard a low moan of sorrow +come from her white lips. + +"Will you tell me, Lillian?" he asked again--and he never forgot the +deadly anguish of the face turned toward him. + +"I can not," she replied; her voice died away, and he thought she was +falling from her chair. + +"That is your final decision; you refuse to tell me what, as your +accepted lover, I have a right to know?" + +"Trust me, Lionel," she implored. "Try, for the love you bear me, to +trust me!" + +"I will never believe in any one again," he said. "Take back your +promise, Lillian Earle; you have broken a true and honest heart, you +have blighted a whole life. Heaven knows what I shall become, drifted +from you. I care not. You have deceived me. Take back your ring. I +will say goodbye to you. I shall not care to look upon your false, +fair face again." + +"Oh, Lionel, wait!" she cried. "Give me time--do not leave me so!" + +"Time will make little difference," he answered; "I shall not leave the +Hall until tomorrow morning; you can write to me if you wish me to +remain." + +He laid the ring upon the table, refusing to notice the trembling, +outstretched hand. He could not refrain from looking back at her as he +quitted the room. He saw the gentle face, so full of deadly sorrow, +with its white quivering lips; and yet he thought to himself, although +she looked stricken with anguish, there was no guilt on the clear, fair +brow. + +He turned back from the door and went straight to Lord Earle. + +"I shall leave Earlescourt tomorrow," he said, abruptly. "I must go, +Lord Earle; do not press to stay." + +"Come and go as you will, Lionel," said Ronald, surprised at the +brusqueness of his manner; "we are always pleased to see you and sorry +to lose you. You will return soon, perhaps?" + +"I will write to you in a few days," he replied. "I must say goodbye to +Lady Earle." + +She was astounded. Beatrice and Lord Airlie came up to him there was a +general expression of surprise and regret. He, unlike himself, was +brusque, and almost haughty. + +Sir Harry and Lady Laurence had gone home. Beatrice, with a vague fear +that something had gone wrong, said she was tired; Lord Airlie said +goodnight; and in a few minutes Lady Helena and her son were left alone. + +"What has come over Lionel?" asked Ronald. "Why, mother, how mistaken +I am! Do you know that I quite believed he was falling in love with +Lillian?" + +"He did that long ago," replied Lady Helena, with a smile. "Say +nothing about it. Lionel is very proud and impetuous. I fancy he and +Lillian have had some little dispute. Matters of that kind are best +left alone--interference always does harm. He will come back in a few +days; and all be right again. Ronald, there is one question I have +been wishing to ask you--do not be angry if I pain you, my son. +Beatrice will be married soon--do you not intend her mother to be +present at the wedding?" + +Lord Earle rose from his chair, and began, as he always did in time of +anxiety, to pace up and down the room. + +"I had forgotten her claim," he said. "I can not tell what to do, +mother. It would be a cruel, unmerited slight to pass her over, but I +do not wish to see her. I have fought a hard battle with my feelings, +but I can not bring myself to see her." + +"Yet you loved her very much once," said Lady Helena. + +"I did," he replied, gently. "Poor Dora." + +"It is an awful thing to live at enmity with any one," said Lady +Helena--"but with one's own wife! I can not understand it, Ronald." + +"You mistake, mother," he said, eagerly; "I am not at enmity with Dora. +She offended me--she hurt my honor--she pained me in a way I can never +forget." + +"You must forgive her some day," replied Lady Earle; "why not now?" + +"No," he said, sadly. "I know myself--I know what I can do and what I +can not do. I could take my wife in my arms, and kiss her face--I +could not live with her. I shall forgive her, mother, when all that is +human is dying away from me. I shall forgive her in the hour of death." + + + +Chapter XXXVIII + +Lillian Earle was no tragedy queen. She never talked about sacrifice +or dying, but there was in her calm, gentle nature a depth of endurance +rarely equaled. She had never owned, even to herself, how dearly she +loved Lionel Dacre--how completely every thought and hope was centered +in him. Since she had first learned to care for him, she had never +looked her life in the face and imagined what it would be without him. + +It never entered her mind to save herself at the expense of her sister; +the secret had been intrusted to her, and she could not conceive the +idea of disclosing it. If the choice had been offered her between +death and betraying Beatrice, she would have chosen death, with a +simple consciousness that she was but doing her duty. + +So, when Lionel uttered those terrible words--when she found that he +had seen her--she never dreamed of freeing herself from blame, and +telling the story of her sister's fault. His words were bitterly +cruel; they stung her with sharp pain. She had never seen contempt or +scorn before on that kindly, honest face; now, she read both. Yet, +what could she do? Her sister's life lay in her hands, and she must +guard it. + +Therefore, she bore the cruel taunts, and only once when the fear of +losing him tortured her, cried out for pity and trust. But he had no +trust; he stabbed her gentle heart with his fierce words, he seared her +with his hot anger; she might, at the expense of another, have +explained all, and stood higher than ever in his esteem, but she would +not do it. + +She was almost stunned by the sorrow that had fallen upon her. She saw +him, with haughty, erect bearing, quit the drawing room, and she knew +that unless Beatrice permitted her to tell the truth, she would never +see his face again. She went straight to her sister's room and waited +for her. + +The pale face grew calm and still; her sister could not refuse her +request when she had told her all; then she would write to Lionel and +explain. He would not leave Earlescourt; he would only love her the +better for her steadfast truth. + +"Send Suzette away," she whispered to Beatrice, when she entered; "I +must see you alone at once." + +Beatrice dismissed her maid, and then turned to her sister. + +"What is it, Lily?" she asked. "Your face is deathly pale. What has +happened?" + +"Beatrice," said Lillian, "will you let me tell your secret to Lionel +Dacre? It will be quite sacred with him." + +"To Lionel Dacre!" she cried. "No, a thousand times over! How can you +ask me, Lily? He is Lord Airlie's friend and could not keep it from +him. Why do you ask me such an extraordinary question?" + +"He saw me tonight," she replied; "he was out in the grounds, and saw +me speaking to Hugh Fernely." + +"Have you told him anything?" she asked; and for a moment Beatrice +looked despairing. + +"Not a word," said Lily. "How could I, when you trusted me?" + +"That is right," returned her sister, a look of relief coming over her +face; "his opinion does not matter much. What did he say?" + +"He thought I had been to meet some one I knew," replied Lillian, her +face growing crimson with shame. + +"And was dreadfully shocked, no doubt," supplemented Beatrice. "Well, +never mind, darling. I am very sorry it happened, but it will not +matter. I am so near freedom and happiness, I can not grieve over it. +He will not surely tell? He is too honorable for that." + +"No," said Lillian, dreamily, "he will not tell." + +"Then do not look so scared, Lily; nothing else matters." + +"You forget what he must think of me," said Lillian. "Knowing his +upright, truthful character, what must he think of me?" + +That view of the question had not struck Beatrice. She looked grave +and anxious. It was not right for her sister to be misjudged. + +"Oh, I am so sorry," she began, but Lillian interrupted her, she came +close to her, and lowered her pale face over her sister's arm. + +"Beatrice," she said, slowly, "you must let me tell him. He cares for +me. He loves me; I promised to be his wife, and I love him--just as +you do Lord Airlie." + +Under the shock of those words Beatrice Earle sat silent and motionless. + +"I love him," continued Lillian. "I did not tell you. He said it was +not to be mentioned until you were married. I love him so dearly, +Beatrice--and when he asked me who it was I had been to meet, I could +not answer him. He was very angry; he said sharp, cruel words to me, +and I could not tell him how false they were. He will leave +Earlescourt; he will never look upon my face again unless I tell him +all. He has said so, and he will keep his word. Beatrice, must I lose +my love?" + +"It would be only for a time," she replied. "I hate myself for being +so selfish, but I dare not trust Lionel Dacre. He is so impetuous, so +hasty, he would betray me, as surely as he knew it. Do you not remember +his saying the other day that it was well for him he had no secrets, +for he could not manage to keep them!" + +"He would keep this," pleaded Lillian--"for your sake and mine." + +"He would not," said Beatrice; "and I am so near freedom, so near +happiness. Oh, Lily, you have saved me once--save me again! My +darling, keep my secret until I am married; then I swear to you I will +tell Lionel every word honorably myself, and he will love you doubly. +Could you do this for me?" + +"It is not fair to him--he has a right to my confidence--it is not fair +to myself, Beatrice." + +"One of us must be sacrificed," returned her sister. "If myself, the +sacrifice will last my life--will cause my death; if you, it will last, +at the most, only three or four weeks. I will write to Lionel on my +wedding day." + +"Why trust him then and not now?" asked Lillian. + +"Because, once married to Lord Airlie, I shall have no fear. Three or +four weeks of happiness are not so much to give up for your own sister, +Lily. I will say no more. I leave it for you to decide." + +"Nay, do not do that," said Lillian, in great distress. "I could not +clear myself at your expense"--a fact which Beatrice understood +perfectly well. + +"Then let the matter rest," said her sister; "some day I shall be able +to thank you for all you have done for me--I can not now. On my wedding +day I will tell Lionel Dacre that the girl he loves is the truest, the +noblest, the dearest in the world." + +"It is against my better judgment," returned Lillian. + +"It is against my conscience, judgment, love, everything," added +Beatrice; "but it will save me from cruel ruin and sorrow; and it shall +not hurt you, Lily--it shall bring you good, not harm. Now, try to +forget it. He will not know how to atone to you for this. Think of +your happiness when he returns." + +She drew the golden head down upon her shoulder, and with the charm +that never failed, she talked and caressed her sister until she had +overcome all objections. + +But during the long hours of that night a fair head tossed wearily to +and fro on its pillow--a fair face was stained with bitter tears. +Lionel Dacre lingered, half hoping that even at the last she would come +and bid him stay because she wished to tell him all. + +But the last moment came, and no messenger from Lillian brought the +longed-for words. He passed out from the Hall. He could not refrain +from looking once at the window of her room, but the blind was closely +drawn. He little knew or dreamed how and why he would return. + +Thursday morning dawned bright and beautiful, as though autumn wished +to surpass the glories or summer. Beatrice had not told Lillian when +she was going to meet Hugh, partly because she dreaded her sister's +anxiety, partly because she did not wish any one to know how long she +might be with him; for Beatrice anticipated a painful interview, +although she felt sure of triumph in the end. + +Lillian was ill and unable to rise; unused to emotion, the strain upon +her mind had been too great. When Lady Helena listened to her maid's +remarks and went up to see her granddaughter, she forbade her to get +up, and Lillian, suffering intensely, was only too pleased to obey. + +The breakfast party was a very small one. Lord Earle was absent; he +had gone to Holte. Lady Helena hurried away to sit with Lillian. Lord +Airlie had been smiling very happily over a mysterious little packet +that had come by post. He asked Beatrice if she would go out with +him--he had something to show her. They went out into the park, +intending to return in time for luncheon. + +The morning was bright and calm. Something of the warmth and beauty of +the summer lingered still, although the ground was strewn with fallen +leaves. + +Lord Airlie and Beatrice sat at the foot of the grand old cedar tree +whence they would see the distant glimmer of the deep, still lake. The +birds sang around them, and the sun shone brightly. On the beautiful +face of Beatrice Earle her lover read nothing but happiness and love. + +"I have something here for you, Beatrice," said Lord Airlie, showing +her a little packet--"a surprise. You must thank me by saying that +what it contains will be more precious to you than anything else on +earth." + +She opened the pretty case; within it there lay a fine gold chain of +exquisite fashion and a locket of marvelous beauty. + +She uttered a little cry of surprise, and raised the present in her +hands. + +"Now, thank me," said Lord Airlie, "in the way I asked." + +"What it contains is more precious to me than anything on earth," she +said. "You know that, Hubert; why do you make me repeat it?" + +"Because I like to hear it," he answered. "I like to see my proud love +looking humble for a few minutes; I like to know that I have caged a +bright, wild bird that no one else could tame." + +"I am not caged yet," she objected. + +"Beatrice," said Lord Airlie, "make me a promise. Let me fasten this +locket around your neck, and tell me that you will not part with it +night or day for one moment until our wedding day." + +"I can easily promise that," she said. She bent her beautiful head, +and Lord Airlie fastened the chain round her throat. + +He little knew what he had done. When Lord Airlie fastened the chain +round the neck of the girl he loved, he bound her to him in life and in +death. + +"It looks charming," he said. "How everything beautiful becomes you, +Beatrice! You were born to be a queen--who am I that I should have won +you? Tell me over again--I never grow tired of hearing it--do you love +me?" + +She told him again, her face glowing with happiness. He bent over her +and kissed the sweet face; he kissed the little white hands and the +rings of dark hair the wind blew carelessly near him. + +"When the leaves are green, and the fair spring is come," he said, "you +will be my wife, Beatrice--Lady Airlie of Lynnton. I love my name and +title when I remember that you will share them. And you shall be the +happiest Lady Airlie that ever lived--the happiest bride, the happiest +wife the sun ever shone upon. You will never part with my locket, +Beatrice?" + +"No," she replied; "never. I will keep it always." + +They sat through the long bright hours under the shade of the old cedar +tree, while Lillian lay with head and heart aching, wondering in her +gentle way why this sorrow should have fallen upon her. + +She did not know, as she lay like a pale broken lily, that years ago +her father, in the reckless heyday of youth, had wilfully deceived his +father, and married against his wish and commands; she did not know how +that unhappy marriage had ended in pride, passion, and sullen, jealous +temper--while those who should have foreborne went each their own +road--the proud, irritated husband abroad, away from every tie of home +and duty, the jealous, angry wife secluding herself in the bitterness +of her heart--both neglecting the children intrusted to them. She knew +how one of those children had gone wrong; she knew the deceit, the +misery, the sorrow that wrong had entailed. She was the chief victim, +yet the sin had not been hers. + +There were no fierce, rebellious feelings in her gentle heart, no angry +warring with the mighty Hand that sends crosses and blessings alike. +The flower bent by the wind was not more pliant. Where her sorrow and +love had cast her she lay, silently enduring her suffering, while +Lionel traveled without intermission, wishing only to find himself far +away from the young girl he declared he had ceased to love yet could +not forget. + + + +Chapter XXXIX + +Thursday evening, and the hand of the ormolu clock pointed to a quarter +to ten. Lord Earle sat reading, Lady Helena had left Lillian asleep, +and had taken up a book near him. Lord Airlie had been sketching for +Beatrice a plan of a new wing at Lynnton. Looking up suddenly she saw +the time. At ten Hugh Fernely would be at the shrubbery gate. She had +not a moment to lose. Saying she was feeling tired, she rose and went +to bid Lord Earle goodnight. + +He remembered afterward how he had raised the beautiful face in his +hands and gazed at it in loving admiration, whispering something the +while about "Lady Airlie of Lynnton." He remembered how she, so little +given to caressing, had laid her hand upon his shoulder, clasping her +arms around his neck, kissing his face, and calling him, "her own dear +papa." He remembered the soft, wistful light in her beautiful eyes, +the sweet voice that lingered in his ears. Yet no warning came to him, +nothing told him the fair child he loved so dearly stood in the shadow +of deadly peril. + +If he had known, how those strong arms would have been raised to shield +her--how the stout, brave heart would have sheltered her! As it was, +she left him with jesting words on his lips, and he did not even gaze +after her as she quitted the room. If he had only known where and how +he should see that face again! + +Beatrice went up to Lady Helena, who smiled without raising her eyes +from her book. Beatrice bent down and touched the kind, stately face +with her lips. + +"Good night, grandmamma," she said. "How studious you are!" + +"Good night--bless you, my child," returned Lady Helena; and the fair +face turned from her with a smile. + +"You have left me until last," said Lord Airlie; "goodnight, my +Beatrice. Never mind papa--he is not looking at us, give me one kiss." + +She raised her face to his, and he kissed the proud, sweet lips. + +He touched the golden locket. + +"You will never part with it," he said; and he smiled as she answered: + +"No, never!" + +Then she passed out of his sight, and he who would have laid down his +life for her saw her leave him without the faintest suspicion of the +shadow that hung over her. + +The smile still lingered on her as she stood in her own room. A few +hours more--one more trial--she said to herself; then she would be +free, and might enjoy her happiness to its full extent. How dearly +Hubert loved her--how unutterably happy she would be when Hugh released +her! And he would--she never doubted it. + +"I shall not want you again," she said to her maid. "And do not call +me in the morning. I am tired." + +The door of Lillian's room was not closed; she went in. The night lamp +was shaded, and the blinds closely drawn, so that the bright moonlight +could not intrude. She went gently to the side of the bed where her +sister lay. Poor, gentle, loving Lillian! The pale, sad face, with its +wistful wearied expression, was turned to the wall. There were some +traces of tears, and even in sleep deep sighs passed the quivering +lips. Sorrow and woe were impressed on the fair face. Yet, as +Beatrice kissed the clear, calm brow, she would gladly have changed +places with her. + +"I will soon make it up to her," she said, gazing long and earnestly on +the sleeping face. "In a few weeks she shall be happier than she has +ever been. I will make Master Lionel go on his knees to her." + +She left the room, and Lillian never knew who had bent so lovingly over +her. + +Beatrice took from her wardrobe, a thick, warm shawl. She drew it over +her head, and so half hid her face. Then she went noiselessly down the +staircase that led from her suite of rooms to the garden. + +How fair and beautiful the night was--not cold, although it was +September, and the moon shining as she had rarely seen it shine before. + +It seemed to sail triumphantly in the dark-blue sky. It poured a flood +of silvery light on the sleeping flowers and trees. + +She had not lingered to look round the pretty dressing room as she left +it. Her eyes had not dwelt on the luxurious chamber and the white bed, +wherein she ought to have been sleeping, but, now that she stood +outside the Hall, she looked up at the windows with a sense of +loneliness and fear. There was a light in Lady Helena's room and one +in Lord Airlie's. She shrank back. What would he think if he saw her +now? + +Deeply she felt the humiliation of leaving her father's house at that +hour of the night; she felt the whole shame of what she was going to +do; but the thought of Lord Airlie nerved her. Let this one night +pass, and a life time of happiness lay before her. + +The night wind moaned fitfully among the trees; the branches of the +tall lime trees swayed over her head; the fallen leaves twirled round +her feet. She crossed the gardens; the moon cast strange shadows upon +the broad paths. At length she saw the shrubbery gate, and, by it, +erect and motionless, gazing on the bending trees in the park, was Hugh +Fernely. He did not hear her light footsteps--the wind among the lime +trees drowned them. She went up to him and touched his arm gently. + +"Hugh," she said, "I am here." + +Before she could prevent him, he was kneeling at her feet. He had +clasped her hands in his own, and was covering them with hot kisses and +burning tears. + +"My darling," he said, "my own Beatrice, I knew you would come!" + +He rose then, and, before she could stop him, he took the shawl from +her head and raised the beautiful face so that the moonlight fell +clearly upon it. + +"I have hungered and thirsted," he said, "for another look at that +face. I shall see it always now--its light will ever leave me more. +Look at me, Beatrice," he cried, "let me see those dark eyes again." + +But the glance she gave him had nothing in it but coldness and dread. +In the excitement of his joy he did not notice it. + +"Words are so weak," he said, "I can not tell you how I have longed for +this hour. I have gone over it in fancy a thousand times; yet no dream +was ever so bright and sweet as this reality. No man in the wide world +ever loved any one as I love you, Beatrice." + +She could not resist the passionate torrent of words--they must have +touched the heart of one less proud. She stood perfectly still, while +the calm night seemed to thrill with the eloquent voice of the speaker. + +"Speak to me," he said, at length. "How coldly you listen! Beatrice, +there is no love, no joy in your face. Tell me you are pleased to see +me--tell me you have remembered me. Say anything let me hear your +voice." + +"Hugh," she answered, gently, drawing her hands from his strong grasp, +"this is all a mistake. You have not given me time to speak. I am +pleased to see you well and safe. I am pleased that you have escaped +the dangers of the deep; but I can not say more. I--I do not love you +as you love me." + +His hands dropped nervously, and he turned his despairing face from her. + +"You must be reasonable," she continued, in her musical, pitiless +voice. "Hugh, I was only a dreaming, innocent, ignorant child when I +first met you. It was not love I thought of. You talked to me as no +one else ever had--it was like reading a strange, wonderful story; my +head was filled with romance, my heart was not filled with love." + +"But," he said, hoarsely, "you promised to be my wife." + +"I remember," she acknowledged. "I do not deny it; but, Hugh, I did +not know what I was saying. I spoke without thought. I no more +realized what the words meant than I can understand now what the wind +is saying." + +A long, low moan came from his lips; the awful despair in his face +startled her. + +"So I have returned for this!" he cried. "I have braved untold perils; +I have escaped the dangers of the seas, the death that lurks in heaving +waters, to be slain by cruel words from the girl I loved and trusted." + +He turned from her, unable to check the bitter sob that rose to his +lips. + +"Hush, Hugh," she said, gently, "you grieve me." + +"Do you think of my grief?" he cried. "I came here tonight, with my +heart on fire with love, my brain dizzy with happiness. You have +killed me, Beatrice Earle, as surely as ever man was slain." + +Far off, among the trees, she saw the glimmer of the light in Lord +Airlie's room. It struck her with a sensation of fear, as though he +were watching her. + +"Let us walk on," she said; "I do not like standing here." + +They went through the shrubbery, through the broad, green glades of the +park, where the dew drops shone upon fern leaves and thick grass, past +the long avenue of chestnut trees, where the wind moaned like a human +being in deadly pain; on to the shore of the deep, calm lake, where the +green reeds bent and swayed and the moonlight shone on the rippling +waters. All this while Hugh had not spoken a word, but had walked in +silence by her side. He turned to her at length, and she heard the +rising passion in his voice. + +"You promised me," he said, "and you must keep your promise. You said +you would be my wife. No other man must dare to speak to you of love," +he cried, grasping her arm. "In the sight of Heaven you are mine, +Beatrice Earle." + +"I am not," she answered proudly; "and I never will be; no man would, +or could take advantage of a promise obtained from a willful, foolish +child." + +"I will appeal to Lord Earle," he said; "I will lay my claim before +him." + +"You may do so," she replied; "and, although he will never look upon me +again, he will protect me from you." + +She saw the angry light flame in his eyes; she heard his breath come in +quick, short gasps, and the danger of quarreling with him struck her. +She laid her hand upon his arm, and he trembled at the gentle touch. + +"Hugh," she said, "do not be angry. You are a brave man; I know that +in all your life you never shrank from danger or feared peril. The +brave are always generous, always noble; think of what I am going to +say. Suppose that, by the exercise of any power, you could really +compel me to be your wife, what would it benefit you? I should not +love you, I tell you candidly. I should detest you for spoiling my +life--I would never see you. What would you gain by forcing me to keep +my promise?" + +He made no reply. The wind bent the reeds, and the water came up the +bank with a long, low wash. + +"I appeal to your generosity," she said--"your nobility of character. +Release me from a promise I made in ignorance; I appeal to your very +love for me--release me, that I may be happy. Those who love truly," +she continued, receiving no reply, "never love selfishly. If I cared +for any one as you do for me, I should consider my own happiness last +or all. If you love me, release me, Hugh. I can never be happy with +you." + +"Why not?" he asked, tightening his grasp upon her arm. + +"Not from mercenary motives," she replied, earnestly; "not because my +father is wealthy, my home magnificent, and you belong to another grade +of society--not for that, but because I do not love you. I never did +love you as a girl should love the man she means to marry." + +"You are very candid," said he, bitterly; "pray, is there any one else +you love in this way?" + +"That is beside the question," she replied, haughtily; "I am speaking +of you and myself. Hugh, if you will give me my freedom if you will +agree to forget the foolish promise of a foolish child--I will respect +and esteem you while I live; I shall bless you every day; your name +will be a sacred one enshrined in my heart, your memory will be a +source of pleasure to me. You shall be my friend, Hugh, and I will be +a true friend to you." + +"Beatrice," he cried, "do not tempt me!" + +"Yes, be tempted," she said; "let me urge you to be generous, to be +noble! See, Hugh, I have never prayed to any man--I pray to you; I +would kneel here at your feet and beseech you to release me from a +promise I never meant to give." + +Her words touched him. She saw the softened look upon his face, the +flaming anger die out of his eyes. + +"Hugh," she said, softly, "I, Beatrice Earle, pray you, by the love you +bear me, to release me from all claim, and leave me in peace. + +"Let me think," he replied; "give me a few minutes; no man could part +so hastily with the dearest treasure he has. Let me think what I lose +in giving you up." + + + +Chapter XL + +They stood for some time in perfect silence; they had wandered down to +the very edge of the lake. The water rippled in the moonlight, and +while Hugh Fernely thought, Beatrice looked into the clear depths. How +near she was to her triumph! A few minutes more and he would turn to +her and tell her she was free. His face was growing calm and gentle. +She would dismiss him with grateful thanks; she would hasten home. How +calm would be that night's sleep! When she saw Lord Airlie in the +morning, all her sorrow and shame would have passed by. Her heart beat +high as she thought of this. + +"I think it must be so," said Hugh Fernely, at last; "I think I must +give you up, Beatrice. I could not bear to make you miserable. Look +up, my darling; let me see your face once more before I say goodbye." + +She stood before him, and the thick dark shawl fell from her shoulders +upon the grass; she did not miss it in the blinding joy that had fallen +upon her. Hugh Fernely's gaze lingered upon the peerless features. + +"I can give you up," he said, gently; "for your own happiness, but not +to another, Beatrice. Tell me that you have not learned to love +another since I left you." + +She made no reply--not to have saved her life a thousand times would +she have denied her love for Lord Airlie. His kiss was still warm on +her lips--those same lips should never deny him. + +"You do not speak," he added, gloomily. "By Heaven, Beatrice, if I +thought you had learned to love another man--if I thought you wanted to +be free from me to marry another--I should go mad mad with jealous +rage! Is it so? Answer me." + +She saw a lurid light in his eyes, and shrank from him. He tightened +his grasp upon her arm. + +"Answer me!" he cried, hoarsely. "I will know." + +Not far from her slept the lover who would have shielded her with his +strong arm--the lover to whom every hair upon her dear head was more +precious than gold or jewels. Not far from her slept the kind, loving +father, who was prouder and fonder of her than of any one on earth. +Gaspar Laurence, who would have died for her, lay at that moment not +far away, awake and thinking of her. Yet in the hour of her deadly +peril, when she stood on the shore of the deep lake, in the fierce +grasp of a half-maddened man, there was no one near to help her or +raise a hand in her defense. But she was no coward, and all the high +spirit of her race rose within her. + +"Loosen your grasp, Hugh," she said, calmly; "you pain me." + +"Answer me!" he cried. "Where is the ring I gave you?" + +He seized both her hands and looked at them; they were firm and +cool--they did not tremble. As his fierce, angry eyes glanced over +them, not a feature of her beautiful face quivered. + +"Where is my ring?" he asked. "Answer me, Beatrice." + +"I have not worn it lately," she replied. "Hugh, you forget yourself. +Gentlemen do not speak and act in this way." + +"I believe I am going mad," he said, gloomily. "I could relinquish my +claim to you, Beatrice for your own sake, but I will never give you up +to be the wife of any other man. Tell me it is not so. Tell me you +have not been so doubly false as to love another, and I will try to do +all you wish." + +"Am I to live all my life unloved and unmarried?" she answered, +controlling her angry indignation by a strong effort, "because when I +was a lonely and neglected girl, I fell into your power? I do not ask +such a sacrifice from you. I hope you will love and marry, and be +happy." + +"I shall not care," he said, "what happens after I am gone--it will not +hurt my jealous, angry heart then, Beatrice; but I should not like to +think that while you were my promised wife and I was giving you my +every thought, you were loving some one else. I should like to believe +you were true to me while you were my own." + +She made no answer, fearing to irritate him if she told the truth, and +scorning to deny the love that was the crowning blessing of her life. +His anger grew in her silence. Again the dark flush arose in his face, +and his eyes flamed with fierce light. + +Suddenly he caught sight of the gold locket she wore round her neck, +fastened by the slender chain. + +"What is this thing you wear?" he asked, quickly. "You threw aside my +ring. What is this? Whose portrait have you there? Let me see it." + +"You forget yourself again," she said, drawing herself haughtily away. +"I have no account to render to you of my friends." + +"I will see who is there!" he cried, beside himself with angry rage. +"Perhaps I shall know then why you wish to be freed from me. Whose +face is lying near your heart? Let me see. If it is that of any one +who has outwitted me, I will throw it into the depths of the lake." + +"You shall not see it," she said, raising her hand, and clasping the +little locket tightly. "I am not afraid, Hugh Fernely. You will never +use violence to me." + +But the hot anger leaped up in his heart; he was mad with cruel +jealousy and rage, and tried to snatch the locket from her. She +defended it, holding it tightly clasped in one hand, while with the +other she tried to free herself from his grasp. + +It will never be know how that fatal accident happened. Men will never +know whether the hapless girl fell, or whether Hugh Fernely, in his mad +rage, flung her into the lake. There was a startled scream that rang +through the clear air, a heavy fall, a splash amid the waters of the +lake! There was one awful, despairing glance from a pale, +horror-stricken face, and then the waters closed, the ripples spread +over the broad surface, and the sleeping lilies trembled for a few +minutes, and then lay still again! Once, and once only, a woman's +white hand, thrown up, as it were, in agonizing supplication, cleft the +dark water, and then all was over; the wind blew the ripples more +strongly; they washed upon the grass, and the stir of the deep waters +subsided! + +Hugh Fernely did not plunge into the lake after Beatrice--it was too +late to save her; still, he might have tried. The cry that rang +through the sleeping woods, seemed to paralyze him--he stood like one +bereft of reason, sense and life. Perhaps the very suddenness of the +event overpowered him. Heaven only knows what passed in his dull, +crazed mind while the girl he loved sank without help. Was it that he +would not save her for another that in his cruel love he preferred to +know her dead, beneath the cold waters, rather than the living, happy +wife of another man? Or was it that in the sudden shock and terror he +never thought of trying to save her? + +He stood for hours--it seemed to him as years--watching the spot where +the pale, agonized face had vanished--watching the eddying ripples and +the green reeds. Yet he never sought to save her--never plunged into +the deep waters whence he might have rescued her had he wished. He +never moved. He felt no fatigue. The first thing that roused him was a +gleam of gray light in the eastern sky, and the sweet, faint song of a +little bird. + +Then he saw that the day had broken. He said to himself, with a wild +horrible laugh, that he had watched all night by her grave. + +He turned and fled. One meeting him, with fierce, wild eyes full of +the fire of madness, with pale, haggard face full of despair, would +have shunned him. He fled through the green park, out on the +high-road, away through the deep woods--he knew not whither never +looking back; crying out at times, with a hollow, awful voice that he +had been all night by her grave; falling at times on his face with +wild, woeful weeping, praying the heavens to fall upon him and hide him +forever from his fellow men. + +He crept into a field where the hedge-rows were bright with autumn's +tints. He threw himself down, and tried to close his hot, dazed eyes, +but the sky above him looked blood-red, the air seemed filled with +flames. Turn where he would, the pale, despairing face that had looked +up to him as the waters opened was before him. He arose with a great +cry, and wandered on. He came to a little cottage, where rosy children +were at play, talking and laughing in the bright sunshine. + +Great Heaven! How long was it since the dead girl, now sleeping under +the deep waters, was happy and bright as they? + +He fled again. This time the piercing cry filled his ears; it seemed +to deaden his brain. He fell in the field near the cottage. Hours +afterward the children out at play found him lying in the dank grass +that fringed the pond under the alder trees. + + * * * * * + +The first faint flush of dawn, a rosy light, broke in the eastern sky, +a tremulous, golden shimmer was on the lake as the sunbeams touched it. +The forest birds awoke and began to sing; they flew from branch to +branch; the flowers began to open their "dewy eyes," the stately swans +came out upon the lake, bending their arched necks, sailing round the +water lilies and the green sedges. + +The sun shone out at length in his majesty, warming and brightening the +fair face of nature--it was full and perfect day. The gardeners came +through the park to commence their work; the cows out in the pasture +land stood to be milked, the busy world began to rouse itself; but the +fatal secret hidden beneath the cold, dark water remained still untold. + + + +Chapter XLI + +The sun shone bright and warm in the breakfast room at Earlescourt. +The rays fell upon the calm, stately face of Lady Helena, upon the +grave countenance of her son, upon the bright, handsome features of +Lord Airlie. They sparkled on the delicate silver, and showed off the +pretty china to perfection. The breakfast was upon the table, but the +three occupants of the room had been waiting. Lady Helena took her +seat. + +"It seems strange," she said to Lord Earle, "to breakfast without +either of the girls. I would not allow Lillian to rise; and from some +caprice Beatrice forbade her maid to call her, saying she was tired." + +Lord Earle made some laughing reply, but Lady Helena was not quite +pleased. Punctuality with her had always been a favorite virtue. In +case of real illness, allowance was of course to be made; but she +herself had never considered a little extra fatigue as sufficient +reason for absenting herself from table. + +The two gentlemen talked gayly during breakfast. Lord Earle asked +Hubert if he would go with him to Holte, and Lord Airlie said he had +promised to drive Beatrice to Langton Priory. + +Hearing that, Lady Helena thought it time to send some little warning +to her grandchild. She rang for Suzette, the maid who waited upon +Beatrice, and told her to call her young mistress. + +She stood at her writing table, arranging some letters, when the maid +returned. Lady Helena looked at her in utter wonder--the girl's face +was pale and scared. + +"My lady," she said, "will you please come here? You are wanted very +particularly." + +Lady Helena, without speaking to either of the gentlemen, went to the +door where the girl stood. + +"What is it, Suzette?" she asked. "What is the matter?" + +"For mercy's sake, my lady," replied the maid, "come upstairs. I I can +not find Miss Beatrice--she is not in her room;" and the girl trembled +violently or Lady Helena would have smiled at her terror. + +"She is probably with Miss Lillian," she said. "Why make such a +mystery, Suzette?" + +"She is not there, my lady; I can not find her," was the answer. + +"She may have gone out into the garden or the grounds," said Lady +Helena. + +"My lady," Suzette whispered, and her frightened face grew deathly +pale, "her bed has not been slept in; nothing is touched in her room; +she has not been in it all night." + +A shock of unutterable dread seized Lady Earle; a sharp spasm seemed to +dart through her heart. + +"There must be some mistake," she said, gently; "I will go upstairs +with you." + +The rooms were without occupant; no disarray of jewels, flowers, or +dresses, no little slippers; no single trace of Beatrice's presence was +there. + +The pretty white bed was untouched--no one had slept in it; the blinds +were drawn, and the sunlight struggled to enter the room. Lady Helena +walked mechanically to the window, and drew aside the lace curtains; +then she looked round. + +"She has not slept here," she said; "she must have slept with Miss +Lillian. You have frightened me, Suzette; I will go and see myself." + +Lady Helena went through the pretty sitting room where the books +Beatrice had been reading lay upon the table, on to Lillian's chamber. + +The young girl was awake, looking pale and languid, yet better than she +had looked the night before. Lady Earle controlled all emotion, and +went quietly to her. + +"Have you seen Beatrice this morning?" she asked. "I want her." + +"No," replied Lillian; "I have not seen her since just before dinner +last evening." + +"She did not sleep with you, then?" said Lady Earle. + +"No, she did not sleep here," responded the young girl. + +Lady Helena kissed Lillian's face, and quitted the room; a deadly, +horrible fear was turning her faint and cold. From the suite of rooms +Lord Earle had prepared and arranged for his daughters a staircase ran +which led into the garden. He had thought at the time how pleasant it +would be for them. As Lady Helena entered, Suzette stood upon the +stairs with a bow of pink ribbon in her hand. + +"My lady," she said, "I fastened the outer door of the staircase last +night myself. I locked it, and shot the bolts. It is unfastened now, +and I have found this lying by it. Miss Earle wore it last evening on +her dress." + +"Something terrible must have happened," exclaimed Lady Helena. +"Suzette, ask Lord Earle to come to me. Do not say a word to any one." + +He stood by her side in a few minutes, looking in mute wonder at her +pale, scared face. + +"Ronald," she said, "Beatrice has not slept in her room all night. We +can not find her." + +He smiled at first, thinking, as she had done, that there must be some +mistake, and that his mother was fanciful and nervous; but, when Lady +Helena, in quick, hurried words, told him of the unfastened door and +the ribbon, his face grew serious. He took the ribbon from the maid's +hand--it seemed a living part of his daughter. He remembered that he +had seen it the night before on her dress, when he had held up the +beautiful face to kiss it. He had touched that same ribbon with his +face. + +"She may have gone out into the grounds, and have been taken ill," he +said. "Do not frighten Airlie, mother; I will look round myself." + +He went through every room of the house one by one, but there was no +trace of her. Still Lord Earle had no fear; it seemed so utterly +impossible that any harm could have happened to her. + +Then he went out into the grounds, half expecting the beautiful face to +smile upon him from under the shade of her favorite trees. He called +aloud, "Beatrice!" The wind rustled through the trees, the birds sang, +but there came no answer to his cry. Neither in the grounds nor in the +garden could he discover any trace of her. He returned to Lady Helena, +a vague fear coming over him. + +"I can not find her," he said. "Mother, I do not understand this. She +can not have left us. She was not unhappy--my beautiful child." + +There was no slip of paper, no letter, no clew to her absence. Mother +and son looked blankly at each other. + +"Ronald," she cried, "where is she? Where is the poor child?" + +He tried to comfort her, but fear was rapidly mastering him. + +"Let me see if Airlie can suggest anything," he said. + +They went down to the breakfast room where Lord Airlie still waited for +the young girl he was never more to meet alive. He turned round with a +smile, and asked if Beatrice were coming. The smile died from his lips +when he saw the pale, anxious faces of mother and son. + +"Hubert," said Lord Earle, "we are alarmed--let us hope without cause. +Beatrice can not be found. My mother is frightened." Lady Helena had +sunk, pale and trembling, upon a couch. Lord Airlie looked bewildered. +Lord Earle told him briefly how they had missed her, and what had been +done. + +"She must be trying to frighten us," he said; "she must have hidden +herself. There can not be anything wrong." Even as he spoke he felt +how impossible it was that his dignified Beatrice should have done +anything wrong. + +He could throw no light upon the subject. He had not seen her since he +had kissed her when bidding her goodnight. Her maid was the last +person to whom she had spoken. Suzette had left her in her own room, +and since then nothing had been seen or heard of Beatrice Earle. + +Father and lover went out together. Lord Airlie suggested that she had +perhaps gone out into the gardens and had met with some accident there. +They went carefully over every part--there was no trace of Beatrice. +They went through the shrubbery out into the park, where the quiet lake +shone amid the green trees. + +Suddenly, like the thrust of a sharp sword, the remembrance of the +morning spent upon the water came to Lord Airlie. He called to mind +Beatrice's fear--the cold shudder that seized her when she declared +that her own face with a mocking smile was looking up at her from the +depths of the water. + +He walked hurriedly toward the lake. It was calm and clear--the tall +trees and green sedges swaying in the wind, the white lilies rising and +falling with the ripples. The blue sky and green trees were reflected +in the water, the pleasure boat was fastened to the boat house. How +was he to know the horrible secret of the lake? + +"Come away, Airlie!" cried Lord Earle. "I shall go mad! I will call +all the servants, and have a regular search." + +In a few minutes the wildest confusion and dismay reigned in the Hall; +women wept aloud, and men's faces grew pale with fear. Their beautiful, +brilliant young mistress had disappeared, and none knew her fate. They +searched garden, park, and grounds; men in hot haste went hither and +thither; while Lady Earle lay half dead with fear, and Lillian rested +calmly, knowing nothing of what had happened. + +It was Lord Airlie who first suggested that the lake should be dragged. +The sun rode high in the heavens then, and shone gloriously over water +and land. + +They found the drags, and Hewson, the butler, with Lee and Patson, two +gardeners, got into the boat. Father and lover stood side by side on +the bank. The boat glided softly over the water; the men had been once +round the lake, but without any result. Hope was rising again in Lord +Airlie's heart, when he saw those in the boat look at each other, then +at him. + +"My lord," said Cowden, Lord Earle's valet, coming up to Hubert, "pray +take my master home; they have found something at the bottom of the +lake. Take him home; and please keep Lady Earle and the women all out +of the way." + +"What is it?" cried Lord Earle. "Speak to me, Airlie. What is it?" + +"Come away," said Lord Airlie. "The men will not work while we are +here." + +They had found something beneath the water; the drags had caught in a +woman's dress; and the men in the boat stood motionless until Lord +Earle was out of sight. + +Through the depths of water they saw the gleam of a white, dead face, +and a floating mass of dark hair. They raised the body with reverent +hands. Strong men wept aloud as they did so. One covered the quiet +face, and another wrung the dripping water from the long hair. The sun +shone on, as though in mockery, while they carried the drowned girl +home. + +Slowly and with halting steps they carried her through the warm, sunny +park where she was never more to tread, through the bright, sunlit +gardens, through the hall and up the broad staircase, the water +dripping from her hair and falling in large drops, into the pretty +chamber she had so lately quitted full of life and hope. They laid her +on the white bed wherefrom her eyes would never more open to the +morning light, and went away. + +"Drowned, drowned! Drowned and dead!" was the cry that went from lip to +lip, till it reached Lord Earle where he sat, trying to soothe his +weeping mother. "Drowned! Quite dead!" was the cry that reached +Lillian, in her sick room, and brought her down pale and trembling. +"Drowned and dead hours ago," were the words that drove Lord Airlie mad +with the bitterness of his woe. + +They could not realize it. How had it happened? What had taken her in +the dead of the night to the lake? + +They sent messengers right and left to summon doctors in hot haste, as +though human skill could avail her now. + +"I must see her," said Lord Airlie. "If you do not wish to kill me, +let me see her." + +They allowed him to enter, and Lord Earle and his mother went with him. +None in that room ever forgot his cry--the piercing cry of the strong +man in his agony--as he threw himself by the dead girl's side. + +"Beatrice, my love, my darling, why could I not have died for you?" + +And then with tears of sympathy they showed him how even in death the +white cold hand grasped his locket, holding it so tightly that no +ordinary foe could remove it. + +"In life and in death!" she had said, and she had kept her word. + + + +Chapter XLII + +While the weeping group still stood there, doctors came; they looked at +the quiet face, so beautiful in death, and said she had been dead for +hours. The words struck those who heard them with unutterable horror. +Dead, while those who loved her so dearly, who would have given their +lives for her, had lain sleeping near her, unconscious of her +doom--dead, while her lover had waited for her, and her father had been +intently thinking of her approaching wedding. + +What had she suffered during the night? What awful storm of agony had +driven her to the lake? Had she gone thither purposely? Had she +wandered to the edge and fallen in, or was there a deeper mystery? Had +foul wrong been done to Lord Earle's daughter while he was so near her, +and yet knew nothing of it? + +She still wore her pretty pink evening dress. What a mockery it +looked! The delicate laces were wet and spoiled; the pink blossoms she +had twined in her hair clung to it still; the diamond arrow Lord Airlie +had given her fastened them, a diamond brooch was in the bodice of her +dress, and a costly bracelet encircled the white, cold arm. She had +not, then, removed her jewels or changed her dress. What could have +taken her down to the lake? Why was Lord Airlie's locket so tightly +clinched in her hand? + +Lord Airlie, when he was calm enough to speak, suggested that she might +have fallen asleep, tired, before undressing--that in her sleep she +might have walked out, gone to the edge of the lake, and fallen in. + +That version spread among the servants. From them it spread like +wildfire around the whole country-side; the country papers were filled +with it, and the London papers afterward told how "the beautiful Miss +Earle" had been drowned while walking in her sleep. + +But Lord Airlie's suggestion did not satisfy Ronald Earle; he would not +leave the darkened chamber. Women's gentle hands removed the bright +jewels and the evening dress. Lady Helena, with tears that fell like +rain, dried the long, waving hair, and drew it back from the placid +brow. She closed the eyes, but she could not cross the white hands on +the cold breast. One held the locket in the firm, tight clasp of +death, and it could not be moved. + +Ronald would not leave the room. Gentle hands finished their task. +Beatrice lay in the awful beauty of death--no pain, no sorrow moving +the serene loveliness of her placid brow. He knelt by her side. It +was his little Beatrice, this strange, cold, marble statue--his little +baby Beatrice, who had leaped in his arms years ago, who had cried and +laughed, who had learned in pretty accents to lisp his name--his +beautiful child, his proud, bright daughter, who had kissed him the +previous night while he spoke jesting words to her about her lover. +And he had never heard her voice since--never would hear it again. Had +she called him when the dark waters closed over her bright head? + +Cold, motionless, no gleam of life or light--and this was Dora's little +child! He uttered a great cry as the thought struck him: "What would +Dora say?" He loved Beatrice; yet for all the long years of her +childhood he had been absent from her. How must Dora love the child +who had slept on her bosom, and who was now parted from her forever. + +And then his thoughts went back to the old subject: "How had it +happened? What had taken her to the lake?" + +One knelt near who might have told him, but a numb, awful dread had +seized upon Lillian. Already weak and ill, she was unable to think, +unable to shape her ideas, unable to tell right from wrong. + +She alone held the clew to the mystery, and she knelt by that death bed +with pale, parted lips and eyes full of terror. Her face startled +those who saw it. Her sorrow found no vent in tears; the gentle eyes +seemed changed into balls of fire; she could not realize that it was +Beatrice who lay there, so calm and still--Beatrice, who had knelt at +her feet and prayed that she would save her--Beatrice, who had believed +herself so near the climax of her happiness. + +Could she have met Hugh, and had he murdered her? Look where she +would, Lillian saw that question written in fiery letters. What ought +she to do? Must she tell Lord Earle, or did the promise she had made +bind her in death as well as in life. Nothing could restore her +sister. Ought she to tell all she knew, and to stain in death the name +that was honored and loved? + +One of the doctors called in saw the face of Lillian Earle. He went at +once to Lady Helena, and told her that if the young lady was not +removed from that room, and kept quiet she would be in danger of her +life. + +"If ever I saw a face denoting that the brain was disturbed," he said, +"that is one." + +Lillian was taken back to her room, and left with careful nurses. But +the doctor's warning proved true. While Lord Earle wept over the dead +child, Lady Helena mourned over the living one, whose life hung by a +thread. + +The day wore on; the gloom of sorrow and mourning had settled on the +Hall. Servants spoke with hushed voices and moved with gentle tread. +Lady Helena sat in the darkened room where Lillian lay. Lord Airlie +had shut himself up alone, and Ronald Earle knelt all day by his dead +child. In vain they entreated him to move, to take food or wine, to go +to his own room. He remained by her, trying to glean from that silent +face the secret of her death. + +And when night fell again, he sunk exhausted. Feverish slumbers came +to him, filled with a haunted dream of Beatrice sinking in the dark +water and calling upon him for help. Kindly faces watched over him, +kindly hands tended him. The morning sun found him still there. + +Lady Helena brought him some tea and besought him to drink it. The +parched, dried lips almost refused their office. It was an hour +afterward that Hewson entered the room, bearing a letter in his hand. +It was brought, he said by Thomas Ginns, who lived at the cottage past +Fair Glenn hills. It had been written by a man who lay dying there, +and who had prayed him to take it at once without delay. + +"I ventured to bring it to you, my lord," said the butler; "the man +seemed to think it a matter of life or death." + +Lord Earle took the letter from his hands--he tried to open it, but the +trembling fingers seemed powerless. He signed to Hewson to leave the +room, and, placing the letter upon the table, resumed his melancholy +watch. But in some strange way his thoughts wandered to the missive. +What might it not contain, brought to him, too, in the solemn death +chamber? He opened it, and found many sheets of closely covered paper. +On the first was written "The Confession of Hugh Fernely." + +The name told him nothing. Suddenly an idea came to him--could this +confession have anything to do with the fate of the beloved child who +lay before him? Kneeling by the dead child's side, he turned over the +leaf and read as follows: + +"Lord Earle, I am dying--the hand tracing this will soon be cold. +Before I die I must confess my crime. Even now, perhaps, you are +kneeling by the side of the child lost to you for all time. My lord, I +killed her. + +"I met her first nearly three years ago, at Knutsford; she was out +alone, and I saw her. I loved her then as I love her now. By mere +accident I heard her deplore the lonely, isolated life she led, and +that in such terms that I pitied her. She was young, beautiful, full +of life and spirits; she was pining away in that remote home, shut out +from the living world she longed for with a longing I can not put into +words. I spoke to her--do not blame her, she was a beautiful, ignorant +child--I spoke to her, asking some questions about the road, and she +replied. Looking at her face, I swore that I would release her from the +life she hated, and take her where she would be happy. + +"I met her again and again. Heaven pardon me if I did my best to awake +an interest in her girlish heart! I told her stories of travel and +adventure that stirred all the romance in her nature. With the keen +instinct of love I understood her character, and played upon its +weakness while I worshiped its strength. + +"She told me of a sad, patient young mother who never smiled, of a +father who was abroad and would not return for many years. Pardon me, +my lord, if, in common with many others, I believed this story to be +one to appease her. Pardon me, if I doubted as many others +did--whether the sad young mother was your wife. + +"I imagined that I was going to rescue her from a false position when I +asked her to be my wife. She said her mother dreaded all mention of +love and lovers, and I prayed her to keep my love a secret from all the +world. + +"I make no excuses for myself; she was young and innocent as a dreaming +child. I ought to have looked on her beautiful face and left her. My +lord, am I altogether to blame? The lonely young girl at Knutsford +pined for what I could give her--happiness and pleasure did not seem so +far removed from me. Had she been in her proper place I could never +have addressed her. + +"Not to you can I tell the details of my love story--how I worshiped +with passionate love the beautiful, innocent child who smiled into my +face and drank in my words. I asked her to be my wife, and she +promised. My lord, I never for a moment dreamed that she would ever +have a home with you--it did not seem to me possible. I intended to +return and marry her, firmly believing that in some respects my rank +and condition in life were better than her own. She promised to be +true to me, to love no one else, to wait for me, and to marry me when I +returned. + +"I believe now that she never loved me. My love and devotion were but +a pleasant interruption in the monotony of her life. They were to blame +also who allowed her no pleasures--who forced her to resort to this +stolen one. + +"My lord, I placed a ring upon your daughter's finger, and pledged my +faith to her. I can not tell you what my love was like; it was a +fierce fire that consumed me night and day. + +"I was to return and claim her in two years. Absence made me love her +more. I came back, rich in gold, my heart full of happiness, hope +making everything bright and beautiful. I went straight to +Knutsford--alas! she was no longer there! And then I heard that the +girl I loved so deeply and so dearly was Lord Earle's daughter. + +"I did not dream of losing her; birth, title, and position seemed as +nothing beside my mighty, passionate love. I thought nothing of your +consent, but only of her; and I went to Earlescourt. My lord, I wrote +to her, and my heart was in every line. She sent me a cold reply. I +wrote again; I swore I would see her. She sent her sister to me with +the reply. Then I grew desperate, and vowed I would lay my claim +before you. I asked her to meet me out in the grounds, at night, +unseen and unknown. She consented, and on Thursday night I met her +near the shrubbery. + +"How I remember her pretty pleading words, her beautiful proud face! +She asked me to release her. She said that it had all been child's +play--a foolish mistake--and that if I would give her her freedom from +a foolish promise she would always be my friend. At first I would not +hear of it; but who could have refused her? If she had told me to lie +down at her feet and let her trample the life out of me, I should have +submitted. + +"I promised to think of her request, and we walked on to the border of +the lake. Every hair upon her head was sacred to me; the pretty, proud +ways that tormented me delighted me, too. I promised I would release +her, and give her the freedom she asked, if she told me I was not +giving her up to another. She would not. Some few words drove me mad +with jealous rage--yes, mad; the blood seemed to boil in my veins. +Suddenly I caught sight of a golden locket on her neck, and I asked her +whose portrait it contained. She refused to tell me. In the madness +of my rage I tried to snatch it from her. She caught it in her hands, +and, shrinking back from me, fell into the lake. + +"I swear it was a sheer accident--I would not have hurt a hair of her +head; but, oh! My lord, pardon me--pardon me, for Heaven's sake--I +might have saved her and I did not; I might have plunged in after her +and brought her back, but jealousy whispered to me, 'Do not save her +for another--let her die.' I stood upon the bank, and saw the water +close over her head. I saw the white hand thrown up in wild appeal, +and never moved or stirred. I stood by the lake-side all night, and +fled when the morning dawned in the sky. + +"I killed her. I might have saved her, but did not. Anger of yours +can add nothing to my torture; think what it has been. I was a strong +man two days since; when the sun sets I shall be numbered with the +dead. I do not wish to screen myself from justice. I have to meet the +wrath of Heaven, and that appalls me as the anger of man never could. +Send the officers of the law for me. If I am not dead, let them take +me; if I am, let them bury me as they would a dog. I ask no mercy, no +compassion nor forgiveness; I do not merit it. + +"If by any torture, any death, I could undo what I have done, and save +her, I would suffer the extremity of pain; but I can not. My deed will +be judged in eternity. + +"My lord, I write this confession partly to ease my own conscience, +party to shield others from unjust blame. Do not curse me because, +through my mad jealousy, my miserable revenge, as fair and pure a child +as father ever loved has gone to her rest." + +So the strange letter concluded. Lord Earle read every word, looking +over and anon at the quiet, dead face that had kept the secret hidden. +Every word seemed burned in upon his brain; every word seemed to rise +before him like an accusing spirit. + +He stood face to face at last with the sin of his youth; it had found +him out. The willful, wanton disobedience, the marriage that had +broken his father's heart, and struck Ronald himself from the roll of +useful men; the willful, cruel neglect of duty; the throwing off of all +ties; the indulgence in proud, unforgiving temper, the abandonment of +wife and children--all ended there. But for his sins and errors, that +white, still figure might now have been radiant with life and beauty. + +The thought stung him with cruel pain. It was his own fault. Beatrice +might have erred in meeting Hugh Fernely; Fernely had done wrong in +trying to win that young child-like heart for his own; but he who left +his children to strange hands, who neglected all duties of parentage, +had surely done the greatest wrong. + +For the first time his utter neglect of duty came home to him. He had +thought himself rather a modern hero, but now he caught a glimpse of +himself as he was in reality. He saw that he was not even a brave man; +for a brave man neglects no duty. It was pitiful to see how sorrow +bent his stately figure and lined his proud face. He leaned over his +dead child, and cried to her to pardon him, for it was all his fault. +Lady Helena, seeking him in the gloom of that solemn death chamber, +found him weeping as strong men seldom weep. + +He did not give her the letter, nor tell her aught of Hugh Fernely's +confession. He turned to her with as sad a face as man ever wore. + +"Mother," he said, "I want my kinsman, Lionel Dacre. Let him be sent +for, and ask him to come without delay." + +In this, the crowning sorrow of his life, he could not stand alone. He +must have some one to think and to plan for him, some one to help him +bear the burden that seemed too heavy for him to carry. Some one must +see the unhappy man who had written that letter, and it should be a +kinsman of his own. + +Not the brave, sad young lover, fighting alone with his sorrow he must +never know the tragedy of that brief life, to him her memory must be +sacred and untarnished, unmarred by the knowledge of her folly. + +Lady Helena was not long in discovering Lionel Dacre's whereabouts. +One of the footmen who had attended him to the station remembered the +name of the place for which he had taken a ticket. Lady Helena knew +that Sir William Greston lived close by, and she sent at once to his +house. + +Fortunately the messenger found him. Startled and horrified by the +news, Lionel lost no time in returning. He could not realize that his +beautiful young cousin was really dead. Her face, in its smiling +brightness, haunted him. Her voice seemed to mingle with the wild +clang of the iron wheels. She was dead, and he was going to console +her father. + +No particulars of her death had reached him; he now only knew that she +had walked out in her sleep, and had fallen into the lake. + +Twenty-four hours had not elapsed since Lord Earle cried out in grief +for his young kinsman, yet already he stood by his side. + +"Persuade him to leave that room," said Lady Helena. "Since our +darling was carried there he has never left her side." + +Lionel did as requested. He went straight to the library, and sent for +Lord Earle, saying that he could not at present look upon the sad sight +in the gloomy death chamber. + +While waiting there, he heard of Lillian's dangerous illness. Lady +Helena told him how she had changed before her sister's death; and, +despite the young man's anger, his heart was sore and heavy. + +He hardly recognized Lord Earle in the aged, altered man who soon stood +before him. The long watch, the bitter remorse, the miserable +consciousness of his own folly and errors had written strange lines +upon his face. + +"I sent for you, Lionel," he said, "because I am in trouble--so great +that I can no longer bear it alone. You must think and work for me; I +can do neither for myself." + +Looking into his kinsman's face, Lionel felt that more than the death +of his child weighed upon the heart and mind of Ronald Earle. + +"There are secrets in every family," said Ronald; "henceforth there +will be one in mine--and it will be the true story of my daughter's +death. While I knelt yesterday by her side, this letter was brought to +me. Read it, Lionel; then act for me." + +He read it slowly, tears gathering fast in his eyes, his lips +quivering, and his hands tightly clinched. + +"My poor Beatrice!" he exclaimed; and then the strength of his young +manhood gave way, and Lionel Dacre wept as he had never wept before. +"The mean, pitiful scoundrel!" he cried, angry indignation rising as he +thought of her cruel death. "The wretched villain--to stand by while +she died!" + +"Hush!" said Lord Earle. "He has gone to his account. What have you +to say to me, Lionel? Because I had a miserable quarrel with my wife I +abandoned my children. I never cared to see them from the time they +were babes until they were women grown. How guilty am I? That man +believed he was about to raise Beatrice in the social scale when he +asked her to be his wife, or as he says, he would never have dreamed of +proposing to marry my daughter. If he merits blame, what do I deserve?" + +"It was a false position, certainly," replied Lionel Dacre. + +"This secret must be kept inviolate," said Lord Earle. "Lord Airlie +must never know it--it would kill Lady Helena, I believe. One thing +puzzles me, Lionel--Fernely says Lillian met him. I do not think that +is true." + +"It is!" cried Lionel, a sudden light breaking in upon him. "I saw her +with him. Oh, Lord Earle, you may be proud of Lillian! She is the +noblest, truest girl that ever lived. Why, she sacrificed her own +love, her own happiness, for her sister! She loved me; and when this +wedding, which will never now take place, was over, I intended to ask +you to give me Lillian. One night, quite accidentally, while I was +wandering in the grounds with a cigar, I saw her speaking to a +stranger, her fair sweet face full of pity and compassion, which I +mistook for love. Shame to me that I was base enough to doubt +her--that I spoke to her the words I uttered! I demanded to know who +it was she had met, and why she had met him. She asked me to trust +her, saying she could not tell me. I stabbed her with cruel words, and +left her vowing that I would never see her again. Her sister must have +trusted her with her secret, and she would not divulge it." + +"We can not ask her now," said Lord Earle; "my mother tells me she is +very ill." + +"I must see her," cried Lionel, "and ask her to pardon me if she can. +What am I to do for you, Lord Earle? Command me as though I were your +own son." + +"I want you to go to the cottage," said Ronald, "and see if the man is +living or dead. You will know how to act. I need not ask a kinsman +and a gentleman to keep my secret." + +In a few minutes Lionel Dacre was on his way to the cottage, riding as +though it were for dear life. Death had been still more swift. Hugh +Fernely lay dead. + +The cottager's wife told Lionel how the children out at play had found +a man lying in the dank grass near the pond, and how her husband, in +his own strong arms, had brought him to their abode. He lay still for +many hours, and then asked for pen and ink. He was writing, she said, +nearly all night, and afterward prayed her husband to take the letter +to Lord Earle. The man refused any nourishment. Two hours later they +went in to persuade him to take some food, and found him lying dead, +his face turned to the morning sky. + +Lionel Dacre entered the room. The hot anger died out of his heart as +he saw the anguish death had marked upon the white countenance. What +torture must the man have suffered, what hours of untold agony, to have +destroyed him in so short a time! The dark, handsome face appeared to +indicate that the man had been dying for years. + +Lionel turned reverently away. Man is weak and powerless before death. +In a few words he told the woman that she should be amply rewarded for +her kindness, and that he himself would defray all expenses. + +"He was perhaps an old servant of my lord's?" she said. + +"No," was the reply; "Lord Earle did not know him--had never seen him; +but the poor man was well known to one of Lord Earle's friends." + +Thanks to Lionel's words, the faintest shadow of suspicion was never +raised. Of the two deaths, that of Miss Earle excited all attention +and aroused all sympathy. No one spoke of Hugh Fernely, or connected +him with the occurrence at the Hall. + +There was an inquest, and men decided that he had "died by the +visitation of God." No one knew the agony that had cast him prostrate +in the thick, dank grass, no one knew the unendurable anguish that had +shortened his life. + + * * * * * + +When Lionel returned to the Hall, he went straight to Lord Earle. + +"I was too late," he said; "the man had been dead some hours." + +His name was not mentioned between them again. Lord Earle never +inquired where he was buried--he never knew. + +The gloom had deepened at the Hall. Lillian Earle lay nigh unto death. +Many believed that the master of Earlescourt would soon be a childless +man. He could not realize it. They told him how she lay with the +cruel raging fever sapping her life, but he seemed to forget the living +child in mourning for the one that lay dead. + +In compliance with Lionel's prayer, Lady Helena took him into the sick +room where Lillian lay. She did not know him; the gentle, tender eyes +were full of dread and fear; the fair, pure face was burning with the +flush of fever; the hot, dry lips were never still. She talked +incessantly--at times of Knutsford and Beatrice--then prayed in her +sweet, sad voice that Lionel would trust her--only trust her; when +Beatrice was married she would tell him all. + +He turned away; her eyes had lingered on his face, but no gleam of +recognition came into them. + +"You do not think she will die?" he asked of Lady Helena; and she never +forgot his voice or his manner. + +"We hope not," she said; "life and death are in higher hands than ours. +If you wish to help her, pray for her." + +In after years Lionel Dacre like to remember that the best and most +fervent prayers of his life had been offered for gentle, innocent +Lillian Earle. + +As he turned to quit the chamber he heard her crying for her mother. +She wanted her mother--why was she not there? He looked at Lady +Helena; she understood him. + +"I have written," she said. "I sent for Dora yesterday; she will be +here soon." + + + +Chapter XLIII + +On the second day succeeding that on which Dora had been sent for, +Beatrice Earle was to be laid in her grave. The servants of the +household, who had dearly loved their beautiful young mistress, had +taken their last look at her face. Lady Helena had shed her last tears +over it. Lord Airlie had asked to be alone for a time with his dead +love. They had humored him, and for three long hours he had knelt by +her, bidding her a sorrowful farewell, taking his last look at the face +that would never again smile on earth for him. + +They respected the bitterness of his uncontrollable sorrow; no idle +words of sympathy were offered to him; men passed him by with an +averted face--women with tearful eyes. + +Lord Earle was alone with his dead child. In a little while nothing +would remain of his beautiful, brilliant daughter but a memory and a +name. He did not weep; his sorrow lay too deep for tears. In his +heart he was asking pardon for the sins and follies of his youth; his +face was buried in his hands, his head bowed over the silent form of +his loved child; and when the door opened gently, he never raised his +eyes--he was only conscious that some one entered the room, and walked +swiftly up the gloomy, darkened chamber to the bedside. Then a +passionate wailing that chilled his very blood filled the rooms. + +"My Beatrice, my darling! Why could I not have died for you?" + +Some one bent over the quiet figure, clasping it in tender arms, +calling with a thousand loving words upon the dear one who lay +there--some one whose voice fell like a strain of long-forgotten music +upon his ears. Who but a mother could weep as she did? Who but a +mother forget everything else in the abandonment of her sorrow, and +remember only the dead? + +Before he looked up, he knew it was Dora--the mother bereft of her +child--the mother clasping in her loving arms the child she had nursed, +watched, and loved for so many years. She gazed at him, and he never +forgot the woeful, weeping face. + +"Ronald," she cried, "I trusted my darling to you; what has happened to +her?" + +The first words for many long years--the first since he had turned +round upon her in his contempt, hoping he might be forgiven for having +made her his wife. + +She seemed to forget him then, and laid her head down upon the quiet +heart; but Ronald went round to her. He raised her in his arms, he +laid the weeping face on his breast, he kissed away the blinding tears, +and she cried to him: + +"Forgive me, Ronald--forgive me! You can not refuse in the hour of +death." + +How the words smote him. They were his own recoiling upon him. How +often he had refused his mother's pleading--hardened his own heart, +saying to himself and to her that he could not pardon her yet--he would +forgive her in the hour of death, when either he or she stood on the +threshold of eternity! + +Heaven had not willed it so. The pardon he had refused was wrung from +him now; and, looking at his child, he felt that she was sacrificed to +his blind, willful pride. + +"You will forgive me, Ronald," pleaded the gentle voice, "for the love +of my dead child? Do not send me from you again. I have been very +unhappy all these long years; let me stay with you now. Dear, I was +beside myself with jealousy when I acted as I did." + +"I forgive you," he said, gently, "can you pardon me as easily, Dora? +I have spoiled your life--I have done you cruel wrong; can you forget +all, and love me as you did years ago?" + +All pride, restraint, and anger were dead. He whispered loving words +to his weeping wife, such as she had not heard for years; and he could +have fancied, as he did so, that a happy smile lingered on the fair +face of the dead. + +No, it was but the light of a wax taper flickering over it; the +strange, solemn beauty of that serene brow and those quiet lips were +unstirred. + +Half an hour afterward Lady Helena, trembling from the result of her +experiment, entered the room. She saw Ronald's arms clasped round +Dora, while they knelt side by side. + +"Mother," said Lord Earle, "my wife has pardoned me. She is my own +again--my comfort in sorrow." + +Lady Earle touched Dora's face with her lips, and told what her errand +was. They must leave the room now--the beautiful face of Beatrice +Earle was to be hidden forever from the sight of men. + + * * * * * + +That evening was long remembered at Earlescourt; for Lady Dora +thenceforward took her rightful position. She fell at once into the +spirit of the place, attending to every one and thinking of every one's +comfort. + +Lillian was fighting hard for her young life. She seemed in some vague +way to understand that her mother was near. Lady Dora's hand soothed +and calmed her, her gentle motherly ways brought comfort and rest; but +many long days passed before Lillian knew those around her, or woke +from her troubled, feverish dream. When she did so, her sister had been +laid to rest in her long, last home. + + * * * * * + +People said afterward that no fairer day had ever been than that on +which Beatrice Earle was buried. The sun shone bright and warm, the +birds were singing, the autumn flowers were in bloom, as the long +procession wound its way through the trees in the park; the leaves fell +from the trees, while the long grass rustled under the tread of many +feet. + +Lord Earle and Hubert Airlie were together. Kindly hearts knew not +which to pity the more--the father whose heart seemed broken by his +sorrow, or the young lover so suddenly bereft of all he loved best. +From far and near friends and strangers gathered to that mournful +ceremony; from one to another the story flew how beautiful she was, and +how dearly the young lord had loved her, how she had wandered out of +the house in her sleep and fallen into the lake. + +They laid her to rest in the green church-yard at the foot of the +hill--the burial place of the Earles. + + * * * * * + +The death bell had ceased ringing; the long white blinds of the Hall +windows were drawn up; the sunshine played once more in the rooms; the +carriages of sorrowing friends were gone; the funeral was over. Of the +beautiful, brilliant Beatrice Earle there remained but a memory. + +They told afterward how Gaspar Laurence watched the funeral procession, +and how he had lingered last of all in the little church-yard. He +never forgot Beatrice; he never looked into the face of another woman +with love on his own. + +It was all over, and on the evening of that same day a quiet, deep +sleep came to Lillian Earle. It saved her life; the wearied brain +found rest. When she awoke, the lurid light of fever died out of her +eyes, and they looked in gratified amazement upon Lady Dora who sat by +her side. + +"Mamma," she whispered, "am I at home at Knutsford?" + +Dora soothed her, almost dreading the time when memory should awaken in +full force. It seemed partly to return then, for Lillian gave vent to +a wearied sigh, and closed her eyes. + +Then Dora saw a little of wild alarm cross her face. She sprang up +crying: + +"Mamma, is it true? Is Beatrice dead?" + +"It is true, my darling," whispered her mother, gently. "Dead, but not +lost to us--only gone before." + +The young girl recovered very slowly. The skillful doctor in +attendance upon her sad that, as soon as it was possible to remove her, +she should be carried direct from her room to a traveling carriage, +taken from home, and not allowed to return to the Hall until she was +stronger and better. + +They waited until that day came, and meanwhile Lady Dora Earle learned +to esteem Lord Airlie very dearly. He seemed to find more comfort with +her than with any one else. They spoke but of one subject--the loved, +lost Beatrice. + +Her secret was never known. Lord Earle and Lionel Dacre kept it +faithfully. No allusion to it ever crossed their lips. To Lord +Airlie, while he lived, the memory of the girl he had loved so well was +pure and untarnished as the falling snow. Not even to her mother was +the story told. Dora believed, as did every one else, that Beatrice +had fallen accidentally into the lake. + +When Lillian grew stronger--better able to bear the mention of her +sister's name--Lord Earle went to her room one day, and, gently enough, +tried to win her to speak to him of what she knew. + +She told him all--of her sister's sorrow, remorse, and tears; her +longing to be free from the wretched snare in which she was caught; how +she pleaded with her to interfere. She told him of her short interview +with the unhappy man, and its sad consequences for her. + +Then the subject dropped forever. Lord Earle said nothing to her of +Lionel, thinking it would be better for the young lover to plead his +own cause. + +One morning, when she was able to rise and sit up for a time, Lionel +asked permission to see her. Lady Dora, who knew nothing of what had +passed between them, unhesitatingly consented. + +She was alarmed when, as he entered the room, she saw her daughter's +gentle face grow deathly pale. + +"I have done wrong," she said. "Lillian is not strong enough to see +visitors yet." + +"Dear Lady Dora," explained Lionel, taking her hand, "I love Lillian; +and she loved me before I was so unhappy as to offend her. I have come +to beg her pardon. Will you trust her with me for a few minutes?" + +Lady Dora assented, and went away, leaving them together. + +"Lillian," said Lionel, "I do not know in what words to beg your +forgiveness. I am ashamed and humbled. I know your sister's story, +and all that you did to save her. When one was to be sacrificed, you +were the victim. Can you ever forgive me?" + +"I forgive you freely," she gently answered. "I have been in the +Valley of the Shadow of Death, and all human resentment and unkindness +seem as nothing to me." + +"And may I be to you as I was before?" he asked. + +"That is another question," she said. "I can not answer it now. You +did not trust me, Lionel." + +Those were the only words of reproach she ever uttered to him. He did +not annoy her with protestation; he trusted that time would do for him +what he saw just then he could not do for himself. + +He sat down upon the couch by her side, and began to speak to her of +the tour she was about to make; of the places she should visit +carefully avoiding all reference to the troubled past. + +Three days afterward Lillian started on her journey to the south of +France insisted upon by the doctor. Lord Earle and his wife took +charge of their child; Lord Airlie, declaring he could not yet endure +Lynnton, went with them. Lady Helena and Lionel Dacre remained at +home, in charge of the Hall and the estate. + +One thing the latter had resolved upon--that, before the travelers +returned, the lake should be filled up, and green trees planted over +the spot where its waters now glistened in the sun. + +No matter how great the expense and trouble, he was resolved that it +should be done. + +"Earlescourt would be wretched," he said, "if that fatal lake remained." + +The day after the family left Earlescourt, he had workmen engaged. No +one was sorry at his determination. Lady Helena highly approved of it. +The water was drained off, the deep basin filled with earth, and tall +saplings planted where once the water had glistened in the sun. The +boat house was pulled down, and all vestige of the lake was done away +with. + +Lionel Dacre came home one evening from the works in very low spirits. +Imbedded in the bottom of the lake they had found a little slipper--the +fellow to it was locked away in Dora's drawer. He saved it to give it +to her when she returned. + + + +Chapter XLIV + +Two years passed away, and the travelers thought of returning. Lillian +had recovered health and strength, and, Lord Earle said, longed for +home. + +One bright June day they were expected back. Lionel Dacre had driven +to the station. Lady Earle had laid aside her mourning dress, and sat +anxiously awaiting her son. She wished the homecoming were over, and +that they had all settled down to the new life. + +Her wish was soon gratified. Once again she gazed upon the face of her +only and beloved son. He was little changed--somewhat sunburned, it +was true; but there was less of the old pride and sternness, a kindly +smile playing round his lips. There was, too, a shade of sadness that +plainly would never leave him; Lord Earle could never forget his lost +child. + +Lady Helena looked anxiously at Dora, but there was no cause for fear. +The rosy, dimpled beauty of youth had passed away, but a staid dignity +had taken its place. She looked a graceful amiable woman, with eyes of +wondrous beauty thickly veiled by long lashes, and a wealth of rippling +black hair. Lady Helena thought her far more beautiful now than when +the coy smiles and dimples had been the chief charm. She admired, too, +the perfect and easy grace with which Dora fell at once into her proper +place as mistress of that vast establishment. + +The pretty, musical voice was trained and softened; the delicate, +refined accent retained no trace of provincialism. Everything about +Dora pleased the eye and gratified the taste; the girlish figure had +grown matronly and dignified; the sweet face had in it a tinge of +sadness one may often see in the face of a mother who has lost a child. +Lady Helena, fastidious and critical, could find no fault with her +son's wife. + +She welcomed her warmly, giving up to her, in her own graceful way, all +rule and authority. Helping her if in any way she required it, but +never interfering, she made Dora respected by the love and esteem she +always evinced for her. + +But it was on Lillian's face that Lady Helena gazed most earnestly. +The pallor of sickness had given way to a rosy and exquisite bloom. +The fair, sweet face in its calm loveliness seemed to her perfect, the +violet eyes were full of light. Looking at her, Lady Helena believed +there were years of life in store for Ronald's only child. + +There was much to talk about. Lord Earle told his mother how Hubert +Airlie had gone home to Lynnton, unable to endure the sight of +Earlescourt. He had never regained his spirits. In the long years to +come it was possible, added Ronald, that Lord Airlie might marry, for +the sake of his name; but if ever the heart of living man lay buried in +a woman's grave, his was with the loved, lost Beatrice. + +Lionel Dacre knew he had done wisely and well to have the bed of the +lake filled up. In the morning he saw how each member of the family +shrank from going out into the grounds. He asked Lord Earle to +accompany him, and then the master of Earlescourt saw that the deep, +cruel water no longer shimmered amid the trees. + +Lionel let him bring his wife and daughter to see what had been done; +and they turned to the author of it with grateful eyes, thanking him +for the kind thought which had spared their feelings. Green trees +flourished now on the spot where the water had glistened in the sun; +birds sang in their branches, green grass and ferns grew round their +roots. + +Yet among the superstitious, strange stories were told. They said that +the wind, when it rustled among those trees, wailed with a cry like +that of one drowning, that the leaves shivered and trembled as they did +on no other branches; that the stirring of them resembled deep-drawn +sighs. They said flowers would never grow in the thick grass, and that +the antlered deer shunned the spot. + +As much as possible the interior arrangements of Earlescourt had been +altered. Lillian had rooms prepared for her in the other wing; those +that had belonged to her hapless sister were left undisturbed. Lady +Dora kept the key; it was known when she had been visiting them; the +dark eyes bore traces of weeping. + +Beatrice had not been forgotten and never would be. Her name was on +Lillian's lips a hundred times each day. They had been twin sisters, +and it always seemed to her that part of herself lay in the church yard +at the foot of the hill. + +Gaspar Laurence had gone abroad--he could not endure the sight or name +of home. Lady Laurence hoped that time would heal a wound that nothing +else could touch. When, after some years, he did return, it was seen +that his sorrow would last for life. He never married--he never cared +for the name of any woman save that of Beatrice Earle. + + * * * * * + +A week after their return, Lillian Earle stood one evening watching +from the deep oriel window the sun's last rays upon the flowers. +Lionel joined her, and she knew from his face that he had come to ask +the question she had declined to answer before. + +"I have done penance, Lillian," he said, "if ever man has. For two +years I have devoted time, care, and thought to those you love, for +your sake; for two years I have tried night and day to learn, for your +sake, to become a better man. Do not visit my fault too heavily upon +me. I am hasty and passionate--I doubted you who were true and pure; +but, Lillian, in the loneliness and sorrow of these two years I have +suffered bitterly for my sin. I know you are above all coquetry. Tell +me, Lillian, will you be my wife?" + +She gave him the answer he longed to hear, and Lionel Dacre went +straight to Lord Earle. He was delighted--it was the very marriage +upon which he had set his heart years before. Lady Dora was delighted, +too; she smiled more brightly over it than she had smiled since the +early days of her married life. Lady Helena rejoiced when they told +her, although it was not unexpected news to her, for she had been +Lionel's confidante during Lillian's illness. + +There was no reason why the marriage should be delayed; the June roses +were blooming then, and it was arranged that it should take place in +the month of August. + +There were to be no grand festivities--no one had heart for them; the +wedding was to be quiet, attended only by a few friends; and Lord Earle +succeeded in obtaining a promise from Lionel which completely set his +heart at rest. It was that he would never seek another home--that he +and Lillian would consent to live at Earlescourt. Her father could not +endure the thought of parting with her. + +"It will be your home, Lionel," he said, "in the course of after-years. +Make it so now. We shall be one family, and I think a happy one." + +So it was arranged, much to everybody's delight. A few days before the +wedding took place, a letter came which seemed to puzzle Lord Earle +very much. He folded it without speaking, but, when breakfast was +over, he drew his wife's hand within his own. + +"Dora," he said, "there will never be any secrets between us for the +future. I want you to read this letter--it is from Valentine Charteris +that was, Princess Borgezi that is. She is in England, at Greenoke, +and asks permission to come to Lillian's wedding; the answer must rest +with you, dear." + +She took the letter from him and read it through; the noble heart of +the woman spoke in every line, yet in some vague way Dora dreaded to +look again upon the calm, grand beauty of Valentine's face. + +"Have no fear, Dora, in saying just what you think," said her husband; +"I would not have our present happiness clouded for the world. One +word will suffice--if you do not quite like the thought, I will write +to her and ask her to defer the visit." + +But Dora would not be outdone in magnanimity. With resolute force, she +cast from her every unworthy thought. + +"Let her come, Ronald," she said, raising her clear, dark eyes to his. +"I shall be pleased to see her. I owe her some amends." + +He was unfeignedly pleased, and so was every one else. Lady Helena +alone felt some little doubts as to Dora's capability of controlling +herself. + +The Princess Borgezi was to come alone; she had not said at what hour +they might expect her. + +Lady Dora had hardly understood why her thoughts went back so +constantly to her lost child. Beatrice had loved the beautiful, +gracious woman who was coming to visit them. It may have been that +which prompted her, on the day before Lillian's marriage, when the +house was alive with the bustle and turmoil of preparation, to go to +the silent, solitary rooms where her daughter's voice had once made +sweetest music. + +She was there alone for some time; it was Lord Earle who found her, and +tried to still her bitter weeping. + +"It is useless, Ronald," she cried; "I can not help asking why my +bright, beautiful darling should be lying there. It is only two years +since a wedding wreath was made for her." + +Nothing would comfort her but a visit to her daughter's grave. It was a +long walk, but she preferred taking it alone. She said she should feel +better after it. They yielded to her wish. Before she had quitted the +house many minutes, the Princess Borgezi arrived. + +There was no restraint in Ronald's greeting. He was heartily glad to +see her--glad to look once more on the lovely Grecian face that had +seemed to him, years ago, the only model for Queen Guinivere. They +talked for a few minutes; then Valentine, turning to him, said: + +"Now let me see Lady Dora. My visit is really to her." + +They told her whither she had gone; and Lady Helena whispered something +to her with brought tears to Valentine's eyes. + +"Yes," she said; "I will follow her. I will ask her to kiss me over +her daughter's grave." + +Some one went with her to point out the way, but Valentine entered the +church yard alone. + +Through the thick green foliage she saw the shining of the white marble +cross, and the dark dress of Dora, who knelt by the grave. + +She went up to her. Her footsteps, falling noiselessly on the soft +grass, were unheard by the weeping mother. + +Valentine knelt by her side. Dora, looking up, saw the calm face +beaming down upon her, ineffable tenderness in the clear eyes. She felt +the clasp of Valentine's arms, and heard a sweet voice whisper: + +"Dora, I have followed you here to ask you to try to love me, and to +pardon me for my share in your unhappy past. For the love of your +dead, who loved me, bury here all difference and dislike." + +She could not refuse. For the first time, Lord Earle's wife laid her +head upon that noble woman's shoulder and wept away her sorrow, while +Valentine soothed her with loving words. + +Over the grave of a child the two women were reconciled--all dislike, +jealousy, and envy died away forever. Peace and love took their place. + +In the after-time there was something remarkable in Dora's reverential +love for Valentine. Lord Earle often said that in his turn he was +jealous of her. His wife had no higher ideal, no truer friend than the +Princess Borgezi. + +The wedding day dawned at last; and for a time all trace of sadness was +hidden away. Lord Earle would have it so. He said that that which +should be the happiest day of Lillian's life must not be clouded. Such +sad thoughts of the lost Beatrice as came into the minds of those who +had loved her remained unspoken. + +The summer sun never shone upon a more lovely bride, nor upon a fairer +scene than that wedding. The pretty country church was decorated with +flowers and crowded with spectators. + +Side by side at the altar stood Lady Dora Earle and Valentine. People +said afterward they could not decide whom they admired most--Lady +Helena's stately magnificence, Dora's sweet, simple elegance, or the +Princess Borgezi's statuesque Grecian beauty. + +Lord Earle had prepared a surprise for Dora. When the little wedding +party returned from the church, the first to greet them was Stephen +Thorne, now a white-headed old man, and his wife. The first to show +them all honor and respect were Lord Earle and his mother. Valentine +was charmed with their homely simplicity. + +For months after they returned to Knutsford the old people talked of +"the lady with the beautiful face, who had been so kind and gracious to +them." + +Lord Airlie did not attend the wedding, but he had urged Lionel to +spend his honeymoon at Lynnton Hall, and Lillian had willingly +consented. + +So they drove away when the wedding breakfast was over. A hundred +wishes for their happiness following them, loving words ringing after +them. Relatives, friends, and servants had crowded round them; and +Lillian's courage gave way at last. She turned to Lionel, as though +praying him to shorten their time of parting. + +"Heaven bless you, my darling!" whispered Dora to her child. "And mind, +never--come what may--never be jealous of your husband." + +"Goodbye, Lionel," said Lord Earle, clasping the true, honest hand in +his; "and, if ever my little darling here tries you, be patient with +her." + +The story of a life time was told in these two behests. + + + +Chapter XLV + +Ten years had passed since the wedding bells chimed for the marriage of +Lillian Earle. New life had come to Earlescourt. Children's happy +voices made music there; the pattering of little feet sounded in the +large, stately rooms, pretty, rosy faces made light and sunshine. + +The years had passed as swiftly and peacefully as a happy dream. One +event had happened which had saddened Lord Earle for a few days--the +death of the pretty, coquettish Countess Rosali. She had nor forgotten +him; there came to him from her sorrowing husband a ring which she had +asked might be given to him. + +Gaspar Laurence was still abroad, and there was apparently no +likelihood of his return. The Princess Borgezi with her husband and +children, had paid several visits to the Hall. Valentine had one +pretty little daughter, upon whom Lionel's son was supposed to look +with most affection. She had other daughters--the eldest, a tall, +graceful girl, inherited her father's Italian face and dark, dreamy +eyes. Strange to say, she was not unlike Beatrice. It may have been +that circumstance which first directed Lord Airlie's attention to her. +He met her at Earlescourt, and paid her more attention than he had paid +to any one since he had loved so unhappily years before. + +No one was much surprised when he married her. And Helena Borgezi made +a good wife. She knew his story, and how much of his heart lay in the +grave of his lost love. He was kind, gentle, and affectionate to her, +and Helena valued his thoughtful, faithful attachment more than she +would have valued the deepest and most passionate love of another man. + +One room at Lynnton was never unlocked; strange feet never entered it; +curious eyes never looked round it. It was the pretty boudoir built, +but never furnished, for Hubert Airlie's first love. + +Time softened his sorrow; his fair, gentle wife was devoted to him, +blooming children smiled around him; but he never forgot Beatrice. In +his dreams, at times, Helena heard her name on his lips; but she was +not jealous of the dead. No year passed in which she did not visit the +grave where Beatrice Earle slept her last long sleep. + + * * * * * + +Dora seemed to grow young again with Lillian's children. She nursed +and tended them. Lady Helena, with zealous eyes, looked after +Bertrand, the future lord of Earlescourt, a brave, noble boy, his +father's pride and Lillian's torment and delight, who often said he was +richer than any other lad in the country, for he had three mothers, +while others had but one. + + * * * * * + +The sun was setting over the fair broad lands of Earlescourt, the +western sky was all aflame; the flowers were thirsting for the soft dew +which had just begun to fall. + +Out in the rose garden, where long ago a love story had been told, were +standing a group that an artist would have been delighted to sketch. + +Lionel had some choice roses in bloom, and after dinner the whole party +had gone out to see them. Lady Helena Earle was seated on the garden +chair whereon Beatrice had once sat listening to the words which had +gladdened her brief life. A number of fair children played around her. + +Looking on them with pleased eyes was a gentle, graceful lady. Her +calm, sweet face had a story in it, the wondrous dark eyes had in them +a shadow as of some sorrow not yet lived down. Lady Dora Earle was +happy; the black clouds had passed away. She was her husband's best +friend, his truest counselor; and Ronald had forgotten that she was +ever spoken of as "lowly born." The dignity of her character, acquired +by long years of stern discipline, asserted itself; no one in the whole +country side was more loved or respected than Lady Dora Earle. + +Ronald, Lord Earle, was lying on the grass at his wife's feet. He +looked older, and the luxuriant hair was threaded with silver; but +there was peace and calm in his face. + +He laughed at Lillian and her husband conversing so anxiously over the +roses. + +"They are lovers yet," he said to Dora; and she glanced smilingly at +them. + +The words were true. Ten years married, they were lovers yet. There +was gentle forbearance on one side, an earnest wish to do right on the +other. Lillian Dacre never troubled her head about "woman's rights;" +she had no idea of trying to fill her husband's place; if her opinion +on voting was asked, the chances were that she would smile and say, +"Lionel manages all those matters." Yet in her own kingdom she reigned +supreme; her actions were full of wisdom, he words were full of kindly +thought. The quiet, serene beauty of her youth had developed into that +of magnificent womanhood. The fair, spirituelle face was peerless in +her husband's eyes. There was no night or day during which Lionel +Dacre did not thank Heaven for that crown of all great gifts, a good +and gentle wife. + +There was a stir among the children; a tall, dark gentleman was seen +crossing the lawn, and Lionel cried: "Here is Gaspar Laurence with his +arms full of toys--those children will be completely spoiled!" + +The little ones rushed forward, and Bertrand, in his hurry, fell over a +pretty child with large dark eyes and dark hair. Lord Earle jumped up +and caught her in his arms. + +"Bertie, my boy," he said, "always be kind to little Beatrice!" The +child clasped her arms round his neck. He kissed the dark eyes and +murmured to himself, "Poor little Beatrice!" + +The summer wind that played among the roses, lifting the golden, +rippling hair from Lillian's forehead and tossing her little girl's +curls into Lord Earle's face, was singing a sweet, low requiem among +the trees that shaded the grave of Beatrice Earle. + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Dora Thorne, by Charlotte M. Braeme + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DORA THORNE *** + +***** This file should be named 2374.txt or 2374.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/3/7/2374/ + +Produced by Theresa Armao. 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"Rely upon it, Ronald, if you were to +take this most foolish and unadvisable step, you would bring +misery upon yourself and every one connected with you. Listen to +reason." + +"There is no reason in prejudice," replied the young man +haughtily. "You can not bring forward one valid reason against +my marriage." + +Despite his annoyance, a smile broke over Lord Earle's grave +face. + +"I can bring a thousand reasons, if necessary," he replied. "I +grant everything you say. Dora Thorne is very pretty; but +remember, she is quite a rustic and unformed beauty--and I +almost doubt whether she can read or spell properly. She is +modest and good, I grant, and I never heard one syllable against +her. Ronald, let me appeal to your better judgment--are a +moderate amount of rustic prettiness and shy modesty sufficient +qualifications for your wife, who will have to take your mother's +place?" + +"They are quite sufficient to satisfy me," replied the young man. + +"You have others to consider," said Lord Earle, quickly. + +"I love her," interrupted his son; and again his father smiled. + +"We know what it means," he said, "when boys of nineteen talk +about love. Believe me, Ronald, if I were to consent to your +request, you would be the first in after years to reproach me for +weak compliance with your youthful folly." + +"You would not call it folly," retorted Ronald, his face flushing +hotly, "if Dora were an heiress, or the daughter of some--" + +"Spare me a long discourse," again interrupted Lord Earle. "You +are quite right; if the young girl in question belonged to your +own station, or even if she were near it, that would be quite a +different matter. I am not annoyed that you have, as you think, +fallen in love, or that you wish to marry, although you are +young. I am annoyed that you should dream of wishing to marry a +simple rustic, the daughter of my lodge keeper. It is so +supremely ridiculous that I can hardly treat the matter +seriously." + +"It is serious enough for me," returned his son with a long, deep +sigh. "If I do not marry Dora Thorne, I shall never marry at +all." + +"Better that than a mesalliance," said Lord Earle, shortly. + +"She is good," cried Ronald--"good and fair, modest and +graceful. Her heart is pure as her face is fair. What +mesalliance can there be, father? I never have believed and +never shall believe in the cruel laws of caste. In what is one +man better than or superior to another save that he is more +intelligent or more virtuous?" + +"I shall never interfere in your politics, Ronald," said Lord +Earle, laughing quietly. "Before you are twenty-one you will +have gone through many stages of that fever. Youth is almost +invariably liberal, age conservative. Adopt what line of +politics you will, but do not bring theory into practice in this +instance." + +"I should consider myself a hero," continued the young man, "if I +could be the first to break through the trammels of custom and +the absurd laws of caste." + +"You would not be the first," said Lord Earle, quietly. "Many +before you have made unequal marriages; many will do so after +you, but in every case I believe regret and disappointment +followed." + +"They would not in my case," said Ronald, eagerly; "and with Dora +Thorne by my side, I could so anything; without her, I can do +nothing." + +Lord Earle looked grieved at the pertinacity of his son. + +"Most fathers would refuse to hear all this nonsense, Ronald," he +said, gently. "I listen, and try to convince you by reasonable +arguments that the step you seem bent upon taking is one that +will entail nothing but misery. I have said no angry word to +you, nor shall I do so. I tell you simply it can not be. Dora +Thorne, my lodge keeper's daughter, is no fitting wife for my +son, the heir of Earlescourt. Come with me, Ronald; I will show +you further what I mean." + +They went together, the father and son, so like in face yet so +dissimilar in mind. They had been walking up and down the broad +terrace, one of the chief beauties of Earlescourt. The park and +pleasure grounds, with flushed summer beauty, lay smiling around +them. The song of hundreds of birds trilled through the sweet +summer air, the water of many fountains rippled musically, rare +flowers charmed the eye and sent forth sweet perfume; but neither +song of birds nor fragrance of flowers--neither sunshine nor +music--brought any brightness to the grave faces of the father +and son. + +With slow steps they quitted the broad terrace, and entered the +hall. They passed through a long suite of magnificent +apartments, up the broad marble staircase, through long +corridors, until they reached the picture gallery, one of the +finest in England. Nearly every great master was represented +there. Murillo, Guido, Raphael, Claude Lorraine, Salvator Rosa, +Correggio, and Tintoretto. The lords of Earlescourt had all +loved pictures, and each of them ad added to the treasures of +that wonderful gallery. + +One portion of the gallery was set aside for the portraits of the +family. Grim old warriors and fair ladies hung side by side; +faces of marvelous beauty, bearing the signs of noble descent, +shone out clearly from their gilded frames. + +"Look, Ronald," Lord Earle said, laying one hand upon his +shoulder, "you stand before your ancestors now. Yours is a grand +old race. England knows and honors it. Look at these pictured +faces of the wives our fathers chose. There is Lady Sybella +Earle; when one of Cromwell's soldiers drew his dagger to slay +her husband, the truest friend King Charles ever had, she flung +herself before him, and received the blow in his stead. She +died, and he lived--noble and beautiful, is she not? Now look +at the Lacy Alicia--this fair patrician lady smiling by the side +of her grim lord; she, at the risk of her life, helped him to fly +from prison, where he lay condemned to death for some great +political wrong. She saved him, and for her sake he received +pardon. Here is the Lady Helena--she is not beautiful, but look +at the intellect, the queenly brow, the soul-lit eyes! She, I +need not tell you, was a poetess. Wherever the English language +was spoken, her verses were read--men were nobler and better for +reading them. The ladies of our race were such that brave men +may be proud of them. Is it not so, Ronald?" + +"Yes," he replied, calmly; "they were noble women." + +Lord Earle then led his son to a large painting, upon which the +western sunbeams lingered, brightening the fair face they shone +upon, until it seemed living and smiling. A deep and tender +reverence stole into Lord Earle's voice as he spoke: + +"No fairer or more noble woman ever ruled at Earlescourt than +your mother, Ronald. She is the daughter of 'a hundred earls,' +high-bred, beautiful, and refined. Now, let me ask you, in the +name of common sense, do you wish to place my lodge keeper's +daughter by your mother's side? Admit that she is pretty and +good--is it in the fitting order of things that she should be +here?" + +For the first time, in the heedless, fiery course of his love, +Ronald Earle paused. He looked at the serene and noble face +before him, the broad brow, the sweet, arched lips, the refined +patrician features, and there came to him the memory of another +face, charming, shy and blushing, with a rustic, graceful beauty +different from the one before him as sunlight compared to +moonlight. The words faltered upon his lips--instinctively he +felt that pretty, blushing Dora had no place there. Lord Earle +looked relieved as he saw the doubt upon his son's face. + +"You see it, Ronald," he cried. "Your idea of the 'fusion' of +races is well enough in theory, but it will not do brought into +practice. I have been patient with you--I have treated you, not +as a school boy whose head is half turned by his first love, but +as a sensible man endowed with reason and thought. Now give me a +reward. Promise me here that you will make a brave effort, give +up all foolish thoughts of Dora Thorne, and not see her again. +Go abroad for a year or two--you will soon forget this boyish +folly, and bless the good sense that has saved you from it. Will +you promise me, Ronald?" + +"I can not, father," he replied, "for I have promised Dora to +make her my wife. I can not break my word. You yourself could +never counsel that." + +"In this case I can," said Lord Earle, eagerly. "That promise is +not binding, even in honor; the girl herself, if she has any +reason, can not and does not expect it." + +"She believed me," said Ronald, simply. "Besides, I love her, +father." + +"Hush," replied Lord Earle, angrily, "I will listen to no more +nonsense. There is a limit to my patience. Once and for all, +Ronald, I tell you that I decidedly forbid any mention of such a +marriage; it is degrading and ridiculous. I forbid you to marry +Dora Thorne; if you disobey me, you must bear the penalty." + +"And what would the penalty be?" asked the heir of Earlescourt, +with a coolness and calmness that irritated the father. + +"One you would hardly wish to pay," replied the earl. "If, in +spite of my prayers, entreaties, and commands, you persist in +marrying the girl, I will never look upon your face again. My +home shall be no longer your home. You will lose my love, my +esteem, and what perhaps those who have lured you to ruin may +value still more, my wealth. I can not disinherit you; but, if +you persist in this folly, I will not allow you one farthing. +You shall be to me as one dead until I die myself." + +"I have three hundred a year," said Ronald, calmly; "that my +godfather left me." + +Lord Earle's face now grew white with anger. + +"Yes," he replied, "you have that; it would not find you in +gloves and cigars now. But, Ronald, you can not be serious, my +boy. I have loved you--I have been so proud of you--you can +not mean to defy and wound me." + +His voice faltered, and his son looked up quickly, touched to the +heart by his father's emotion. + +"Give me your consent, father," he cried, passionately. "You +know I love you, and I love Dora; I can not give up Dora." + +"Enough," said Lord Earle; "words seem useless. You hear my +final resolve; I shall never change it--no after repentance, no +entreaties, will move me. Choose between your parents, your home, +your position, and the love of this fair, foolish girl, of whom +in a few months you will be tired and weary. Choose between us. +I ask for no promises; you have refused to give it. I appeal no +more to your affection; I leave you to decide for yourself. I +might coerce and force you, but I will not do so. Obey me, and I +will make your happiness my study. Defy me, and marry the girl +then, in life, I will never look upon your face again. +Henceforth, I will have no son; you will not be worthy of the +name. There is no appeal. I leave you now to make your choice; +this is my final resolve." + + +Chapter II + +The Earles, of Earlescourt, were one of the oldest families in +England. The "Barony of Earle" is mentioned in the early reigns +of the Tudor kings. They never appeared to have taken any great +part either in politics or warfare. The annals of the family +told of simple, virtuous lives; they contained, too, some few +romantic incidents. Some of the older barons had been brave +soldiers; and there were stories of hair-breadth escapes and +great exploits by flood and field. Two or three had taken to +politics, and had suffered through their eagerness and zeal; but, +as a rule, the barons of Earle had been simple, kindly gentlemen, +contented to live at home upon their own estates, satisfied with +the duties they found there, careful in the alliances they +contracted, and equally careful in the bringing up and +establishment of their children. One and all they had been +zealous cultivators of the fine arts. Earlescourt was almost +overcrowded with pictures, statues, and works of art. + +Son succeeded father, inheriting with title and estate the same +kindly, simple dispositions and the same tastes, until Rupert +Earle, nineteenth baron, with whom our story opens, became Lord +Earle. Simplicity and kindness were not his characteristics. He +was proud, ambitious, and inflexible; he longed for the time when +the Earles should become famous, when their name should be one of +weight in council. In early life his ambitious desires seemed +about to be realized. He was but twenty when he succeeded his +father, and was an only child, clever, keen and ambitious. In +his twenty-first year he married Lady Helena Brooklyn, the +daughter of one of the proudest peers in Britain. There lay +before him a fair and useful life. His wife was an elegant, +accomplished woman, who knew the world and its ways--who had, +from her earliest childhood, been accustomed to the highest and +best society. Lord Earle often told her, laughingly, that she +would have made an excellent embassadress--her manners were so +bland and gracious; she had the rare gift of appearing interested +in every one and in everything. + +With such a wife at the head of his establishment, Lord Earle +hoped for great things. He looked to a prosperous career as a +statesman; no honors seemed to him too high, no ambition too +great. But a hard fate lay before him. He made one brilliant +and successful speech in Parliament--a speech never forgotten by +those who heard it, for its astonishing eloquence, its keen wit, +its bitter satire. Never again did his voice rouse alike friend +and foe. He was seized with a sudden and dangerous illness which +brought him to the brink of the grave. After a long and +desperate struggle with the "grim enemy," he slowly recovered, +but all hope of public life was over for him. The doctors said +he might live to be a hale old man if he took proper precautions; +he must live quietly, avoid all excitement, and never dream again +of politics. + +To Lord Earle this seemed like a sentence of exile or death. His +wife tried her utmost to comfort and console him, but for some +years he lived only to repine at his lot. Lady Helena devoted +herself to him. Earlescourt became the center and home of famous +hospitality; men of letters, artists, and men of note visited +there, and in time Lord Earle became reconciled to his fate. All +his hopes and his ambitions were now centered in his son, Ronald, +a fine, noble boy, like his father in every respect save one. He +had the same clear-cut Saxon face, with clear, honest eyes and +proud lips, the same fair hair and stately carriage, but in one +respect they differed. Lord Earle was firm and inflexible; no +one ever thought of appealing against his decision or trying to +change his resolution. If "my lord" had spoken, the matter was +settled. Even Lady Helena knew that any attempt to influence him +was vain. Ronald, on the contrary, could be stubborn, but not +firm. He was more easily influenced; appeal to the better part +of his nature, to his affection or sense of duty, was seldom made +in vain. + +No other children gladdened the Lord Earle's heart, and all his +hopes were centered in his son. For the second time in his life +great hopes and ambitions rose within him. What he had not +achieved his son would do; the honor he could no longer seek +might one day be his son's. There was something almost pitiful +in the love of the stern, disappointed man for his child. He +longed for the time when Ronald would be of age to commence his +public career. He planned for his son as he had never planned +for himself. + +Time passed on, and the heir of Earlescourt went to Oxford, as +his father had done before him. Then came the second bitter +disappointment of Lord Earle's life. He himself was a Tory of +the old school. Liberal principles were an abomination to him; +he hated and detested everything connected with Liberalism. It +was a great shock when Ronald returned from college a "full- +fledged Liberal." With his usual keenness he saw that all +discussion was useless. + +"Let the Liberal fever wear out," said one of his friends; "you +will find, Lord Earle, that all young men favor it. Conservatism +is the result of age and experience. By the time your son takes +a position in the world, he will have passed through many stages +of Liberalism." + +Lord Earle devoutly believed it. When the first shock of his +disappointment was over, Ronald's political zeal began to amuse +him. He liked to see the boy earnest in everything. He smiled +when Ronald, in his clear, young voice, read out the speeches of +the chief of his party. He smiled when the young man, eager to +bring theory into practice, fraternized with the tenant farmers, +and visited families from whom his father shrunk in aristocratic +dread. + +There was little doubt that in those days Ronald Earl believed +himself called to a great mission. He dreamed of the time when +the barriers of caste would be thrown down, when men would have +equal rights and privileges, when the aristocracy of intellect +and virtue would take precedence of noble birth, when wealth +would be more equally distributed, and the days when one man +perished of hunger while another reveled in luxury should cease +to be. His dreams were neither exactly Liberal nor Radical; they +were simply Utopian. Even then, when he was most zealous, had +any one proposed to him that he should inaugurate the new state +of things, and be the first to divide his fortune, the futility +of his theories would have struck him more plainly. Mingling in +good society, the influence of clever men and beautiful women +would, Lord Earle believed, convert his son in time. He did not +oppose him, knowing that all opposition would but increase his +zeal. It was a bitter disappointment to him, but he bore it +bravely, for he never ceased to hope. + +A new trouble was dawning for Lord Earle, one far more serious +than the Utopian dream of his son; of all his sorrows it was the +keenest and the longest felt. Ronald fell in love, and was bent +on marrying a simple rustic beauty, the lodge keeper's daughter. + +Earlescourt was one of the fairest spots in fair and tranquil +England. It stood in the deep green heart of the land, in the +midst of one of the bonny, fertile midland counties. + +The Hall was surrounded by a large park, where the deer browsed +under the stately spreading trees, where there were flowery dells +and knolls that would charm an artist; a wide brook, almost broad +and deep enough to be called a river, rippled through it. + +Earlescourt was noted for its trees, a grand old cedar stood in +the middle of the park; the shivering aspen, the graceful elm, +the majestic oak, the tall, flowering chestnut were all seen to +greatest perfection there. + +Art had done much, Nature more, to beautify the home of the +Earles. Charming pleasure gardens were laid out with unrivaled +skill; the broad, deep lake was half hidden by the drooping +willows bending over it, and the white water lilies that lay on +its tranquil breast. + +The Hall itself was a picturesque, gray old building, with +turrets covered with ivy, and square towers of modern build; +there were deep oriel windows, stately old rooms that told of the +ancient race, and cheerful modern apartments replete with modern +comfort. + +One of the great beauties of Earlescourt was the broad terrace +that ran along one side of the house; the view from it was +unequaled for quiet loveliness. The lake shone in the distance +from between the trees; the perfume from the hawthorn hedges +filled the air, the fountains rippled merrily in the sunshine, +and the flowers bloomed in sweet summer beauty. + +Lord Earle loved his beautiful home; he spared no expense in +improvements, and the time came when Earlescourt was known as a +model estate. + +One thing he did of which he repented till the hour of his death. +On the western side of the park he built a new lodge, and +installed therein Stephen Thorne and his wife, little dreaming as +he did so that the first link in what was to be a fatal tragedy +was forged. + +Ronald was nineteen, and Lord Earle thought, his son's college +career ended, he should travel for two or three years. He could +not go with him, but he hoped that surveillance would not be +needed, that his boy would be wise enough and manly enough to +take his first steps in life alone. At college he won the +highest honors; great things were prophesied for Ronald Earle. +They might have been accomplished but for the unfortunate event +that darkened Earlescourt with a cloud of shame and sorrow. + +Lord and Lady Earle had gone to pay a visit to an old friend, Sir +Hugh Charteris, of Greenoke. Thinking Ronald would not reach +home until the third week in June, they accepted Sir Hugh's +invitation, and promised to spend the first two weeks in June +with him. But Ronald altered his plans; the visit he was making +did not prove to be a very pleasant one, and he returned to +Earlescourt two days after Lord and Lady Earle had left it. His +father wrote immediately, pressing him to join the party at +Greenoke. He declined, saying that after the hard study of the +few last months he longed for quiet and rest. + +Knowing that every attention would be paid to his son's comfort, +Lord Earle thought but little of the matter. In after years he +bitterly regretted that he had not insisted upon his son's going +to Greenoke. So it happened that Ronald Earle, his college +career ended, his future lying like a bright, unruffled dream +before him, had two weeks to spend alone in Earlescourt. + +The first day was pleasant enough. Ronald went to see the +horses, inspected the kennels, gladdened the gamekeeper's heart +by his keen appreciation of good sport, rowed on the lake, played +a solitary game at billiards, dined in great state, read three +chapters or "Mill on Liberalism," four of a sensational novel, +and fell asleep satisfied with that day, but rather at a loss to +know what he should do on the next. + +It was a beautiful June day; no cloud was in the smiling heavens, +the sun shone bright, and Nature looked so fair and tempting that +it was impossible to remain indoors. Out in the gardens the +summer air seemed to thrill with the song of the birds. +Butterflies spread their bright wings and coquetted with the +fragrant blossoms; busy humming bees buried themselves in the +white cups of the lily and the crimson heart of the rose. + +Ronald wandered through the gardens; the delicate golden laburnum +blossoms fell at his feet, and he sat down beneath a large +acacia. The sun was warm, and Ronald thought a dish of +strawberries would be very acceptable. He debated within himself +for some time whether he should return to the house and order +them, or walk down to the fruit garden and gather them for +himself. + +What impulse was it that sent him on that fair June morning, when +all Nature sung of love and happiness, to the spot where he met +his fate? + + +Chapter III + +The strawberry gardens at Earlescourt were very extensive. Far +down among the green beds Ronald Earle saw a young girl kneeling, +gathering the ripe fruit, which she placed in a large basket +lined with leaves, and he went down to her. + +"I should like a few of those strawberries," he said, gently, and +she raised to his a face he never forgot. Involuntarily he +raised his hat, in homage to her youth and her shy, sweet beauty. +"For whom are you gathering these?" he asked, wondering who she +was, and whence she came. + +In a moment the young girl stood up, and made the prettiest and +most graceful of courtesies. + +"They are for the housekeeper, sir," she replied; and her voice +was musical and clear as a silver bell. + +"Then may I ask who you are?" continued Ronald. + +"I am Dora Thorne," she replied, "the lodge keeper's daughter." + +"How is it I have never seen you before?" he asked. + +"Because I have lived always with my aunt, at Dale," she replied. +"I only came home last year." + +"I see," said Ronald. "Will you give me some of those +strawberries?" he asked. "They look so ripe and tempting." + +He sat down on one of the garden chairs and watched her. The +pretty white fingers looked so fair, contrasted with the crimson +fruit and green leaves. Deftly and quickly she contrived a small +basket of leaves, and filled it with fruit. She brought it to +him, and then for the first time Ronald saw her clearly, and that +one glance was fatal to him. + +She was no calm, grand beauty. She had a shy, sweet, blushing +face, resembling nothing so much as a rosebud, with fresh, ripe +lips; pretty little teeth, which gleamed like white jewels, large +dark eyes, bright as stars, and veiled by long lashes; dark hair, +soft and shining. She was indeed so fair, so modest and +graceful, that Ronald Earle was charmed. + +"It must be because you gathered them that they are so nice," he +said, taking the little basket from her hands. "Rest awhile, +Dora--you must be tired with this hot sun shining full upon you. +Sit here under the shade of this apple tree." + +He watched the crimson blushes that dyed her fair young face. +She never once raised her dark eyes to his. He had seen +beautiful and stately ladies, but none so coy or bewitching as +this pretty maiden. The more he looked at her the more he +admired her. She had no delicate patrician loveliness, no +refined grace; but for glowing, shy, fresh beauty, who could +equal her? + +So the young heir of Earlescourt sat, pretending to enjoy the +strawberries, but in reality engrossed by the charming figure +before him. She neither stirred nor spoke. Under the boughs of +the apple tree, with the sunbeams falling upon her, she made a +fair picture, and his eyes were riveted upon it. + +It was all very delightful, and very wrong. Ronald should not +have talked to the lodge keeper's daughter, and sweet, rustic +Dora Thorne should have known better. But they were young, and +such days come but seldom, and pass all too quickly. + +"Dora Thorne," said Ronald, musingly--"what a pretty name! How +well it suits you! It is quite a little song in itself." + +She smiled with delight at his words; then her shy, dark eyes +were raised for a moment, and quickly dropped again. + +"Have you read Tennyson's 'Dora?'" he asked. + +"No," she replied--"I have little time for reading." + +"I will tell you the story," he said, patronizingly. "Ever since +I read it I have had an ideal 'Dora,' and you realize my dream." + +She had not the least idea what he meant; but when he recited the +musical words, her fancy and imagination were stirred; she saw +the wheat field, the golden corn, the little child and its +anxious mother. When Ronald ceased speaking, he saw her hands +were clasped and her lips quivering. + +"Did you like that?" he asked, with unconscious patronage. + +"So much!" she replied. "Ah, he must be a great man who wrote +those words; and you remember them all." + +Her simple admiration flattered and charmed him. He recited +other verses for her, and the girl listened in a trance of +delight. The sunshine and western wind brought no warning to the +heir of Earlescourt that he was forging the first link of a +dreadful tragedy; he thought only of the shy, blushing beauty and +coy grace of the young girl! + +Suddenly from over the trees there came the sound of the great +bell at the Hall. Then Dora started. + +"It is one o'clock!" she cried. "What shall I do? Mrs. Morton +will be angry with me." + +"Angry!" said Ronald, annoyed at this sudden breakup of his +Arcadian dream. "Angry with you! For what?" + +"She is waiting for the strawberries," replied conscious Dora, +"and my basket is not half full." + +It was a new idea to him that any one should dare to be angry +with this pretty, gentle Dora. + +"I will help you," he said. + +In less than a minute the heir of Earlescourt was kneeling by +Dora Thorne, gathering quickly the ripe strawberries, and the +basket was soon filled. + +"There," said Ronald, "you need not fear Mrs. Morton now, Dora. +You must go, I suppose; it seems hard to leave this bright +sunshine to go indoors!" + +"I--I would rather stay," said Dora, frankly; "but I have much +to do." + +"Shall you be here tomorrow?" he asked. + +"Yes," she replied; "it will take me all the week to gather +strawberries for the housekeeper." + +"Goodbye, Dora," he said, "I shall see you again." + +He held out his hand, and her little fingers trembled and +fluttered in his grasp. She looked so happy, yet so frightened, +so charming, yet so shy. He could have clasped her in his arms +at that moment, and have said he loved her; but Ronald was a +gentleman. He bowed over the little hand, and then relinquished +it. He watched the pretty, fairy figure, as the young girl +tripped away. + +"Shame on all artificial training!" said Ronald to himself. +"What would our fine ladies give for such a face? Imagine beauty +without coquetry or affectation. The girl's heart is as pure as +a stainless lily; she never heard of 'a grand match' or a 'good +parli.' If Tennyson's Dora was like her, I do not wonder at +anything that happened." + +Instead of thinking to himself that he had done a foolish thing +that bright morning, and that his plain duty was to forget all +about the girl, Ronald lighted his cigar, and began to dream of +the face that had charmed him. + +Dora took the fruit to Mrs. Morton, and received no reprimand; +then she was sent home to the cottage, her work for the day +ended. She had to pass through the park. Was it the same road +she had trodden this morning? What caused the new and shining +glory that had fallen on every leaf and tree? The blue heavens +seemed to smile upon her; every flower, every song of the bright +birds had a new meaning. What was it? Her own heart was beating +as it had never beaten before; her face was flushed, and the +sweet, limpid eyes shone with a new light. What was it? Then +she came to the brook-side and sat down on the violet bank. + +The rippling water was singing a new song, something of love and +youth, of beauty and happiness--something of a new and fairy- +like life; and with the faint ripple and fall of the water came +back to her the voice that had filled her ears and touched her +heart. Would she ever again forget the handsome face that had +smiled so kindly upon her? Surely he was a king among men, and +he had praised her, said her name was like a song, and that she +was like the Dora of the beautiful poem. This grand gentleman, +with the clear, handsome face and dainty white hands, actually +admired her. + +So Dora dreamed by the brook-side, and she was to see him again +and again; she gave no thought to a cold, dark time when she +should see him no more. Tomorrow the sun would shine, the birds +sing, and she should see him once again. + +Dora never remembered how that happy day passed. Good Mrs. +Thorne looked at her child, and sighed to think how pretty she +was and how soon that sweet, dimpled face would be worn with +care. + +Dora's first proceeding was characteristic enough. She went to +her own room and locked the door; then she put the cracked little +mirror in the sunshine, and proceeded to examine her face. She +wanted to see why Ronald Earle admired her; she wondered much at +this new power she seemed possessed of; she placed the glass on +the table, and sat down to study her own face. She saw that it +was very fair; the coloring was delicate and vivid, like that of +the heart of a rose; the fresh, red lips were arched and smiling; +the dark, shy eyes, with their long silken lashes, were bright +and clear; a pretty, dimpled, smiling face told of a sweet, +simple, loving nature--that was all; there was no intellect, no +soul, no high-bred refinement; nothing but the charm of bright, +half-startled beauty. + +Dora was half puzzled. She had never thought much of her own +appearance. Having lived always with sensible, simple people, +the pernicious language of flattery was unknown to her. It was +with a half-guilty thrill of delight that she for the first time +realized the charm of her own sweet face. + +The sunny hours flew by. Dora never noted them; she thought only +of the morning past and the morning to come, while Ronald dreamed +of her almost unconsciously. She had been a bright feature in a +bright day; his artistic taste had been gratified, his eyes had +been charmed. The pretty picture haunted him, and he remembered +with pleasure that on the morrow he should see the shy, sweet +face again. No thought of harm or wrong even entered his mind. +He did not think that he had been imprudent. He had recited a +beautiful poem to a pretty, coy girl, and in a grand, lordly way +he believed himself to have performed a kind action. + +The morning came, and they brought bright, blushing Dora to her +work; again the little white fingers glistened amid the crimson +berries. Then Dora heard him coming. She heard his footsteps, +and her face grew "ruby red." He made no pretense of finding her +accidentally. + +"Good morning, Dora," he said; "you look as bright as the +sunshine and as fair as the flowers. Put away the basket; I have +brought a book of poems, and mean to read some to you. I will +help you with your work afterward." + +Dora, nothing loath, sat down, and straightway they were both in +fairyland. He read industriously, stealing every now and then a +glance at his pretty companion. She knew nothing of what he was +reading, but his voice made sweeter music than she had ever heard +before. + +At length the book was closed, and Ronald wondered what thoughts +were running through his companion's simple, artless mind. So he +talked to her of her daily life, her work, her pleasures, her +friends. As he talked he grew more and more charmed; she had no +great amount of intellect, no wit or keen powers of repartee, but +the girl's love of nature made her a poetess. She seemed to know +all the secrets of the trees and the flowers; no beauty escaped +her; the rustle of green leaves, the sighs of the western wind, +the solemn hush of the deep-green woods, the changing tints of +the summer sky delighted her. Beautiful words, embodying +beautiful thoughts, rippled over the fresh, ripe lips. She knew +nothing else. She had seen no pictures, read no books, knew +nothing of the fine arts, was totally ignorant of all scholarly +lore, but deep in her heart lay a passionate love for the fair +face of nature. + +It was new to Ronald. He had heard fashionable ladies speak of +everything they delighted in. He had ever heard of "music in the +fall of rain drops," or character in flowers. + +Once Dora forgot her shyness, and when Ronald said something, she +laughed in reply. How sweet and pure that laughter was--like a +soft peal of silver bells! When Ronald Earle went to sleep that +night, the sound haunted his dreams. + + +Chapter IV + +Every morning brought the young heir of Earlescourt to the bright +sunny gardens where Dora worked among the strawberries. As the +days passed she began to lose something of her shy, startled +manner, and laughed and talked to him as she would have done to +her own brother. His vanity was gratified by the sweetest homage +of all, the unconscious, unspoken love and admiration of the +young girl. He liked to watch the blushes on her face, and the +quivering of her lips when she caught the first sound of his +coming footsteps. He liked to watch her dark eyes droop, and +then to see them raised to his with a beautiful, startled light. + +Insensibly his own heart became interested. At first he had +merely thought of passing a pleasant hour; then he admired Dora, +and tried to believe that reading to her was an act of pure +benevolence; but, as the days passed on, something stronger and +sweeter attracted him. He began to love her--and she was his +first love. + +Wonderful to say, these long tete-a-tetes had not attracted +observation. No rumor of them escaped, so that no thorn appeared +in this path of roses which led to the brink of a precipice. + +It wanted three days until the time settled for the return of +Lord and Lady Earle. Sir Harry Laurence, of Holtham Hall, asked +Ronald to spend a day with him; and, having no valid excuse, he +consented. + +"I shall not see you tomorrow, Dora," he said. "I am going away +for the day." + +She looked at him with a startled face. One whole day without +him! Then, with a sudden deadly pain, came the thought that +these golden days must end; the time must come when she should +see him no more. The pretty, dimpled face grew pale, and a dark +shadow came into the clear eyes. + +"Dora," cried Ronald, "why do you look so frightened? What is +it?" + +She gave him no answer, but turned away. He caught her hands in +his own. + +"Are you grieved that I am going away for one whole day?" he +asked. But she looked so piteous and so startled that he waited +for no reply. "I shall continue to see you," he resumed. "I +could not let any day pass without that." + +"And afterward," she said, simply, raising her eyes to his full +of tears. + +Then Ronald paused abruptly--he had never given one thought to +the "afterward." Why, of course strawberries would not grow +forever--it would not always be summer. Lord Earle would soon +be back again, and then he must go abroad. Where would Dora be +then? He did not like the thought--it perplexed him. Short as +was the time he had known her, Dora had, in some mysterious way, +grown to be a part of himself. He could not think of a day +wherein he should not see her blushing, pretty face, and hear the +music of her words. He was startled, and clasped her little +hands more tightly within his own. + +"You would not like to lose me, Dora?" he said, gently. + +"No," she replied; and then tears fell from her dark eyes. + +Poor Ronald! Had he been wise, he would have flown then; but he +bent his head over her, and kissed the tears away. The pretty +rounded cheek, so soft and child-like, he kissed again, and then +clasped the slight girlish figure in his arms. + +"Do not shed another tear, Dora," he whispered; "we will not lose +each other. I love you, and you shall be my wife." + +One minute before he spoke the idea had not even crossed his +mind; it seemed to him afterward that another voice had spoken by +his lips. + +"Your wife!" she cried, looking at him in some alarm. "Ah, no! +You are very kind and good, but that could never be." + +"Why not?" he asked. + +"Because you are so far above me," replied the girl. "I and mine +are servants and dependents of yours. We are not equal; I must +learn to forget you," sobbed Dora, "and break my own heart!" + +She could not have touched Ronald more deeply; in a moment he had +poured forth a torrent of words that amazed her. Fraternity and +equality, caste and folly, his mission and belief, his love and +devotion, were all mingled in one torrent of eloquence that +simply alarmed her. + +"Never say that again, Dora," he continued, his fair, boyish face +flushing. "You are the equal of a queen upon her throne; you are +fair and true, sweet and good. What be a queen more than that?" + +"A queen knows more," sighed Dora. "I know nothing in all the +wide world." + +"Then I will teach you," he said. "Ah, Dora, you know enough! +You have beautiful thoughts, and you clothe them in beautiful +words. Do not turn from me; say you love me and will be my wife. +I love you, Dora--do not make me unhappy." + +"I would not make you unhappy," she said, "for the whole world; +if you wish me to love you--oh, you know I love you--if you +wish me to go away and forget you, I will do my best." + +But the very thought of it brought tears again. She looked so +pretty, so bewildered between sorrow and joy, so dazzled by +happiness, and yet so piteously uncertain, that Ronald was more +charmed than ever. + +"My darling Dora," he said, "you do love me. Your eyes speak, if +your lips do not tell me. Will you be my wife? I can not live +without you." + +It was the prettiest picture in the world to see the color return +to the sweet face. Ronald bent his head, and heard the sweet +whisper. + +"You shall never rue your trust, Dora," he said, proudly; but she +interrupted him. + +"What will Lord Earle say?" she asked; and again Ronald was +startled by that question. + +"My father can say nothing," he replied. "I am old enough to +please myself, and this is a free country. I shall introduce you +to him, Dora, and tell him you have promised to be my wife. No +more tears, love. There is nothing but happiness before us." + +And so he believed. He could think of nothing, care for nothing +but Dora--her pretty face, her artless, simple ways, her +undisguised love for him. There was but one excuse. He was +young, and it was his first love; yet despite his happiness, his +pride, his independence, he did often wonder in what words he +should tell his father that he had promised to marry the lodge +keeper's daughter. There were even times when he shivered, as +one seized with sudden cold, at the thought. + +The four days passed like a long, bright dream. It was a pretty +romance, but sadly misplaced--a pretty summer idyll. They were +but boy and girl. Dora met Ronald in the park, by the brook- +side, and in the green meadows where the white hawthorn grew. +They talked of but one thing, their love. Ronald never tired of +watching Dora's fair face and pretty ways; she never wearied of +telling him over and over again, in a hundred different ways, how +noble and kind he was, and how dearly she loved him. + +Lord Earle wrote to say that he should be home on the Thursday +evening, and that they were bringing back a party of guests with +them. + +"There will be no time to tell my father just at present," said +Ronald; "so, Dora, we must keep our secret. It will not do to +tell your father before I tell mine." + +They arranged to keep the secret until Lord Earle should be alone +again. They were to meet twice every day--in the early morning, +while the dew lay on the grass, and in the evening, when the Hall +would be full of bustle and gayety. + +Ronald felt guilty--he hardly knew how or why--when his father +commiserated him for the two lonely weeks he had spent. Lonely! +He had not felt them so; they had passed all too quickly for him. +How many destinies were settled in that short time! + +There was little time for telling his secret to Lord Earle. The +few guests who had returned to Earlescourt were men of note, and +their host devoted himself to their entertainment. + +Lady Earle saw some great change in her son. She fancied that he +spent a great deal of time out of doors. She asked him about it, +wondering if he had taken to studying botany, for late and early +he never tired of rambling in the park. She wondered again at +the flush that crimsoned his face; but the time was coming when +she would understand it all. + +It is probable that if Ronald at that time had had as much of +Dora's society as he liked, he would soon have discovered his +mistake, and no great harm would have been done; but the foolish +romance of foolish meetings had a charm for him. In those +hurried interviews he had only time to think of Dora's love--he +never noted her deficiencies; he was charmed with her tenderness +and grace; her artless affection was so pretty; the difference +between her and those with whom he was accustomed to talk was so +great; her very ignorance had a piquant charm for him. So they +went on to their fate. + +One by one Lord Earle's guests departed, yet Ronald had not told +his secret. A new element crept into his love, and urged him on. +Walking one day through the park with his father they overtook +Dora's father. A young man was with him and the two were talking +earnestly together, so earnestly that they never heard the two +gentlemen; and in passing by Ronald distinguished the words, "You +give me your daughter, Mr. Thorne, and trust me to make her +happy." + +Ronald Earle turned quickly to look at the speaker. He saw +before him a young man, evidently a well-to-do farmer from his +appearance, with a calm, kind face and clear and honest eyes; and +he was asking for Dora--Dora who was to be his wife and live at +Earlescourt. He could hardly control his impatience; and it +seemed to him that evening would never come. + +Dinner was over at last. Lord Earle sat with Sir Harry Laurence +over a bottle of claret, and Lady Earle was in the drawing room +and had taken up her book. Ronald hastened to the favorite +trysting place, the brook-side. Dora was there already, and he +saw that her face was still wet with tears. She refused at first +to tell him her sorrow. Then she whispered a pitiful little +story, that made her lover resolve upon some rash deeds. + +Ralph Holt had been speaking to her father, and had asked her to +marry him. She had said "No;" but her mother had wept, and her +father had grown angry, and had said she should obey him. + +"He has a large farm," said Dora, with a bitter sigh. "He says I +should live like a great lady, and have nothing to do. He would +be kind to my father and mother; but I do not love him," she +added. + +Clasping her tender little hands round Ronald's arm, "I do not +love him," she sobbed; "and, Ronald, I do love you." + +He bent down and kissed her pretty, tear-bedewed face, all the +chivalry of his nature aroused by her words. + +"You shall be my wife, Dora," he said, proudly, "and not his. +This very evening I will tell my father, and ask his consent to +our marriage. My mother is sure to love you--she is so kind and +gracious to every one. Do not tremble, my darling; neither Ralph +Holt nor any one else shall take you from me." + +She was soon comforted! There was no bound or limit to her faith +in Ronald Earle. + +"Go home now,"he said, "and tomorrow my father himself shall see +you. I will teach that young farmer his place. No more tears, +Dora--our troubles will end tonight." + +He went with her down the broad walk, and then returned to the +Hall. He walked very proudly, with his gallant head erect, +saying to himself that this was a free country and he could do +what he liked; but for all that his heart beat loudly when he +entered the drawing room and found Lord and Lady Earle. They +looked up smilingly at him, all unconscious that their beloved +son, the heir of Earlescourt, was there to ask permission to +marry the lodge keeper's daughter. + + +Chapter V + +Ronald Earle had plenty of courage--no young hero ever led a +forlorn hope with more bravery that he displayed in the interview +with his parents, which might have daunted a bolder man. As he +approached, Lady Earle raised her eyes with a languid smile. + +"Out again, Ronald!" she said. "Sir Harry Laurence left his +adieus for you. I think the park possesses some peculiar +fascination. Have you been walking quickly? Your face is +flushed." + +He made no reply, but drew near to his mother; he bent over her +and raised her hand to his lips. + +"I am come to tell you something," he said. "Father, will you +listen to me? I ask your permission to marry Dora Thorne, one of +the fairest, sweetest girls in England." + +His voice never faltered, and the brave young face never quailed. +Lord Earle looked at him in utter amazement. + +"To marry Dora Thorne!" he said. "And who, in the name of +reason, is Dora Thorne?" + +"The lodge keeper's daughter," replied Ronald, stoutly. "I love +her, father, and she loves me." + +He was somewhat disconcerted when Lord Earle, for all reply, +broke into an uncontrollable fit of laughter. He had expected a +storm--expostulations, perhaps, and reproaches--anything but +this. + +"You can not be serious, Ronald," said his mother, smiling. + +"I am so much in earnest," he replied, "that I would give up all +I have in the world--my life itself, for Dora." + +Then Lord Earle ceased laughing, and looked earnestly at the +handsome, flushed face. + +"No," said he, "you can not be serious. You dare not ask your +mother to receive a servant's daughter as her own child. Your +jest is in bad taste, Ronald." + +"It is no jest," he replied. "We Earles are always terribly in +earnest. I have promised to marry Dora Thorne, and, with your +permission, I intend to keep my word." + +An angry flush rose to Lord Earle's face, but he controlled his +impatience. + +"In any case," he replied, quietly, "you are too young to think +of marriage yet. If you had chosen the daughter of a duke, I +should, for the present, refuse." + +"I shall be twenty in a few months," said Ronald,"and I am +willing to wait until then." + +Lady Earle laid her white jeweled hand on her son's shoulder, and +said, gently: + +"My dear Ronald, have you lost your senses? Tell me, who is Dora +Thorne?" She saw tears shining in his eyes; his brave young face +touched her heart. "Tell me," she continued, "who is she? Where +have you seen her? What is she like?" + +"She is so beautiful, mother," he said, "that I am sure you would +love her; she is as fair and sweet as she is modest and true. I +met her in the gardens some weeks ago, and I have met her every +day since." + +Lord and Lady Earle exchanged a glance of dismay which did not +escape Ronald. + +"Why have you not told us of this before?" asked his father, +angrily. + +"I asked her to be my wife while you were from home," replied +Ronald. "She promised and I have only been waiting until our +guests left us and you had more time." + +"Is it to see Dora Thorne that you have been out so constantly?" +asked Lady Earle. + +"Yes, I could not let a day pass without seeing her," he replied; +"it would be like a day without sunshine." + +"Does any one else know of this folly?" asked Lord Earle, +angrily. + +"No, you may be quite sure, father, I should tell you before I +told any one else," replied Ronald. + +They looked at him in silent dismay, vexed and amazed at what he +had done--irritated at his utter folly, yet forced to admire his +honor, his courage, his truth. Both felt that some sons would +have carefully concealed such a love affair from them. They were +proud of his candor and integrity, although deploring his folly. + +"Tell us all about it, Ronald," said Lady Earle. + +Without the least hesitation, Ronald told them every word; and +despite their vexation, neither could help smiling--it was such +a pretty story--a romance, all sunshine, smiles, tears, and +flowers. Lord Earle's face cleared as he listened, and he laid +one hand on his boy's shoulder. + +"Ronald," said he, "we shall disagree about your love; but +remember, I do full justice to your truth. After all, the fault +is my own. I might have known that a young fellow of your age, +left all alone, was sure to get into mischief; you have done so. +Say no more now; I clearly and distinctly refuse my consent. I +appeal to your honor that you meet this young girl no more. We +will talk of it another time." + +When the door closed behind him, Lord and Lady Earle looked at +each other. The lady's face was pale and agitated. + +"Oh, Rupert," she said, "how brave and noble he is! Poor foolish +boy! How proud he looked of his absurd mistake. We shall have +trouble with him, I foresee!" + +"I do not think so," replied her husband. "Valentine Charteris +will be here soon, and when Ronald sees her he will forget this +rustic beauty." + +"It will be better not to thwart him," interrupted Lady Earle. +"Let me manage the matter, Rupert. I will go down to the lodge +tomorrow, and persuade them to send the girl away; and then we +will take Ronald abroad, and he will forget all about it in a few +months." + +All night long the gentle lady of Earlescourt was troubled by +strange dreams--by vague, dark fears that haunted her and would +not be laid to rest. + +"Evil will come of it," she said to herself--"evil and sorrow. +This distant shadow saddens me now." + +The next day she went to the lodge, and asked for Dora. She half +pardoned her son's folly when she saw the pretty dimpled face, +the rings of dark hair, lying on the white neck. The girl was +indeed charming and modest, but unfitted--oh, how unfitted! +ever to be Lady Earle. She was graceful as a wild flower is +graceful; but she had no manner, no dignity, no cultivation. She +stood blushing, confused, and speechless, before the "great +lady." + +"You know what I want you for, Dora," said Lady Earle, kindly. +"My son has told us of the acquaintance between you. I am come +to say it must cease. I do not wish to hurt or wound you. Your +own sense must tell you that you can never be received by Lord +Earle and myself as our daughter. We will not speak of your +inferiority in birth and position. You are not my son's equal in +refinement or education; he would soon discover that, and tire of +you." + +Dora spoke no word, the tears falling from her bright eyes; this +time there was no young lover to kiss them away. She made no +reply and when Lady Earle sent for her father, Dora ran away; she +would hear no more. + +"I know nothing of it, my lady," said the worthy lodge keeper, +who was even more surprised than his master had been. "Young +Ralph Holt wants to marry my daughter, and I have said that she +shall be his wife. I never dreamed that she knew the young +master; she has not mentioned his name." + +Lady Earle's diplomacy succeeded beyond her most sanguine +expectations. Stephen Thorne and his wife, although rather +dazzled by the fact that their daughter had captivated the future +Lord Earlescourt, let common sense and reason prevail, and saw +the disparity and misery such a marriage would cause. They +promised to be gentle and kind to Dora, not to scold or reproach +her, and to allow some little time to elapse before urging Ralph +Holt's claims. + +When Lady Earle rose, she placed a twenty-pound banknote in the +hands of Stephen Thorne, saying: + +"You are sending Dora to Eastham; that will cover the expenses." + +"I could not do that, my lady," said Stephen, refusing to take +the money. "I can not sell poor Dora's love." + +Then Lady Earle held out her delicate white hand, and the man +bowed low over it. Before the sun set that evening, Stephen +Thorne had taken Dora to Eastham, where she was to remain until +Ronald had gone abroad. + +For a few days it seemed as though the storm had blown over. +There was one angry interview between father and son, when Ronald +declared that sending Dora away was a breach of faith, and that +he would find her out and marry her how and when he could. Lord +Earle thought his words were but the wild folly of a boy deprived +of a much-desired toy. He did not give them serious heed. + +The story of Earlescourt might have been different, had not +Ronald, while still amazed and irritated by his father's cool +contempt, encountered Ralph Holt. They met at the gate leading +from the fields to the high road; it was closed between them, and +neither could make way. + +"I have a little account to settle with you, my young lordling," +said Ralph, angrily. "Doves never mate with eagles; if you want +to marry, choose one of your own class, and leave Dora Thorne to +me." + +"Dora Thorne is mine," said Ronald, haughtily. + +"She will never be," was the quick reply. "See, young master, I +have loved Dora since she was a--a pretty, bright-eyed child. +Her +father lived near my father's farm then. I have cared for her +all my life--I do not know that I have ever looked twice at +another woman's face. Do not step in between me and my love. +The world is wide, and you can choose where you will--do not rob +me of Dora Thorne." + +There was a mournful dignity in the man's face that touched +Ronald. + +"I am sorry for you," he said, "if you love Dora; for she will be +my wife." + +"Never!" cried Ralph. "Since you will not listen to fair words, +I defy you. I will go to Eastham and never leave Dora again +until she will be my own." + +High, angry words passed between them, but Ralph in his passion +had told the secret Ronald had longed to know--Dora was at +Eastham. + +It was a sad story and yet no rare one. Love and jealousy robbed +the boy of his better sense; duty and honor were forgotten. +Under pretense of visiting one of his college friends, Ronald +went to Eastham. Lord and Lady Earle saw him depart without any +apprehension; they never suspected that he knew where Dora was. + +It was a sad story, and bitter sorrow came from it. Word by word +it can not be written, but when the heir of Earlescourt saw Dora +again, her artless delight, her pretty joy and sorrow mingled, +her fear and dislike of Ralph, her love for himself drove all +thought of duty and honor from his mind. He prayed her to become +his wife secretly. He had said that when once they were married +his father would forgive them, and all would be well. He +believed what he said; Dora had no will but his. She forgot all +Lady Earle's warnings; she remembered only Ronald and his love. +So they were married in the quiet parish church of Helsmeer, +twenty miles from Eastham, and no human being either knew or +guessed their secret. + +There was no excuse, no palliation for an act that was undutiful, +dishonorable, and deceitful--there was nothing to plead for him, +save that he was young, and had never known a wish refused. + +They were married. Dora Thorne became Dora Earle. Ronald parted +from his pretty wife immediately. He arranged all his plans with +what he considered consummate wisdom. He was to return home, and +try by every argument in his power to soften his father and win +his consent. If he still refused, then time would show him the +best course. Come what might, Dora was his; nothing on earth +could part them. He cared for very little else. Even if the +very worst came, and his father sent him from home, it would only +be for a time, and there was Dora to comfort him. + +He returned to Earlescourt, and though his eyes were never raised +in clear, true honesty to his father's face, Lord Earle saw that +his son looked happy, and believed the cloud had passed away. + +Dora was to remain at Eastham until she heard from him. He could +not write to her, nor could she send one line to him; but he +promised and believed that very soon he should take her in all +honor to Earlescourt. + + +Chapter VI + +It was a beautiful morning toward the end of August; the balmy +sweetness of spring had given way to the glowing radiance of +summer. The golden corn waved in the fields, the hedge rows were +filled with wild flowers, the fruit hung ripe in the orchards. +Nature wore her brightest smile. The breakfast room at +Earlescourt was a pretty apartment; it opened on a flower garden, +and through the long French windows came the sweet perfume of +rose blossoms. + +It was a pretty scene--the sunbeams fell upon the rich silver, +the delicate china, the vases of sweet flowers. Lord Earle sat +at the head of the table, busily engaged with his letters. Lady +Earle, in the daintiest of morning toilets, was smiling over the +pretty pink notes full of fashionable gossip. Her delicate, +patrician face looked clear and pure in the fresh morning light. +But there was no smile on Ronald's face. He was wondering, for +the hundredth time, how he was to tell his father what he had +done. He longed to be with his pretty Dora; and yet there was a +severe storm to encounter before he could bring her home. + +"Ah," said Lady Earle, suddenly, "here is good news--Lady +Charteris is positively coming, Rupert. Sir Hugh will join her +in a few days. She will be here with Valentine tomorrow." + +"I am very glad," said Lord Earle, looking up with pleasure and +surprise. "We must ask Lady Laurence to meet them." + +Ronald sighed; his parents busily discussed the hospitalities and +pleasures to be offered their guests. A grand dinner party was +planned, and a ball, to which half the country side were to be +invited. + +"Valentine loves gayety," said Lady Earle, "and we must give her +plenty of it." + +"I shall have all this to go through," sighed Ronald--"grand +parties, dinners, and balls, while my heart longs to be with my +darling; and in the midst of it all, how shall I find time to +talk to my father? I will begin this very day." + +When dinner was over, Ronald proposed to Lord Earle that they +should go out on the terrace and smoke a cigar there. Then took +place the conversation with which our story opens, when the +master of Earlescourt declared his final resolve. + +Ronald was more disturbed than he cared to own even to himself. +Once the words hovered upon his lips that he had married Dora. +Had Lord Earl been angry or contemptuous, he would have uttered +them; but in the presence of his father's calm, dignified wisdom, +he was abashed and uncertain. For the first time he felt the +truth of all his father said. Not that he loved Dora less, or +repented of the rash private marriage, but Lord Earle's appeal to +his sense of the "fitness of things" touched him. + +There was little time for reflection. Lady Charteris and her +daughter were coming on the morrow. Again Lady Earle entered the +field as a diplomatist, and came off victorious. + +"Ronald," said his mother, as they parted that evening, "I know +that, as a rule, young men of your age do not care for the +society of elderly ladies; I must ask you to make an exception in +favor of Lady Charteris. They showed me great kindness at +Greenoke, and you must help me to return it. I shall consider +every attention shown to the lady and her daughter as shown to +myself." + +Ronald smiled at his mother's words, and told her he would never +fail in her service. + +"If he sees much of Valentine," thought his mother, "he can not +help loving her. Then all will be well." + +Ronald was not in the house when the guests arrived; they came +rather before the appointed time. His mother and Lady Charteris +had gone to the library together, leaving Valentine in the +drawing room alone. Ronald found her there. Opening the door, +he saw the sleeve of a white dress; believing Lady Earle was +there, he went carelessly into the room, then started in +astonishment at the vision before him. Once in a century, +perhaps, one sees a woman like Valentine Charteris; of the purest +and loveliest Greek type, a calm, grand, magnificent blonde, with +clear, straight brows, fair hair that shone like satin and lay in +thick folds around her queenly head--tall and stately, with a +finished ease and grace of manner that could only result from +long and careful training. She rose when Ronald entered the +room, and her beautiful eyes were lifted calmly to his face. +Suddenly a rush of color dyed the white brow. Valentine +remembered what Lady Earle had said of her son. She knew that +both his mother and hers wished that she should be Ronald's wife. + +"I beg your pardon," he said hastily, "I thought Lady Earle was +here." + +"She is in the library," said Valentine, with a smile that +dazzled him. + +He bowed and withdrew. This, then, was Valentine Charteris, the +fine lady whose coming he had dreaded. She was very beautiful-- +he had never seen a face like hers. + +No thought of love, or of comparing this magnificent woman with +simple, pretty Dora, ever entered his mind. But Ronald was a +true artist, and one of no mean skill. He thought of that pure +Grecian face as he would have thought of a beautiful picture or +an exquisite statue. He never thought of the loving, sensitive +woman's heart hidden under it. + +It was not difficult when dinner was over to open the grand piano +for Valentine, to fetch her music, and listen while she talked of +operas he had never heard. It was pleasant to watch her as she +sat in the evening gloaming, her superb beauty enhanced by the +delicate evening dress of fine white lace; the shapely shoulders +were polished and white, the exquisite arms rounded and clasped +by a bracelet of pearls. She wore a rose in the bodice of her +dress, and, as Ronald bent over the music she was showing him the +sweet, subtle perfume came to him like a message from Dora. + +Valentine Charteris had one charm even greater than her beauty. +She talked well and gracefully--the play of her features, the +movement of her lips, were something not to be forgotten; and her +smile seemed to break like a sunbeam over her whole face--it was +irresistible. + +Poor Ronald stood by her, watching the expression that seemed to +change with every word; listening to pretty polished language +that was in itself a charm. The two mothers, looking on, and +Lord Earle felt himself relieved from a heavy weight of care. +Then Lady Earle asked Valentine to sing. She was quite free from +all affectation. + +"What kind of music do you prefer?" she asked, looking at Ronald. + +"Simple old ballads," he replied, thinking of Dora, and how +prettily she would sing them. + +He started when the first note of Valentine's magnificent voice +rang clear and sweet in the quiet gloaming. She sang some quaint +old story of a knight who loved a maiden--loved and rode away, +returning after long years to find a green grave. Ronald sat +thinking of Dora. Ah, perhaps, had he forsaken her, the pretty +dimpled face would have faded away! He felt pleased that he had +been true. Then the music ceased. + +"Is that what you like?" asked Valentine Charteris, "it is of the +stronger sentimental school." + +Simple, honest Ronald wondered if sentiment was a sin against +etiquette, or why fashionable ladies generally spoke of it with a +sneer. + +"Do you laugh at sentiment?" he asked; and Valentine opened her +fine eyes in wonder at the question. Lady Earle half overheard +it, and smiled in great satisfaction. Matters must be going on +well, she thought, if Ronald had already begun to speak of +sentiment. She never thought that his heart and mind were with +Dora while he spoke--pretty Dora, who cried over his poetry, and +devoutly believed in the language of flowers. + +The evening passed rapidly, and Ronald felt something like regret +when it ended. Lady Earle was too wise to make any comments; she +never asked her son if he liked Valentine or what he thought of +her. + +"I am afraid you are tired," she said, with a charming smile; +"thank you for helping to amuse my friends." + +When Ronald thought over what he had done, his share seemed very +small; still his mother was pleased, and he went to rest resolved +that on the morrow he would be doubly attentive to Miss +Charteris. + +Three days passed, and Ronald had grown quite at ease with +Valentine. They read and disputed over the same books; Ronald +brought out his large folio of drawings, and Valentine wondered +at his skill. He bent over her, explaining the sketches, +laughing and talking gayly, as though there was no dark +background to his life. + +"You are an accomplished artist," said Miss Charteris, "you must +have given much time to study." + +"I am fond of it," said Ronald; "if fate had not made me an only +son, I should have chosen painting as my profession." + +In after years these words came back to them as a sad prophecy. + +Ronald liked Miss Charteris. Apart from her grand beauty, she +had the charm, too, of a kindly heart and an affectionate nature. +He saw how much Lady Earle loved her, and resolved to tell +Valentine all about Dora, and ask her to try to influence his +mother. With that aim and end in view, he talked continually to +the young lady; he accompanied her in all her walks and drives, +and they sang and sketched together. Ronald, knowing himself so +safely bound to Dora, forgot in what light his conduct must +appear to others. Lady Earle had forgotten her fears; she +believed that her son was learning to love Valentine, and her +husband shared her belief. + +All things just then were couleur de rose at Earlescourt. Ronald +looked and felt happy--he had great faith in Valentine's +persuasive powers. + +Days passed by rapidly; the time for the grand ball was drawing +near. Lady Earle half wondered when her son would speak of Miss +Charteris, and Valentine wondered why he lingered near her, why +oftentimes he was on the point of speaking, and then drew back. +She quite believed he cared for her, and she liked him in return, +as much as she was capable of liking any one. + +She was no tragedy queen, but a loving, affectionate girl, unable +to reach the height of passionate love, or the depth of despair. +She was well disposed toward Ronald--Lady Earle spoke so much of +him at Greenoke. She knew too that a marriage with him would +delight her mother. + +Valentine's favorable impression of Ronald was deepened when she +saw him. Despite the one great act of duplicity which shadowed +his whole life, Ronald was true and honorable. Valentine admired +his clear Saxon face and firm lips; she admired his deep bright +eyes, that darkened with every passing emotion; she liked his +gentle, chivalrous manner, his earnest words, his deferential +attention to herself, his affectionate devotion to Lady Earle. + +There was not a braver or more gallant man in England than this +young heir of Earlescourt. He inherited the personal beauty and +courage of his race. He gave promise of a splendid manhood; and +no one knew how proudly Lord Earle had rejoiced in that promise. + +In her calm stately way, Valentine liked him; she even loved him, +and would have been happy as his wife. She enjoyed his keen, +intellectual powers and his originality of thought. Even the +"dreadful politics," that scared and shocked his father, amused +her. + +Ronald, whose heart was full of the pretty little wife he dared +neither see nor write to, gave no heed to Valentine's manner; it +never occurred to him what construction could be put upon his +friendly liking for her. + + +Chapter VII + +The day came for the grand ball, and during breakfast the ladies +discussed the important question of bouquets; from that the +conversation changed to flowers. "There are so many of them," +said Valentine, "and they are all so beautiful, I am always at a +loss which to choose." + +"I should never hesitate a moment," said Ronald, laughingly. +"You will accuse me, perhaps of being sentimental, but I must +give preference to the white lily-bells. Lilies of the valley +are the fairest flowers that grow." + +Lady Earle overheard the remark; no one else appeared to notice +it, and she was not much surprised when Valentine entered the +ball room to see white lilies in her fair hair, and a bouquet of +the same flowers, half-shrouded by green leaves, in her hand. + +Many eyes turned admiringly upon the calm, stately beauty and her +white flowers. Ronald saw them. He could not help remarking the +exquisite toilet, marred by no obtrusive colors, the pretty lily +wreath and fragrant bouquet. It never occurred to him that +Valentine had chosen those delicate blossoms in compliment to +him. He thought he had never seen a fairer picture than this +magnificent blonde; then she faded from his mind. He looked +round on those fair and noble ladies, thinking that Dora's shy, +sweet face was far lovelier than any there. He looked at the +costly jewels, the waving plumes, the sweeping satins, and +thought of Dora's plain, pretty dress. A softened look came into +his eyes, as he pictured his shy, graceful wife. Some day she, +too, would walk through these gorgeous rooms, and then would all +admire the wisdom of his choice. So the heir of Earlescourt +dreamed as he watched the brilliant crowd that began to fill the +ball room; but his reverie was suddenly broken by a summons from +Lady Earle. + +"Ronald," said she, looking slightly impatient, "have you +forgotten that it is your place to open the ball? You must ask +Miss Charteris to dance with you." + +"That will be no hardship," he replied, smiling at his mother's +earnest manner. "I would rather dance with Miss Charteris than +any one else." + +Lady Earle wisely kept silence; her son went up to Valentine and +made his request. He danced with her again and again--not as +Lady Earle hoped, from any unusual preference, but because it +gave him less trouble than selecting partners among strange young +ladies. Valentine understood him; they talked easily, and +without restraint. He paid her no compliments, and she did not +seem to expect any. With other ladies, Ronald was always +thinking, "What would they say if they knew of that fair young +wife at Eastham?" With Valentine no such idea haunted him--he +had an instinctive belief in her true and firm friendship. + +Lady Earle overheard a few whispered comments, and they filled +her heart with delight. Old friends whispered to her that "it +would be a splendid match for her son," and "how happy she would +be with such a daughter-in-law as Miss Charteris, so beautiful +and dignified;" and all this because Ronald wanted to secure +Valentine's friendship, so that she might intercede for Dora. + +When, for the fourth time, Ronald asked Miss Charteris "for the +next dance," she looked up at him with a smile. + +"Do you know how often we have danced together this evening?" she +asked. + +"What does it matter?" he replied, wondering at the flush that +crimsoned her face. "Forgive me, Miss Charteris, if I say that +you realize my idea of the poetry of motion." + +"Is that why you ask me so frequently?" she said, archly. + +"Yes," replied honest Ronald; "it is a great pleasure; for one +good dancer there are fifty bad ones." + +He did not quite understand the pretty, piqued expression of her +face. + +"You have not told me," said Valentine, "whether you like my +flowers." + +"They are very beautiful," he replied; but the compliment of her +selection was all lost upon him. + +Miss Charteris did not know whether he was simply indifferent or +timid. + +"You told me these lilies were your favorite flowers," she said. + +"Yes," replied Ronald; "but they are not the flowers that +resemble you." He was thinking how much simple, loving Dora was +like the pretty delicate little blossoms. "You are like the tall +queenly lilies." + +He paused, for Valentine was looking at him with a wondering +smile. + +"Do you know you have paid me two compliments in less than five +minutes?" she said. "And yesterday we agreed that between true +friends they were quite unnecessary." + +"I--I did not intend to pay idle compliments," he replied. "I +merely said what I thought. You are like a tall, grand, white +lily, Miss Charteris. I have often thought so. If you will not +dance with me again, will you walk through the rooms?" + +Many admiring glances followed them--a handsomer pair was seldom +seen. They passed through the long suite of rooms and on to the +conservatory, where lamps gleamed like stars between the green +plants and rare exotics. + +"Will you rest here?" said Ronald. "The ball room is so crowded +one can not speak there." + +"Ah," thought Miss Charteris, "then he really has something to +say to me!" + +Despite her calm dignity and serene manner, Valentine's heart +beat high. She loved the gallant young heir--his honest, kindly +nature had a great charm for her. She saw that the handsome face +bending over the flowers was agitated and pale. Miss Charteris +looked down at the lilies in her hand. He came nearer to her, +and looked anxiously at her beautiful face. + +"I am not eloquent," said Ronald--"I have no great gift of +speech; but, Miss Charteris, I should like to find some words +that would reach your heart and dwell there." + +He wanted to tell her of Dora, to describe her sweet face with +its dimples and blushes, her graceful manner, her timid, +sensitive disposition. He wanted to make her love Dora, to help +him to soften his mother's prejudices and his father's anger; no +wonder his lips quivered and his voice faltered. + +"For some days past I have been longing to speak to you," +continued Ronald; "now my courage almost fails me. Miss +Charteris, say something that will give me confidence." She +looked up at him, and any other man would have read the love in +her face. + +"The simplest words you can use will always interest me," she +said, gently. + +His face cleared, and he began: "You are kind and generous--" + +Then came an interruption--Sir Harry Laurence, with a lady, +entered the conservatory. + +"This is refreshing," he said to Ronald. "I have been ten +minutes trying to get here, the rooms are so full." + +Miss Charteris smiled in replying, wishing Sir Harry had waited +ten minutes longer. + +"Promise me," said Ronald, detaining her, as Sir Harry passed on, +"that you will give me one half hour tomorrow." + +"I will do so," replied she. + +"And you will listen to me, Miss Charteris?" he continued. "You +will hear all I have to say?" + +Valentine made no reply; several other people came, some to +admire the alcove filled with ferns which drooped from the wall +by which she was standing, others to breathe the fragrant air. +She could not speak without being overheard; but, with a charming +smile, she took a beautiful lily from her bouquet and held it out +to him. They then went back into the ball room. + +"He loves me," thought Valentine; and, as far as her calm, serene +nature was capable of passionate delight, she felt it. + +"She will befriend me," thought Ronald; "but why did she give me +this flower?" + +The most remote suspicion that Valentine had mistaken him--that +she loved him--never crossed the mind of Ronald Earle. He was +singularly free from vanity. Perhaps if he had a little more +confidence in himself, the story of the Earles might have been +different. + +Lady Charteris looked at her daughter's calm, proud face. She +had noticed the little interview in the conservatory, and drew +her own conclusions from it. Valentine's face confirmed them +there was a delicate flush upon it, and a new light shone in the +lustrous eyes. + +"You like Earlescourt?" said Lady Charteris to her daughter that +evening, as they sat in her drawing room alone. + +"Yes, mamma, I like it very much," said Valentine. + +"And from what I see," continued the elder lady, "I think it is +likely to be your home." + +"Yes, I believe so," said Valentine, bending over her mother, and +kissing her. "Ronald has asked me to give him one half hour +tomorrow, and I am very happy, mamma." + +For one so calm and stately, it was admission enough. Lady +Charteris knew, from the tone of her daughter's voice, that she +loved Ronald Earle. + +Ronald slept calmly, half hoping that the end of his troubles was +drawing nigh. Valentine, whom his mother loved so well, would +intercede for Dora. Lord Earle would be sure to relent; and he +could bring Dora home, and all would be well. If ever and anon a +cold fear crept into his heart that simple, pretty Dora would be +sadly out of place in that magnificent house, he dashed it from +him. Miss Charteris slept calmly, too, but her dreams were +different from Ronald's. She thought of the time when she would +be mistress of that fair domain, and the wife of its brave young +lord. She loved him well. No one had ever pleased her as he had +--no one would ever charm her again. Valentine had made the +grand mistake of her life. + +The morrow so eagerly looked for was a fair, bright day. The sun +shone warm and bright, the air was soft and fragrant, the sky +blue and cloudless. Lady Charteris did not leave her room for +breakfast, and Valentine remained with her mother. + +When breakfast was ended, Ronald lingered about, hoping to see +Valentine. He had not waited long before he saw the glimmer of +her white dress and blue ribbons. He met her in the hall. + +"Will you come out into the gardens, Miss Charteris?" he asked. +"The morning is so beautiful, and you promised me one half hour. +Do not take that book with you. I shall want all your attention +for I have a story to tell you." + +He walked by her side through the pleasure gardens where the lake +gleamed in the sunshine, the water lilies sleeping on its quiet +bosom; through the fragrant flower beds where the bees hummed and +the butterflies made love to the fairest blossoms. + +"Let us go on to the park," said Valentine; "the sun is too warm +here." + +"I know a little spot just fitted for a fairy bower," said +Ronald. "Let me show it to you. I can tell my story better +there." + +They went through the broad gates of the park, across which the +checkered sunbeams fell, where the deer browsed and king-cups and +tall foxgloves grew--on to the brook side where Dora had rested +so short a time since to think of her new-found happiness. + +The pale primroses had all died away, the violets were gone; but +in their place the deep green bank was covered with other flowers +of bright and sunny hue. The shade of tall trees covered the +bank, the little brook sang merrily, and birds chimed in with the +rippling water; the summer air was filled with the faint, sweet +summer music. + +"It is a pretty spot," said Miss Charteris. + +The green grass seemed to dance in the breeze, and Ronald made +something like a throne amid it. + +"You shall be queen, and I your suppliant," he said. "You +promise to listen; I will tell you my story." + +They sat a few minutes in deep silence, broken only by the +singing brook and the music of the birds; a solemn hush seemed to +have fallen on them, while the leaves rustled in the wind. + +If Ronald Earle's heart and mind had not been filled with another +and very different image, he must have seen how fair Valentine +looked; the sunlight glinting through the dense green foliage +fell upon her face, while the white dress and blue ribbons, the +fair floating hair, against the dark background of the bank and +the trees, made a charming picture; but Ronald never saw it. +After long years the memory of it came back to him, and he +wondered at his own blindness. He never saw the trembling of the +white fingers that played carelessly with sprays of purple +foxglove; he never saw the faint flush upon her face, the quiver +of her proud, beautiful lips, or the love light in her eyes. He +only saw and thought of Dora. + +"I told you, Miss Charteris, last evening, that I was not +eloquent," began Ronald. "When anything lies deep in my heart, I +find great difficulty in telling it in words." + +"All sacred and deep feeling is quiet," said Valentine; "a +torrent of words does not always show an earnest nature. I have +many thoughts that I could never express." + +"If I could only be sure that you would understand me, Miss +Charteris," said Ronald--"that you would see and comprehend the +motives that I can hardly explain myself! Sitting here in the +summer sunshine, I can scarcely realize how dark the cloud is +that hangs over me. You are so kind and patient, I will tell you +my story in my own way." She gathered a rich cluster of +bluebells, and bent over them, pulling the pretty flowers into +pieces, and throwing leaf after leaf into the stream. + +"Three months since," continued Ronald, "I came home to +Earlescourt. Lord and Lady Earle were both at Greenoke; I, and +not quite myself, preferred remaining here alone and quiet. One +morning I went out into the garden, listless for want of +something to do. I saw there--ah! Now I want words, Miss +Charteris--the fairest girl the sun ever shone upon." + +He saw the flowers fall from Valentine's grasp; she put her hand +to her brow, as though to shield her face. + +"Does the light annoy you?" he asked. + +"No," she replied, steadily; "go on with your story." + +"A clever man," said Ronald, "might paint for you the pretty +face, all smiles and dimples, the dark shining rings of hair that +fell upon a white brow, the sweet, shy eyes fringed by long +lashes, seldom raised, but full of wonderful light when once you +could look into their depths. I can only tell you how in a few +days I grew to love the fair young face, and how Dora Thorne +that was her name, Miss Charteris--loved me." + +Valentine never moved nor spoke; Ronald could see the bright +flush die away, and the proud lips quiver. + +"I must tell you all quickly," said Ronald. "She is not what +people call a lady, this beautiful wild flower of mine. Her +father lives at the lodge; he is Lord Earle's lodge keeper, and +she knows nothing of the world or its ways. She has never been +taught or trained, though her voice is like sweet music, and her +laugh like the chime of silver bells. She is like a bright April +day, smiles and tears, sunshine and rain--so near together that +I never know whether I love her best weeping or laughing." + +He paused, but Valentine did not speak; her hand still shaded her +face. + +"I loved her very much," said Ronald, "and I told her so. I +asked her to be my wife, and she promised. When my father came +home from Greenoke I asked his consent, and he laughed at me. He +would not believe me serious. I need not tell you the details. +They sent my pretty Dora away, and some one who loved her--who +wanted to make her his wife--came, and quarreled with me. He +my rival--swore that Dora should be his. In his passion he +betrayed the secret so well kept from me. He told me where she +was, and I went to see her." + +There was no movement in the quiet figure, no words passed the +white lips. + +"I went to see her," he continued; "she was so unhappy, so pretty +in her sorrow and love, so innocent, so fond of me, that I forgot +all I should have remembered, and married her." + +Valentine started then and uttered a low cry. + +"You are shocked," said Ronald; "but, Miss Charteris, think of +her so young and gentle! They would have forced her to marry the +farmer, and she disliked him. What else could I do to save her?" + +Even then, in the midst of that sharp sorrow, Valentine could not +help admiring Ronald's brave simplicity, his chivalry, his honor. + +"I married her," he said, "and I mean to be true to her. I +thought my father would relent and forgive us, but I fear I was +too sanguine. Since my marriage my father has told me that if I +do not give up Dora he will not see me again. Every day I +resolve to tell him what I have done, but something interferes to +prevent it. I have never seen my wife since our wedding day. +She is still at Eastham. Now, Miss Charteris, be my friend, and +help me." + +Bravely enough Valentine put away her sorrow--another time she +would look it in the face; all her thoughts must now be for him. + +"I will do anything to serve you," she said, gently. "What can I +do?" + +"My mother loves you very much," said Ronald; "she will listen to +you. When I have told her, will you, in your sweet, persuasive +way, interfere for Dora? Lady Earle will be influenced by what +you say." + +A quiver of pain passed over the proud, calm face of Valentine +Charteris. + +"If you think it wise for a stranger to interfere in so delicate +a matter, I will do so cheerfully," she said; "but let me counsel +on thing. Tell Lord and Lady Earle at once. Do not delay, every +hour is of consequence." + +"What do you think of my story?" asked Ronald, anxiously. "Have +I done right or wrong?" + +"Do not ask me," replied Valentine. + +"Yes," he urged, "I will ask again; you are my friend. Tell me, +have I done right or wrong?" + +"I can speak nothing but truth," replied Valentine, "and I think +you have done wrong. Do not be angry. Honor is everything; it +ranks before life or love. In some degree you have tarnished +yours by an underhand proceeding, a private marriage, one +forbidden by your parents and distasteful to them." + +Ronald's face fell as her words came to him slowly and clearly. + +"I thought," said he, "I was doing a brave deed in marrying Dora. +She had no one to take her part but me." + +"It was a brave deed in one sense," said Valentine. "You have +proved yourself generous and disinterested. Heaven grant that +you may be happy!" + +"She is young and impressionable," said Ronald; "I can easily +mold her to my own way of thinking. You look very grave, Miss +Charteris." + +"I am thinking of you," she said, gently; "it seems to me a grave +matter. Pardon me--but did you reflect well--were you quite +convinced that the whole happiness of your life was at stake? If +so, I need say no more. It is an unequal marriage, one not at +all fitting in the order of things." + +How strange that she should use his father's words! + +"Tell your father at once," she continued. "You can never +retrace the step you have taken. You may never wish to do so, +but you can and must retrieve the error of duplicity and +concealment." + +"You will try and make my mother love Dora?" said Ronald. + +"That I will," replied Valentine. "You sketched her portrait +well. I can almost see her. I will speak of her beauty, her +grace, her tenderness." + +"You are a true friend," said Ronald, gratefully. + +"Do not overrate my influence," said Valentine. "You must learn +to look your life boldly in the face. Candidly and honestly I +think that, from mistaken notions of honor and chivalry, you have +done wrong. A man must be brave. Perhaps one of the hardest +lessons in life is to bear unflinchingly the effects and +consequences of one's own deeds. You must do that, you must not +flinch, you must bear what follows like a man and a hero." + +"I will," said Ronald, looking at the fair face, and half wishing +that the little Dora could talk to him as this noble girl did; +such noble words as hers made men heroes. Then he remembered how +Dora would weep if he were in trouble, and clasp her arms round +his neck. + +"We shall still be friends, Miss Charteris?" he said, pleadingly. +"Whatever comes you will not give me up?" + +"I will be your friend while I live," said Valentine, holding out +her white hand, and her voice never faltered. "You have trusted +me--I shall never forget that. I am your friend, and Dora's +also." + +The words came so prettily from her lips that Ronald smiled. + +"Dora would be quite alarmed at you," he said; "she is so timid +and shy." + +Then he told Valentine of Dora's pretty, artless ways, of her +love for all things beautiful in nature, always returning to one +theme--her great love for him. He little dreamed that the calm, +stately beauty listened as one on the rack--that while he was +talking of Dora she was trying to realize the cold, dreary blank +that had suddenly fallen over her life, trying to think what the +future would be passed without him, owning to herself that for +this rash, chivalrous marriage, for his generous love, she +admired him more than ever. + +The hand that played carelessly among the wild flowers had ceased +to tremble, the proud lips had regained their color, and then +Valentine arose, as she was going out with Lady Earle after +lunch. + +A feeling of something like blank despair seized Valentine when +she thought of what she must say to her other. As she remembered +their few words the previous evening, her face flushed hotly. + +"I can never thank you enough for your kind patience," said +Ronald, as they walked back through the shady park and the bright +flower gardens. + +Valentine smiled and raised her fact to the quiet summer sky, +thinking of the hope that had been hers a few short hours before. + +"You will go at once and see your father, will you not?" she said +to Ronald, as they parted. + +"I am going now," he replied; but at that very moment Lady Earle +came up to him. + +"Ronald," she said, "come into my boudoir. Your father is there +he wants to see you before he goes to Holtham." + +Valentine went straight to her mother's room. Lady Charteris sat +waiting for her, beguiling the time with a book. She smiled as +her daughter entered. + +"I hope you have had a pleasant walk," she said; but both smile +and words died away as she saw the expression on her daughter's +face, as she bent over her mother. + +"Mamma," said Valentine, gently, "all I said to you last night +about Earlescourt was a great mistake--it will never be my home. +My vanity misled me." + +"Have you quarreled with Ronald?" asked Lady Charteris, quietly. + +"No," was the calm reply. "We are excellent friends but, mamma, +I was mistaken. He did want to tell me something, but it was of +his love for some one else--not for me." + +"He has behaved shamefully to you!" cried Lady Charteris. + +"Hush, mamma!" said Valentine. "You forget how such words +humiliate me. I have refused men of far better position that +Ronald Earle. Never let it be imagined that I have mistaken his +intentions." + +"Of course not," said her mother. "I only say it to yourself, +Valentine; he seemed unable to live out of your sight--morning, +noon, and night he was always by your side." + +"He only wanted me to be his friend," said Valentine. + +"Ah, he is selfish, like all the men!" said Lady Charteris. +"With whom has he fallen in love, my dear?" + +"Do not ask me," replied Valentine. "He is in a terrible +dilemma. Do not talk to me about it, mamma. I made a foolish +mistake, and do not wish to be reminded of it." + +Lady Charteris detected the suppressed pain in the tone of her +child's voice, and instantly formed her plans. + +"I think of returning tomorrow," she said. "Your father is +getting impatient to have us with him. He can not come to +Earlescourt himself. You say Mr. Earle is in a terrible dilemma, +Valentine. I hope there will be no scandalous expose while we +are here. I detest scenes." + +"Lord Earle is far too proud for anything of that kind," said +Valentine. "If there should be any unpleasantness, it will not +appear on the surface. Mamma, you will not mention this to me +again." + +Valentine threw off her lace shawl and pretty hat; she then took +up the book her mother had laid down. + +"My walk has tired me," she said; "the sun is very warm." + +She lay down upon the sofa and turned her face to the window, +where the roses came nodding in. + +"Stay here and read," said lady Charteris, with delicate tact. +"I am going to write my letters." + +Valentine lay still, looking at the summer beauty outside. No +one knew of the tears that gathered slowly in those proud eyes; +no one knew of the passionate weeping that could not be stilled. + +When Lady Charteris returned in two hours, Valentine had regained +her calm, and there was no trace of tears in the smiles which +welcomed her. Proudly and calmly she bore the great +disappointment of her life. She was no tragedy queen; she never +said to herself that her life was blighted or useless or +burdensome. But she did say that she would never marry until she +found some one with Ronald's simple chivalry, his loyal, true +nature, and without the weakness which had caused and would cause +so much suffering. + + +Chapter VIII + +Lady Earle's boudoir was always considered one of the prettiest +rooms at Earlescourt. Few, but rare, pictures adorned its walls. +The long French windows opened on to the prettiest part of the +gardens, where a large fountain rippled merrily in the sunshine. +Groups of flowers in rare and costly vases perfumed the room. + +Lord Earle had but drawn a pretty lounging chair to the window, +and sat there, looking happier than he had looked for months. +Lady Earle went on with her task of arranging some delicate +leaves and blossoms ready for sketching. + +"Ronald," said his father, "I have been waiting here some time. +Have you been out?" + +"I have been in the park with Miss Charteris," replied Ronald. + +Lord Earle smiled again, evidently well pleased to hear that +intelligence. + +"A pleasant and sensible method of spending your time," he +continued; "and, strange to say, it is on that very subject I +wish to speak to you. Your attentions to Miss Charteris--" + +"My attentions!" cried Ronald. "You are mistaken. I have never +paid any." + +"You need have no fear this time," said Lord Earle. "Your mother +tells me of the numerous comments made last evening on your long +tete-a-tete in the conservatory. I know some of your secrets. +There can be no doubt that Miss Charteris has a great regard for +you. I sent for you to say that, far from my again offering any +opposition to your marriage, the dearest wish of my heart will be +gratified when I call Valentine Charteris my daughter." + +He paused for a reply, but none came. Ronald's face had grown +strangely pale. + +"We never named our wish to you," continued Lord Earle, "but +years ago your mother and I hoped you would some day love Miss +Charteris. She is very beautiful; she is the truest, noblest, +the best woman I know. I am proud of your choice, Ronald--more +proud than words can express." + +Still Ronald made no reply, and Lady Earle looked up at him +quickly. + +"You need not fear for Valentine," she said. "I must not betray +any secrets; she likes you, Ronald; I will say no more. If you +ask her to be your wife, I do not think you will ask in vain." + +"There is some great mistake," said Ronald, his pale lips +quivering. "Miss Charteris has no thought for me." + +"She has no thought for any one else," rejoined Lady Earle, +quickly. + +"And I," continued Ronald, "never dreamed of making her my wife. +I do not love her. I can never marry Valentine Charteris." + +The smiles died from Lord Earle's face, and his wife dropped the +pretty blossoms she was arranging. + +"Then why have you paid the girl so much attention?" asked his +father, gravely. "Every one has remarked your manner; you never +seemed happy away from her." + +"I wished to make her my friend," said Ronald; "I never thought +of anything else." + +He stood aghast when he remembered why he had tried so hard to +win her friendship. What if Valentine misunderstood him? + +"Others thought for you," said Lady Earle, dryly. "Of course, if +I am mistaken, there is no more to be said; I merely intended to +say how happy such a marriage would make me. If you do not love +the young lady the matter ends, I suppose." + +"Can you not love her, Ronald?" asked his mother, gently. "She +is so fair and good, so well fitted to be the future mistress of +Earlescourt. Can you not love her?" + +"Nothing was further from my thoughts," he replied. + +"Surely," interrupted Lady Earle, "you have forgotten the idle, +boyish folly that angered your father some time since--that can +not be your reason?" + +"Hush, mother," said Ronald, standing erect and dauntless; "I was +coming to tell you my secret when you met me. Father, I deceived +and disobeyed you. I followed Dora Thorne to Eastham, and +married her there." + +A low cry came from Lady Earle's lips. Ronald saw his father's +face grow white--livid--with anger; but no word broke the awful +silence that fell upon them. Hours seemed to pass in the space +of a few minutes. + +"You married her," said Lord Earle, in a low, hoarse voice, +"remembering what I said?" + +"I married her," replied Ronald, "hoping you would retract hard, +cruel words that you never meant. I could not help it, father; +she has no one but me; they would have forced her to marry some +one she did not like." + +"Enough," interrupted Lord Earle. "Tell me when and where. Let +me understand whether the deed is irrevocable or not." + +Calmly, but with trembling lips, Ronald gave him every +particular. + +"Yes, the marriage is legal enough," said the master of +Earlescourt. "You had to choose between duty, honor, home, +position--and Dora Thorne. You preferred Dora; you must leave +the rest." + +"Father, you will forgive me," cried Ronald. "I am your only +son." + +"Yes," said Lord Earle, drearily, "you are my only son. Heaven +grant no other child may pierce his father's heart as you have +done mine! Years ago, Ronald, my life was blighted--my hopes, +wishes, ambitions, and plans all melted; they lived again in you. +I longed with wicked impatience for the time when you should +carry out my dreams, and add fresh luster to a grand old name. I +have lived in your life; and now, for the sake of a simple, +pretty, foolish girl, you have forsaken me--you have +deliberately trampled upon every hope that I had." + +"Let me atone for it," cried Ronald. "I never thought of these +things." + +"You can not atone," said Lord Earle, gravely. "I can never +trust you again. From this time forth I have no son. My heir +you must be when the life you have darkened ends. My son is dead +to me." + +There was no anger in the stern, grave face turned toward the +unhappy young man. + +"I never broke my word," he continued, "and never shall. You +have chosen your own path; take it. You preferred this Dora to +me; go to her. I told you if you persisted in your folly, I +would never look upon your face again, and I never will." + +"Oh, Rupert!" cried Lady Earle; "be merciful. He is my only +child. I shall die if you send him from me." + +"He preferred this Dora to you or to me," said Lord Earle. "I am +sorry for you, Helena--Heaven knows it wrings my heart--but I +shall not break my word! I will not reproach you," he continued, +turning to his son, "it would be a waste of time and words; you +knew the alternative, and are doubtless prepared for it." + +"I must bear it, father; the deed was my own," said Ronald. + +"We will end this scene," said Lord Earle, turning from his +unhappy wife, who was weeping passionately. "Look at your +mother, Ronald; kiss her for the last time and go from her; bear +with you the memory of her love and of her tenderness, and of how +you have repaid them. Take your last look at me. I have loved +you--I have been proud of you, hopeful for you; now I dismiss +you from my presence, unworthy son of a noble race. The same +roof will never shelter us again. Make what arrangements you +will. You have some little fortune; it must maintain you. I +will never contribute one farthing to the support of my lodge +keeper's daughter. Go where you like--do as you like. You have +chosen your own path. Some day you must return to Earlescourt as +its master. I thank Heaven it will be when the degradation of my +home and the dishonor of my race can not touch me. Go now; I +shall expect you to have quitted the Hall before tomorrow +morning." + +"You can not mean it, father," cried Ronald. "Send me from you +punish me--I deserve it; but let me see you again!" + +"Never in life," said Lord Earle, calmly. "Remember, when you +see me lying dead, that death itself was less bitter than the +hour in which I learned that you had deceived me." + +"Mother," cried the unhappy youth, "plead for me!" + +"It is useless," replied his father; "your choice has been made +deliberately. I am not cruel. If you write to me I shall return +your letters unopened. I shall refuse to see or hear from you, +or to allow you to come near Earlescourt; but you can write to +your mother--I do not forbid that. She can see you under any +roof save mine. Now, farewell; the sunshine, the hope, the +happiness of my life go with you, but I shall keep my word. See +my solicitor, Mr. Burt, about your money, and he will arrange +everything in my place." + +"Father," cried Ronald, with tears in his eyes, "say one kind +word, touch my hand once again!" + +"No," said Lord Earle, turning from the outstretched hand; "that +is not the hand of an honorable man; I can not hold it in my +own." + +Then Ronald bent down to kiss his mother; her face was white and +still; she was not conscious of his tears or his passionate +pleading. Lord Earle raised her face. "Go," said he, calmly; +"do not let your mother find you here when she recovers." + +He never forgot the pleading of those sorrowful eyes, the anguish +of the brave young face, as Ronald turned from him and left the +room. + +When Lady Earle awoke to consciousness of her misery, her son had +left her. No one would have called Lord Earle hard or stern who +saw him clasp his weeping wife in his arms, and console her by +every kind and tender word he could utter. + +Lord Earle did not know that in his wife's heart there was a hope +that in time he would relent. It was hard to lose her brave boy +for a few months or even years; but he would return, his father +must forgive him, her sorrow would be but for a time. But Lord +Earle, inflexible and unflinching, knew that he should never in +life see his son again. + +No one knew what Lord Earle suffered; as Valentine Charteris +said, he was too proud for scenes. He dined with Lady Charteris +and her daughter, excusing his wife, and never naming his son. +After dinner he shut himself in his own room, and suffered his +agony along. + + * * * * * * * * * * * * + +Earlescourt was full of bustle and activity. The young heir was +leaving suddenly; boxes and trunks had to be packed. He did not +say where he was going; indeed those who helped him said +afterward that his face was fixed and pale, and that he moved +about like one in a dream. + +Everything was arranged for Ronald's departure by the night mail +from Greenfield, the nearest station to Earlescourt. He took +with him neither horses nor servants; even his valet, Morton, was +left behind. "My lady" was ill, and shut up in her room all day. + +Valentine Charteris sat alone in the drawing room when Ronald +came in to bid her farewell. She was amazed at the unhappy +termination of the interview. She would have gone instantly to +Lord Earle, but Ronald told her it was useless--no prayers, no +pleadings could change his determination. + +As Ronald stood here, looking into Valentine's beautiful face, he +remembered his mother's words, that she cared for him as she +cared for no other. Could it be possible that this magnificent +girl, with her serene, queenly dignity, loved him? She looked +distressed by his sorrow. When he spoke of his mother, and she +saw the quivering lips he vainly tried to still, tears filled her +eyes. + +"Where shall you go," she asked, "and what shall you do?" + +"I shall go to my wife at once," he replied, "and take her +abroad. Do not look so pained and grieved for me, Miss Charteris +I must do the best I can. If my income will not support me, I +must work; a few months' study will make me a tolerable artist. +Do not forget my mother, Valentine, and bid me 'Godspeed.'" + +Her heart yearned for him--so young, so simple, so brave. She +longed to tell him how much she admired him--how she wanted to +help him, and would be his friend while she lived. But Miss +Charteris rarely yielded to any emotion; she had laid her hand in +his and said: + +"Goodbye, Ronald--God bless you! Be brave; it is not one great +deed that makes a hero. The man who bears trouble well is the +greatest hero of all." + +As he left his home in that quiet starlit night, Ronald little +thought that, while his mother lay weeping as though her heart +would break, a beautiful face, wet with bitter tears, watched him +from one of the upper windows, and his father, shut up alone, +listened to every sound, and heard the door closed behind his son +as he would have heard his own death knell. + +The next day Lady Charteris and her daughter left Earlescourt. +Lord Earle gave no sign of the heavy blow which had struck him. +He was their attentive host while they remained; he escorted them +to their carriage, and parted from them with smiling words. Then +he went back to the house, where he was never more to hear the +sound of the voice he loved best on earth. + +As the days and months passed, and the young heir did not return, +wonder and surprise reigned at Earlescourt. Lord Earle never +mentioned his son's name. People said he had gone abroad, and +was living somewhere in Italy. To Lord Earl it seemed that his +life was ended; he had no further plans, ambition died away; the +grand purpose of his life would never be fulfilled. + +Lady Earle said nothing of the trouble that had fallen upon her. +She hoped against hope that the time would come when her husband +would pardon their only son. Valentine Charteris bore her +disappointment well. She never forgot the simple, chivalrous man +who had clung to her friendship and relied so vainly upon her +influence. + +Many lovers sighed round Valentine. One after another she +dismissed them. She was waiting until she saw some one like +Ronald Earle--like him in all things save the weakness which had +so fatally shadowed his life. + + +Chapter IX + +In a small, pretty villa, on the banks of the Arno, Ronald Earle +established himself with his young wife. He had gone direct to +Eastham, after leaving Earlescourt, his heart aching with sorrow +for home and all that he had left there, and beating high with +joy at the thought that now nothing stood between him and Dora. +He told her of the quarrel--of his father's stern words--and +Dora, as he had foreseen clung round his neck and wept. + +She would love him all the more, she said. She must love him +enough to make up for home and every one else. + +Yet, strange to say, when Ronald told his pretty, weeping wife +all that happened, he made no mention of Valentine Charteris--he +did not even utter her name. + +Ronald's arrangements were soon made. He sent for Stephen Thorne +and his wife, and told them how and when he had married Dora. + +"I am sorry for it," said Stephen. "No good will ever come of +such an unequal match. My girl had better have stayed at home, +or married the young farmer who loved her. The distance between +you is too great, Mr. Earle, and I fear me you will find it out." + +Ronald laughed at the idea that he should ever tire of Dora. How +little these prosaic, commonplace people knew of love! + +The good lodge keeper and his wife parted from Dora with many +tears. She was never to brighten their home again with her sweet +face and gay voice. She was going away to strange lands over the +sea. Many dark forebodings haunted them; but it was too late for +advice and interference now. + +The first news that came to the villa on the banks of the Arno +was that Stephen Thorne and his wife had left the lodge and taken +a small farm somewhere in the county of Kent. Lady Earle had +found them the means, and they had left without one word from +Lord Earle. He never asked whither they had gone. + +Despite his father's anger and his mother's sorrow, despite his +poverty and loss of position, Ronald for some months was very +happy with his young wife. It was so pleasant to teach Dora, to +watch her sweet, dimpled face and the dark eyes grow large with +wonder; to hear her simple, naive remarks, her original ideas; to +see her pretty, artless ways; above all, it was pleasant to be so +dearly loved. + +He often thought that there never had been, never could be, a +wife so loving as Dora. He could not teach her much, although he +tried hard. She sang simple little ballads sweetly and clearly; +but although master after master tried his best, she could never +be taught to play--not even as much as the easy accompaniments +of her own songs. Ronald hoped that with time and attention she +would be able to sketch, but Dora never managed it. Obediently +enough she took pencil and paper in her hands and tried, but the +strokes would never come straight. Sometimes the drawing she +made would resemble something so comical that both she and Ronald +laughed heartily; while the consciousness of her own inferiority +grieved her, and large, bright tears would frequently fall upon +the paper. Then Ronald would take the pencils away, and Dora +would cling around his neck and ask him if he would not have been +happier with a cleverer wife. + +"No, a thousand times, no," he would say; he loved Dora better in +her artless simplicity than he could have loved the cleverest +woman in the world. + +"And you are quite sure," said Dora, "that you will never repent +marrying me?" + +"No, again," was the reply. "You are the crowning joy of my +life." + +It was pleasant to sit amid the oleanders and myrtles, reading +the great poems of the world to Dora. Even if she did not +understand them, her face lighted with pleasure as the grand +words came from Ronald's lips. It was pleasant, too, to sit on +the banks of the Arno, watching the blue waters gleaming in the +sun. Dora was at home there. She would say little of books, of +pictures, or music; but she could talk of beautiful Nature, and +never tire. She knew the changing colors of the sky, the varied +hues of the waves, the different voices of the wind, the songs of +the birds. All these had a separate and distinct meaning for +her. + +Ronald could not teach her much more. She liked the beautiful +poems he read, but never could remember who had written them. +She forgot the names of great authors, or mixed them up so +terribly that Ronald, in despair, told her it would be better not +to talk of books just yet--not until she was more familiar with +them. + +But he soon found out that Dora could not read for many minutes +together. She would open her book, and make a desperate attempt; +then her dark eyes would wander away to the distant mountains, or +to the glistening river. She could never read while the sun +shone or the birds sang. + +Seeing that, Ronald gave up all attempts at literature in the +daytime; when the lamps were lighted in the evening, and the fair +face of Nature was shut out, he tried again, and succeeded for +ten minutes; then Dora's eyes drooped, the white lids with their +jetty fringe closed; and with great dismay he found that over the +masterpieces of the world Dora had fallen asleep. + +Two long, bright years had passed away before Ronald began to +perceive that he could educate his pretty young wife no further. +She was a strange mixture of ignorance and uncultivated poetry. +She could speak well; her voice was sweet, her accent, caught +from him, good; alone he never noticed any deficiencies, but if +he met an English friend in Florence and brought him home to +dine, then Ronald began to wish that Dora would leave off +blushing and grow less shy, that she could talk a little more, +and that he might lose all fear of her making some terrible +blunder. + +The third year of their married life dawned; Dora was just +twenty, and Ronald twenty-three. There had been no rejoicing +when he had attained his majority; it passed over unnoticed and +unmarked. News came to them from England, letters from the +little farm in Kent, telling of simple home intelligence, and +letters from Lady Earle, always sad and stained with tears. She +had no good news to tell them. Lord Earle was well, but he would +never allow his son's name to be mentioned before him, and she +longed to see her son. In all her letters Lady Earle said: "Give +my love to Dora." + +In this, the third year of his married life, Ronald began to feel +the pressure of poverty. His income was not more than three +hundred a year. To Dora this seemed boundless riches; but the +heir of Earlescourt had spent more in dress and cigars. Now +debts began to press upon him, writing home he knew was useless. +He would not ask Lady Earle, although he knew that she would have +parted with the last jewel in her case for him. + +Ronald gave himself up to the study of painting. A pretty little +studio was built, and Dora spent long hours in admiring both her +husband and his work. He gave promise of being some day a good +artist--not a genius. The world would never rave about his +pictures; but, in time, he would be a conscientious, painstaking +artist. Among his small coterie of friends some approved, others +laughed. + +"Why not go to the Jews?" asked fashionable young men. +"Earlescourt must be yours some day. You can borrow money if you +like." + +Ronald steadily refused to entertain the idea. He wondered at +modern ideas of honor--that men saw no shame in borrowing upon +the lives of their nearest and dearest, yet thought it a disgrace +to be a follower of one of the grandest of arts. He made one +compromise--that was for his father's sake. As an artist, he +was known by Dora's name of Thorne, and, before long, Ronald +Thorne's pictures were in great request. There was no dash of +genius about them; but they were careful studies. Some few were +sold, and the price realized proved no unwelcome addition to a +small income. + +Ronald became known in Florence. People who had not thought much +of Mr. Earle were eager to know the clever artist and his pretty, +shy wife. Then the trial of Ronald Earle began in earnest. Had +he lived always away from the world, out of society, the chances +are that his fate would have been different; but invitations +began to pour in upon him and Dora, and Ronald, half tired of his +solitude, although he never suspected it, accepted them eagerly. + +Dora did not like the change; she felt lonely and lost where +Ronald was so popular and so much at home. + +Among those who eagerly sought Ronald's society was the pretty +coquette, the Countess Rosali, an English lady who had married +the Count Rosali, a Florentine noble of great wealth. + +No one in Florence was half so popular as the fair countess. +Among the dark, glowing beauties of sunny Italy she was like a +bright sunbeam. Her fair, piquant face was charming from its +delicate bright coloring and gay smiles; her hair, of the rare +color painted by the old masters, yet so seldom seen, was of pure +golden hue, looking always as though the sun shone upon it. + +Countess Rosali, there was no denying the fact, certainly did +enjoy a little flirtation. Her grave, serious husband knew it, +and looked on quite calmly. To his grave mind the pretty +countess resembled a butterfly far more than a rational being. +He knew that, though she might laugh and talk to others, though +she might seek admiration and enjoy delicate flattery, yet in her +heart she was true as steel. She loved bright colors, and +everything else that was gay and brilliant. She had gathered the +roses; perhaps some one else had her share of thorns. + +The fair, dainty lady had a great desire to see Mr. Thorne. She +had seen one of his pictures at the house of one of her friends +a simple little thing, but it had charmed her. It was merely a +bouquet of English wild flowers; but then they were so naturally +painted! The bluebells looked as though they had just been +gathered. One almost fancied dew drops on the delicate wild +roses; a spray of pink hawthorn, daisies and golden buttercups +mingled with woodbine and meadow-sweet, told sweet stories of the +English meadows. + +"Whoever painted that," said the fair countess, "loves flowers, +and knows what English flowers mean." + +The countess did not rest until Ronald had been introduced to +her, and then she would know his wife. Her grave, silent husband +smiled at her evident admiration of the handsome young +Englishman. She liked his clear, Saxon face and fair hair; she +liked his simple, kindly manner, so full of chivalry and truth. +She liked pretty Dora, too; but there were times when the dainty, +fastidious countess looked at the young wife in wonder, for, as +she said one evening to her husband: + +"There is something in Mrs. Thorne that puzzles me--she does not +always speak or look like a lady--" + +Few days passed without bringing Ronald and Dora to the Villa +Rosali. It would have been better for Ronald had he never left +his pretty home on the banks of the Arno. + + +Chapter X + +Going into society increased the expenses which Ronald and his +wife found already heavy enough. There were times when the money +received from the sale of his pictures failed in liquidating +bills; then Ronald grew anxious, and Dora, not knowing what +better to do, wept and blamed herself for all the trouble. It +was a relief then to leave the home over which the clouds lowered +and seek the gay villa, where something pleasant and amusing was +always going on. + +The countess gathered around her the elite of Florentine society; +she selected her friends and acquaintances as carefully as she +selected her dresses, jewels, and flowers. She refused to know +"bores" and "nobodies"; her lady friends must be pretty, piquant, +or fashionable, any gentleman admitted into her charmed circle +must have genius, wit, or talent to recommend him. Though grave +matrons shook their heads and looked prudish when the Countess +Rosali was mentioned, yet to belong to her set was to receive the +"stamp of fashion." No day passed without some amusement at the +villa--picnic, excursion, soiree, dance, or, what its fair +mistress preferred, private theatricals and charades. + +"Help me," she said one morning, as Ronald and Dora, in +compliance with her urgent invitation, came to spend the day at +the villa--"help me; I want to do something that will surprise +every one. There are some great English people coming to +Florence--one of your heiresses, who is at the same time a +beauty. We must have some grand charades or tableaus. What +would you advise? Think of something original that will take +Florence by surprise." + +"Wishing any one to be original," said Ronald, smiling at her +quick, eager ways, "immediately deprives one of all thought. I +must have time; it seems to me you have exhausted every subject." + +"An artist has never-failing resources," she replied; "when every +'fount of inspiration' is closed it will be time to tell me there +are no ideas. You must have seen many charades, Mrs. Thorne," +she said, turning suddenly to Dora; "they are very popular in +England. Tell me of some." + +Dora blushed. She thought of the lodge and its one small parlor, +and then felt wretched and uncomfortable, out of place, and +unhappy. + +"I have never seen any charades," she said, stiffly, and with +crimson cheeks. + +The countess opened her blue eyes in surprise, and Ronald looked +anxiously from one to the other. + +"My wife was too young when we were married to have seen much of +the world," he said, inwardly hoping that the tears he saw +gathering in Dora's dark eyes would not fall. + +"Ah, then, she will be of no use in our council," replied the +countess, quickly. "Let us go out on the terrace; there is +always inspiration under an Italian sky." + +She led the way to a pretty veranda on the terrace, and they sat +under the shade of a large spreading vine. + +"Now we can discuss my difficulty in peace," said the lady, in +her pretty, imperious way. "I will, with your permission, tell +you some of my ideas." + +The countess was not particularly gifted, but Ronald was charmed +by the series of pictures she placed before him, all well chosen, +with startling points of interest, scenes from noble poems, +pictures from fine old tragedies. She never paused or seemed +tired, while Dora sat, her face still flushed, looking more +awkward and ill at ease than Ronald had ever seen her. For the +first time, as they sat under the vine that morning, Ronald +contrasted his wife with his dainty, brilliant hostess, and felt +that she lost by the contrast--"awkward and ill at ease," self- +conscious to a miserable degree. For the first time Ronald felt +slightly ashamed of Dora, and wished that she knew more, and +could take some part in the conversation. Dimples and smiles, +curling rings of dark hair, and pretty rosebud lips were, he +thought, all very well, but a man grew tired of them in time, +unless there was something to keep up the charm. But poor little +Dora had no resources beyond her smiles and tears. She sat +shrinking and timid, half frightened at the bright lady who knew +so much and told it so well; feeling her heart cold with its +first dread that Ronald was not pleased with her. Her eyes +wandered to the far-off hills. Ah! Could it be that he would +ever tire of her and wished that he had married some one like +himself. The very thought pierced her heart, and the timid young +wife sat with a sorrowful look upon her face that took away all +its simple beauty. + +"I will show you a sketch of the costume," said the countess; "it +is in my desk. Pray excuse me." + +She was gone in an instant, and Dora was alone with her husband. + +"For Heaven's sake, Dora," he said, quickly, "do look a little +brighter; what will the countess think of you? You look like a +frightened school girl." + +It was an injudicious speech. If Ronald had only caressed her, +all would have been sunshine again; as it was, the first +impatient words she had ever heard from him smote her with a new, +strange pain, and the tears overflowed. + +"Do not--pray--never do that," said Ronald; "we shall be the +laughing stock of all Florence. Well-bred people never give way +to emotion." + +"Here is the sketch," said the countess, holding a small drawing +in her hand. Her quick glance took in Dora's tears and the +disturbed expression of Ronald's face. + +With kind and graceful tact the countess gave Dora time to +recover herself; but that was the last time she ever invited the +young artist and his wife alone. Countess Rosali had a great +dread of all domestic scenes. + +Neither Dora nor Ronald ever alluded again to this little +incident; it had one bad effect--it frightened the timid young +wife, and made her dread going into society. When invitations to +grand houses came, she would say, "Go alone, Ronald; if I am with +you they are sure to ask me ever so many questions which I can +not answer; then you will be vexed with me, and I shall be +ashamed of my ignorance." + +"Why do you not learn?" Ronald would ask, disarmed by her sweet +humility. + +"I can not," said Dora, shaking her pretty head. "The only +lesson I ever learned in my life was how to love you." + +"You have learned that by heart," replied Ronald. Then he would +kiss her pitiful little face and go without her. + +By slow degrees it became a settled rule that Dora should stay at +home and Ronald go out. He had no scruples in leaving her--she +never objected; her face was always smiling and bright when he +went away, and the same when he returned. He said to himself +that Dora was happier at home than elsewhere, that fine ladies +frightened her and made her unhappy. + +Their ways in life, now became separate and distinct, Ronald +going more than ever into society, Dora clinging more to the safe +shelter of home. + +But society was expensive in two ways--not only from the outlay +in dress and other necessaries, but in the time taken from work. +There were many days when Ronald never went near his studio, and +only returned home late in the evening to leave early in the +morning. He was only human, this young hero who had sacrificed +so much for love; and there were times, after some brilliant fete +or soiree, when the remembrance of home, Dora, hard work, narrow +means, would come to him like a heavy weight or the shadow of a +dark cloud. + +Not that he loved her less--pretty, tender Dora; but there was +not one feeling or taste in common between them. Harder men +would have tired of her long before. They never cared to speak +much of home, for Dora noticed that Ronald was always sad after a +letter from Lady Earle. The time came when she hesitated to +speak of her own parents, lest he should remember much that she +would have liked him to forget. + +If any true friend had stepped in then, and warned them, life +would have been a different story for Ronald Earle and his wife. + +Ronald's story became known in Florence. He was the son of a +wealthy English peer, who had offended his father by a "low" +marriage; in time he would succeed to the title. Hospitalities +were lavished upon him, the best houses in Florence were thrown +open to him, and he was eagerly welcomed there. When people met +him continually unaccompanied by his young wife they smiled +significantly, and bright eyes grew soft with pity. Poor, pretty +Dora! + +Ronald never knew how the long hours of his absence were spent by +Dora. She never looked sad or weary to him, he never saw any +traces of tears, yet Dora shed many. Through the long sunny +hours and far into the night she sat alone, thinking of the home +she had left in far-off England--where she had been loved and +worshiped by her rough, homely, honest father and a loving +mother; thinking too, of Ralph, and his pretty, quiet homestead +in the green fields, where she would have been honored as its +mistress, where no fine ladies would have vexed her with +questions, and no one would have thought her ignorant or awkward; +thinking of all these things, yet loving Ronald none the less, +except that a certain kind of fear began to mingle with her love. + +Gradually, slowly, but surely, the fascination of the gay and +brilliant society in which Ronald was so eagerly courted laid +hold of him. He did not sin willfully or consciously; little by +little a distaste for his own home and a weariness of Dora's +society overcame him. He was never unkind to her, for Ronald was +a gentleman; but he lingered no more through the long sunny +morning by her side. He gave up all attempts to educate her. He +ceased to tease her about books; he never offered to read to her; +and pretty, simple Dora, taught by the keen instinct of love, +noted it all. + +Ronald saw some little change in her. The dimples and smiles had +almost vanished from her face. He seldom heard the laugh that +had once been so sweet to him. There was retiring grace in her +manner that suited her well. He thought she was catching the +"tone of good society," and liked the change. + +Some natures become ennobled under the pressure of adversity; but +limited means and petty money cares had no good effect upon +Ronald Earle. He fretted under them. He could do nothing as +other people did. He could not purchase a magnificent bouquet +for the countess; his means would not permit it. He could not +afford a horse such as all his gentlemen friends rode. Adversity +developed no good qualities in him; the discipline was harder and +sterner still that made of him a true man at last. + +Ronald went on with his painting fitfully, sometimes producing a +good picture, but often failing. + +The greatest patron of the fine arts in Florence was the Prince +di Borgezi. His magnificent palace was like one picture gallery. +He saw some sketches of Ronald's, and gave an order to him to +paint a large picture, leaving him to choose the subject. In +vain by night and by day did Ronald ponder on what that subject +should be. He longed to make his name immortal by it. He +thought once of Tennyson's "Dora," and of sketching his wife for +the principal figure. He did make a sketch, but he found that he +could not paint Dora's face; he could not place the dimpling +smiles and bright blushes on canvas, and they were the chief +charm. He therefore abandoned the idea. + +Standing one day where the sunbeams fell lightly through the +thick myrtles, an inspiration came to him. He would paint a +picture of Queen Guinevere in her gay sweet youth and bright +innocent beauty--Guinevere with her lovely face and golden hair, +the white plumes waving and jewels flashing; the bright figure on +the milk-white palfrey shining in the mellow sunlight that came +through the green trees. + +Lancelot should ride by her side; he could see every detail of +the picture; he knew just the noble, brave, tender face Sir +Lancelot should have; but where could he find a model for +Guinevere? Where was there a face that would realize his artist +dreams of her? The painting was half completed before he thought +of Valentine Charteris and her magnificent blonde beauty--the +very ideal of Queen Guinevere. + +With renewed energy Ronald set to work. Every feature of that +perfect face was engraved upon his mind. He made sketch after +sketch, until, in its serene, sweet loveliness, Valentine's face +smiled upon him. + + +Chapter XI + +"Queen Guinevere" was a success far beyond Ronald's dearest +hopes. Artists and amateurs, connoisseurs of all ranks and +degrees were delighted with it. The great charm of the picture +was the lovely young face. "Whom was it like? Where had he +found his model?" "Was ever any woman so perfectly beautiful?:" +Such were the questions that people never seemed tired of +repeating. + +The picture was hung in the gallery of the palace, and the Prince +di Borgezi became one of Ronald's best patrons. + +The prince gave a grand ball in honor of a beautiful English +lady, who, with her family, had just arrived in Florence. +Countess Rosali raved about her, wisely making a friend where any +one else would have feared a rival. + +Ronald had contrived an invitation, but was prevented from +attending. All the elite of Florence were there, and great was +the excitement when Countess Rosali entered the ball room with an +exceedingly beautiful woman--a queenly blonde--the lady about +whom all Florence was interested--an English heiress, clever as +she was fair, speaking French with a courtly grace and Italian +with fluent skill; and when the prince stood before her he +recognized in one moment the original of his famous "Guinevere." + +The countess was in danger--a fairer, brighter star had arisen. +Valentine Charteris was the belle of the most brilliant hall ever +given in Florence. + +When the prince had received his guest, and danced once with Miss +Charteris, he asked her if she would like to see his celebrated +picture, the "Guinevere," whose fame was spreading fast. + +"Nothing," she said, "would please her better;" and as the +Countess Rosali stood near, the prince included her in the +invitation. + +"Certainly; I never tire of the 'Guinevere,' never weary of the +artist's triumph, for he is one of the most valued of my +friends." + +Prince di Borgesi smiled, thinking how much of the fair +coquette's admiration went to the artist's talent, and how much +to his handsome face. + +They entered the long gallery, where some of the finest pictures +in Italy were hung. The prince led the ladies to the southern +end. Valentine saw before her a magnificent painting--tall +forest trees, whose thick branches were interwoven, every green +leaf distinct and clear; she saw the mellow light that fell +through them, the milk-white palfrey and the jeweled harness, the +handsome knight who rode near; and then she saw her own face, +bright, smiling, glowing with beauty, bright in innocence, sweet +in purity. Valentine stared in astonishment, and her companion +smiled. + +"There can be no doubt about the resemblance," said the countess. +"The artist has made you Queen Guinevere, Miss Charteris." + +"Yes," said Valentine, wonderingly; "it is my own face. How came +it there? Who is the artist?" + +"His name is Ronald Thorne," replied the countess. "There is +quite a romance about him." + +The countess saw Miss Charteris grow pale and silent. + +"Have you ever seen him?" inquired the countess. "Do you know +him?" + +"Yes," said Valentine, "my family and his have been on intimate +terms for years. I knew that he was in Italy with his wife." + +"Ah," rejoined the countess, eagerly, "then perhaps you know all +about his marriage? Who was Mrs. Thorne? Why did he quarrel +with his father? Do tell us, Miss Charteris." + +"Nay," said Valentine; "if Mrs. Thorne has any secrets, I shall +not reveal them. I must tell mamma they are in Florence. We +must call and see them." + +"I was fond of Mrs. Thorne once," said the countess, plaintively, +"but really there is nothing in her." + +"There must be something both estimable and lovable," replied +Valentine quickly, "or Mr. Thorne would never have married her." + +Prince di Borgesi smiled approval of the young lady's reply. + +"You admire my picture, Miss Charteris?" he asked. + +"The more so because it is the work of an old friend," said +Valentine; and again the prince admired the grace of her words. + +"Any other woman in her place," he thought, "would have blushed +and coquetted. How charming she is!" + +From that moment Prince di Borgezi resolved to win Valentine if +he could. + +Lady Charteris was half pleased, half sorry, to hear that Ronald +was in Florence. No one deplored his rash, foolish marriage more +than she did. She thought Lord Earle stern and cruel; she pitied +the young man she had once liked so well, yet for all that she +did not feel inclined to renew the acquaintance. When Valentine +asked her to drive next morning to the little villa on the banks +of the Arno, she at first half declined. + +"I promised to be Ronald's friend years ago," said Valentine, +calmly; "and now, mamma, you must allow me to keep my word. We +must visit his wife, and pay her every attention. To refuse +would imply a doubt of me, and that I could not endure." + +"You shall do as you like, my dear," replied Lady Charteris; "the +young man's mother is my dearest friend, and for her sake we will +be kind to him." + + * * * * * * * * * * * * + +It was one of those Italian mornings when the fair face of Nature +seemed bathed in beauty. The air was full of the music of birds; +the waters of the Arno rolled languidly on; oleanders and myrtles +were in full bloom; birds sang as they sing only under the blue +sky of Italy. + +It was not yet noon when Lady Charteris and her daughter reached +the little villa. Before they came to the house, Valentine +caught one glimpse of a pretty, pale face with large dark eyes. +Could that be pretty, smiling Dora? There were the shining rings +of dark hair; but where were the smiles Ronald had described? +That was not a happy face. Care and sorrow were in every line of +it. + +They were told that Mr. Thorne was in his studio, and would see +them there. They had sent no card, and Ronald believed the "two +ladies" to have called on some business connected with pictures. +He started with surprise when Lady Charteris and Valentine +entered. There were a few words of confused greeting, a hurried +explanation of the circumstances that led Sir Hugh to Florence; +and then Valentine looked long and steadily at the only man she +had ever cared for. He was altered; the frank, handsome face +looked worn and thin; it had a restless expression. He did not +look like a man who had found peace. Lady Charteris told him of +her last visit to Earlescourt--how his mother never ceased +speaking of him, and his father still preserved the same rigid, +unbending silence. + +"I have seen your picture," said Lady Charteris. "How well you +remembered my daughter's face." + +"It is one not easily forgotten," he replied; and then another +deep silence fell upon him. + +"Where is Mrs. Earle?" asked Valentine. "Our visit is chiefly to +her. Pray introduce her to mamma. I know her already by +description." + +"I left my wife in the garden," said Ronald; "shall we join her +there?" + +They followed him into the pretty sunlit garden, where Valentine +had seen the pale, sad face. + +"My wife is timid," said Ronald, "always nervous with strangers." + +Dora was sitting under the shade of a large flowering tree, her +hands folded, and her eyes riveted on the distant hills; there +was something in her listless manner that touched both ladies +more than any words could have done. A deep flush crimsoned her +face when Ronald and his guests stood before her. She rose, not +ungracefully; her eyelids drooped in their old shy manner. As +Ronald introduced his wife, something in the girl's wistful face +went straight to Lady Charteris's heart. She spoke not a word, +but folded Dora in her arms and kissed her as her own mother +might have done. + +"You must learn to love us," said Valentine; "we are your +husband's dearest friends." + +Poor Dora had no graceful words ready; her heart was full of +gratitude, but she knew not how to express it. Ronald looked at +her anxiously, and she caught his glance. + +"Now," thought Dora, "he will not be pleased." She tried to say +something of her pleasure in seeing them, but the words were so +stiff and ungracious that Ronald hastened to interrupt them. + +A luncheon of fruit and wine was brought out into the garden, and +they talked merrily--of Earlescourt and the dear old friends +there; of the ball and Prince di Borgesi; in all of which Dora +felt that she had no share. + +Who was this beautiful lady, with her fair face and golden hair? + +The same face she saw that Ronald had painted in his picture, and +every one admired. How graceful she was! How she talked! The +words seemed to ripple like music over her perfect lips. Where +had Ronald known her? Why had he never told her of Miss +Charteris? + +"Ah!" thought Dora, "if I could be like her!" And a sudden sense +of wonder struck her that Ronald had not loved and married this +fair and gracious lady. + +Valentine neither forgot nor neglected her. She tried to draw +her into their conversation, but Dora replied so uneasily and so +briefly to all her remarks that she saw the truest kindness was +to leave her alone. + +They spent a few hours pleasantly, and Lady Charteris would not +leave until Ronald promised to take his wife to spend a long day +with them. + +"I can hardly promise for Dora," said Ronald, kindly; "she seldom +leaves home." + +"Mrs. Earle will not refuse me," said Valentine, with that smile +which no one ever resisted. "She will come with you, and we will +make her happy." + +When the day was settled, the ladies drove away, and Ronald +watched the carriage until it was out of sight. + +"My dear Valentine," cried Lady Charteris when they were out of +hearing, "my dear child, what could possess Ronald Earle? What +could he see in that shy, awkward girl to induce him to give up +everything and go into exile for her sake? She is not even +pretty." + +"She is altered, mamma," began Valentine. + +"Altered!" interrupted Lady Charteris. "I should imagine she is, +and unhappy, too. She is frightened to speak--she has no style, +no manner, no dignity. He must have been insane." + +"I am quite sure he loved her," said Valentine, warmly, "and +loves her now." + +"That is just the mystery," replied her mother--"a clever man +like he is, accustomed to intelligent and beautiful women. I +shall never understand it." + +"Do not try," said Valentine, calmly. "She is evidently nervous +and sensitive. I mean to be a true friend to Ronald, mamma; I +shall try to train and form his wife." + +Poor Dora! She was already trained and formed, but no one would +understand that. People do not expect the perfume of the rose in +a wild strawberry blossom, or the fragrance of the heliotrope in +a common bluebell. Yet they wondered that in this simple girl, +ignorant of the world and it ways, they did not find a cultivated +mind, a graceful manner, and a dignified carriage. Their only +thought was to train and form her, whereas Nature and not Art had +done both. + +"Dora," said Ronald, as the carriage disappeared from view, "try +to like Lady Charteris and her daughter; they are so kindly +disposed toward you. I shall be so pleased to see you good +friends" + +"I will try," she replied, cheerfully. "How beautiful she is, +Ronald! Tell me about her. You remember her face exactly; +should you remember mine as well?" + +It was the first touch of jealousy stirring in the simple, loving +heart. + +"Far better," said Ronald, with a smile; and then he looked up in +alarm, for Dora was weeping wildly, and clinging to him. + +"Oh, Ronald!" she said, "for your sake I wish I was like her. +Shall you ever tire of me, or wish you had not married me?" + +Ronald soothed and comforted his wife, and did not return to his +studio that day, but sat talking to her, telling her how noble +and good Valentine Charteris was. + + +Chapter XII + +It is very seldom that a man of good disposition goes wrong +willfully. Ronald Earle would have felt indignant if any one had +accused him of dishonor or even neglect. He thought Dora enjoyed +herself more at home than in society, consequently he left her +there. Habits soon grow. The time came when he thought it was +the wiser course. He felt more at ease without her. If Dora by +chance accompanied him, he watched her anxiously, fearful lest +others should discover and comment upon the little deficiencies +she felt so acutely. + +The visit to Lady Charteris was duly paid--a day that Ronald +enjoyed, and Dora thought would never end. She could not feel at +home with these fine ladies, although Lady Charteris was kind to +her and Valentine laid herself out to please; not even when +Valentine, pitying her shy, timid manner and evident constraint, +took her out into the garden and tried hard to win her +confidence. Dora's heart seemed to close against the beautiful, +brilliant lady who knew her husband and all his friends so well. +A fierce, hot breath of jealousy stirred the simple nature. +Ronald talked to Miss Charteris of things all unknown to her; +they seemed to have the same thoughts and feelings, while she was +outside the charmed circle, and could never enter it. She +watched the growing admiration on Ronald's face when Valentine +played and sang, and her restless heart grew weary and faint. +She had never felt jealous before. When Countess Rosali talked +and laughed with her husband, treating him sometimes as a captive +and again as a victor, Dora never cared; but every smile on this +woman's fair face pained her--she hardly knew why. + +When Miss Charteris, under pretense of showing her favorite +flower, took Dora away from the others, and condescended to her +as she had never done to any other, actually caressing the +anxious little face and herself offering to be Mrs. Earle's true +friend, Dora's heart closed against her. She only replied by +faint monosyllables, and never raised her dark eyes to the face +turned so kindly upon her. + +When Ronald had taken his young wife away, Lady Charteris sat +with her daughter in an unbroken silence. + +"Poor boy!" said the other lady at length, "and poor Dora! This +is one more added to the list of unhappy marriages. How will it +end?" + +As she watched the sun set in the golden west, Valentine asked +herself the same question: "How will it end?" + +If any one had told Dora she was jealous, she would have denied +it indignantly, although Valentine was seldom out of her mind. + +From pure kindness Lady Charteris wished Ronald to paint her +daughter's portrait; it was to be a large picture they could take +back to Greenoke. He was pleased with the commission, and began +to work at it eagerly. Lady Charteris came with Valentine, and +remained with her during the long sittings, doing everything in +her power to please and win the artist's timid wife. + +The fair face, in its calm, Grecian beauty, grew upon the canvas. +Many a long hour, when Ronald was absent, Dora lingered over it. +The portrait had a strange fascination for her. She dwelt upon +every feature until, if the lips had opened and smiled a mocking +smile at her, she would not have felt greatly surprised. It was +less a picture to her than a living, breathing reality. She +would watch Ronald as he worked at it, eager and enthusiastic; +then, looking up and finding her dark eyes riveted upon him with +so strange an expression, he would call her to see what progress +he had made; and, never dreaming of the growing jealousy in +Dora's heart, speak with an artist's delight of the peerless +features. + +Without any great or sudden change, day by day Dora grew more +silent and reserved. She was learning to hide her thoughts, to +keep her little troubles in her own heart and ponder them. The +time was past when she would throw herself into Ronald's arms and +weep out her sorrows there. + +Ronald did not notice the change. Home seemed very dull. It was +a great pleasure to leave the solitary little villa and sit in +the brilliant salon of Lady Charteris's well-appointed home. It +was pleasant to exchange dull monotony for sparkling conversation +and gay society. + +Valentine had many admirers. Every one knew the Prince di +Borgesi would gladly have laid his fortune and title at her feet; +but she cared for neither. Ronald often watched her as noble and +learned men offered their homage to her. She smiled brightly, +spoke well and gracefully; but he never saw in her face the look +he once remembered there. Lady Charteris deplored her daughter's +obstinacy. She took Ronald into her confidence, and confided to +him her annoyance when one suitor after another was dismissed. + +Ronald was not particularly vain. Like most men, he had a +pleasing consciousness of his own worth; but he could not help +remembering his mother's assurance that Valentine cared for him. +Could it have been true? Was there ever a time when that +beautiful girl, so indifferent to all homage, cared for him? +Could there have been a time when the prize for which others +sighed in vain was within his grasp and he slighted it? + +He did not dwell upon these thoughts, but they would come into +his mind. It was seldom that a day passed without his calling at +the pretty home where Lady Charteris always welcomed him kindly. +She was sorry for him. He was never de trop with her. +Occasionally, too, she drove out to see his wife; but the visits +were rather of duty than of pleasure. + +Then Dora's health failed. She grew weak and languid--irritable +at times--as unlike the smiling, blushing girl Ronald had met at +Earlescourt gardens as it was possible for her to be. He wrote +to tell his mother that at length there was hope of an heir to +their ancient house. He was very kind and patient to his ailing, +delicate wife, giving up parties and soirees to sit with her, but +never able to guess why Dora's dark eyes looked so strangely upon +him. + +Lady Charteris had planned an excursion to some picturesque ruin +that had pleased her daughter, who wished to make a sketch of it. +Ronald was asked to join them, and he had been looking forward +for many days to a few pleasant hours away from all care and +anxiety--out in the beautiful country with Valentine. But when +the morning came Dora looked pale and ill. She did not ask him +to stay with her, but he read the wish in her face. + +"I will not go, Dora," said her husband; "I will not leave you. +I shall send a note of excuse to Lady Charteris, and take care of +you all day." + +"Is Miss Charteris going?" she asked, quietly. + +"Yes, and several others," he replied. + +"Then never mind me," said Dora; "do not give up a day's pleasure +for me." + +Ronald might have guessed there was something wrong from the tone +of her voice, but Ronald was not of a suspicious nature. + +"Now, Dora," he said, gently, "you know I would give up every +pleasure in the world for you." + +He bent over her, and kissed her pale little face. Time had been +when the simple heart would have thrilled with happiness at his +words; but Dora grew cold and hard. + +"It used to be always so," she thought, "before she came with her +beauty and took him from me." + +How much misery would have been averted had she told Ronald of +her jealous thoughts and fears! He never suspected them. When +he returned home, looking bright and happy, she would ask him, +"Have you seen Miss Charteris today?" and he, glad of her +interest in his friends, would reply that he had been to her +mother's house, and tell her of music he had heard or people he +had met, or of Valentine's messages to her. So Dora fed the +dark, bitter jealousy that had crept into her heart. + +It was a proud but anxious day for Ronald when he wrote to tell +his mother that he was now the father of little twin daughters, +two pretty, fair babies, in place of the long looked-for heir of +Earlescourt. + +Lady Charteris was very kind to the lonely young mother--so kind +that, had she borne any other name, Dora must have loved her. A +glimpse of the old happiness came back, for Ronald was proud and +pleased with the little twin sisters. + +One bright morning, when Dora had been taken down into the pretty +room where the infants lay sleeping, Lady Charteris and her +daughter came in. Ronald joined them and there was a long +discussion as to the names. + +"You must have an eye to the future," said Valentine, smiling. +"These little ladies will be very grand personages some day. It +would be a nice compliment to Lady Earle if you called one +Helena." + +"I have made my choice," said Dora, in a clear, ringing voice. +"I shall call this little one with the fair hair Lillian, the +other Beatrice." + +A faint flush rose to her face as she spoke. She would allow of +no interference here. This smiling beauty should not give names +to her children. + +"I admire your choice," said Lady Charteris; "Beatrice and +Lillian are very pretty names." + +When Valentine bent over the cradle and kissed the children +before taking leave, Dora said, "I have had my own way, you see, +Miss Charteris, with my little ones. Mr. Earle did not oppose +me." + +Valentine thought the words harsh and strange; she had no clew to +their meaning. She could not have imagined Dora jealous of her. +She made some laughing reply, and passed on. Dora was not lonely +now, the care of the little ones occupying her whole time; but, +far from their binding Ronald to his home, he became more +estranged from it than ever. + +The pretty, picturesque villa was very small; there was no room +available for a nursery. Wherever Dora sat, there must the +little ones be; and although they were very charming to the +mother and the nurse, the continued cries and noise irritated +Ronald greatly. Then he grew vexed; Dora cried, and said he did +not love them, and so the barrier grew day by day between those +who should have been all in all to each other. + +The children grew. Little Beatrice gave promise of great beauty. +She had the Earle face, Ronald said. Lillian was a fair, sweet +babe, too gentle, her mother thought, to live. Neither of them +resembled her, and at times Dora wished it had been otherwise. + +Perhaps in all Ronald Earle's troubled life he never spent a more +unsettled or wretched year than this. "It is impossible to +paint," he said to himself, "when disturbed by crying babies." +So the greater part of his time was spent away from home. Some +hours of every day were passed with Valentine; he never stopped +to ask himself what impulse led him to seek her society; the calm +repose of her fair presence contrasted so pleasantly with the +petty troubles and small miseries of home. When Miss Charteris +rode out he accompanied her; he liked to meet her at parties and +balls. He would have thought a day sad and dark wherein he did +not see her. + +When the little ones reached their first birthday, Valentine, +with her usual kind thought, purchased a grand assortment of +toys, and drove over quite unexpectedly to the villa. It was not +a very cheerful scene which met her gaze. + +Ronald was busily engaged in writing. Dora, flushed and worn, +was vainly trying to stop the cries of one child, while the other +pulled at her dress. The anxious, dreary face struck Valentine +with pain. She laid the parcel of toys down, and shook hands +with Ronald, who looked somewhat ashamed of the aspect of +affairs. Then, turning to Dora, she took the child from her +arms, and little Beatrice, looking at her with wondering eyes, +forgot to cry. + +"You are not strong enough, Dora, to nurse this heavy child," +said Miss Charteris. "Why do you not find some one to help you?" + +"We can not afford it," said Ronald, gloomily. + +"We spend too much in gloves and horses," added Dora, bitterly; +but no sooner were the words spoken than she would have given the +world to recall them. + +Ronald made no reply, and Valentine, anxious to avert the storm +she had unwittingly raised, drew attention to the toys. + +When Valentine left them, Dora and Ronald had their first quarrel +long and bitter. He could ill brook the insult her words +implied--spoken before Valentine, too!--and she for the first +time showed him how an undisciplined, untrained nature can throw +off the restraint of good manners and good breeding. It was a +quarrel never to be forgotten, when Ronald in the height of his +rage wished that he had never seen Dora, and she re-echoed the +wish. When such a quarrel takes place between man and wife, the +bloom and freshness are gone from love. They may be reconciled, +but they will never again be to each other what they once were. +A strong barrier is broken down, and nothing can be put in its +place. + + +Chapter XIII + +The angry, passionate words spoken by Ronald--almost the first +he had ever uttered--soon faded from his mind, but they rankled +like poisoned arrows in Dora's heart. She believed them. Before +evening her husband repented of his anger, and called himself a +coward for having scolded Dora. He went up to her and raised her +face to his. + +"Little wife," He said, "we have both been wrong. I am very +sorry--let us make friends." + +There was just a suspicion of sullenness in Dora's nature, and it +showed itself in full force now. + +"It is no matter," she replied, coolly; "I knew long ago that you +were tired of me." + +Ronald would not answer, lest they should quarrel again, but he +thought to himself that perhaps she was not far wrong. + +From that day the breach between them widened. In after years +Dora saw how much she was to blame. She understood then how +distasteful her quiet, sullen reserve must have been to a high- +bred, fastidious man like Ronald. She did not see it then, but +nursed in her heart imaginary wrongs and injuries; and, above +all, she yielded to a wild, fierce jealousy of Valentine +Charteris. + +For some weeks Miss Charteris saw the cloud deepening on Ronald's +face. He grew silent, and lost the flow of spirit that had once +seemed never to fail; and during the few weeks that followed, a +strong resolution grew in her mind. She was his true friend, and +she would try to restore peace and harmony between him and his +wife. She waited for some days, but at her mother's house it was +impossible to see him alone. Yet she honestly believed that, if +she could talk to him, remind him of his first love for Dora, of +her simplicity and many virtues, she might restore peace and +harmony to her old friend's house. She thought Ronald to blame. +He had voluntarily taken active duties upon himself, and to her +clearly, rightly judging mind, there was no earthly reason why he +should not fulfill them. He would not feel hurt at her speaking, +she felt sure, for he had voluntarily sought her aid years ago. +So Valentine waited day after day, hoping to find a chance for +those few words she thought would do so much good; but, as no +opportunity came, she resolved to make one. Taking her little +jeweled pencil, she wrote the following lines that were in after- +time a death warrant: + +"Dear Mr. Earle,--I wish to speak to you particularly and +privately. I shall be in our grounds tomorrow morning about ten; +let me see you there before you enter the house. Your sincere +friend, Valentine Charteris." + +All the world might have read the note--there was nothing wrong +in it--good intentions and a kindly heart dictated it, but it +worked fatal mischief. When Ronald was leaving her mother's +house, Miss Charteris openly placed the letter in his hands. + +"This is the first note I have ever written to you," she said, +with a smile. "You must not refuse the request it contains." + +"I will send him home happy tomorrow," she thought, "he is easily +influenced for good. He must make up the misunderstanding with +his pretty little wife--neither of them look happy." + +Ronald did not open the letter until he reached home. Then he +read it with a half-consciousness of what Valentine wanted him +for. + +"She is a noble woman," he thought. "Her words made me brave +before--they will do me good again." + +He left the folded paper upon the table in his studio; and +jealous little Dora, going in search of some work she had left, +found it there. She read it word by word, the color dying slowly +out of her face as she did so, and a bitter, deadly jealousy +piercing her heart like a two-edged sword. It confirmed her +worst fears, her darkest doubts. How dared this brilliant, +beautiful woman lure Ronald from her? How dared she rob her of +his love? + +Ronald looked aghast at his wife's face as she re-entered the +sitting room. He had been playing with the children, and had +forgotten for the time both Valentine and her note. He cried out +in alarm as she turned her white, wild face to him in dumb, +silent despair. + +"What is the matter, Dora?" he cried. "Are you ill or +frightened? You look like a ghost." + +She made no reply, and her husband, thinking she had relapsed +into one of her little fits of temper, sighed heavily and bade +her good night. + +Poor, foolish, jealous heart--she never lay down to rest! + +She had quite resolved she would go and meet the husband who was +tired of her and the woman who lured him away. She would listen +to all they had to say, and then confront them. No thought of +the dishonor of such a proceeding struck her. Poor Dora was not +gifted with great refinement of feeling--she looked upon the +step she contemplated rather as a triumph over an enemy than a +degradation to herself. She knew the place in the grounds where +they should be sure to meet. Miss Charteris called it her bower; +it was a thick cluster of trees under the shade of which stood a +pretty, rustic seat; and Dora thought that, if she placed herself +behind the trees, she would be able to hear all unseen. + +Before Ronald partook of breakfast, Dora had quitted the house on +her foolish errand. She knew the way to the house and the +entrance to the garden. She had no fear; even were she +discovered there, no one could surmise more than that she was +resting on her way to the house. She crouched behind the trees +and waited. It was wrong, weak, and wicked; but there was +something so pitiful in the white face full of anguish, that one +would hardly know whether to pity or blame her. + +The sunshine reached her, the birds were singing in the trees, +the flowers were all blooming--she, in her sorrow and +desolation, heeded nothing. At length she saw them--Valentine +in her white morning dress, her beautiful face full of deep, +earnest emotion, and Ronald by her side. As she surmised, they +walked straight to the trees, and Valentine signed to Ronald to +take a seat by her side. Sweetly and clearly every word she +uttered sounded to Ronald, but they fell like drops of molten +lead on the jealous heart of Ronald's wife. + +"You must try," Valentine was saying; "I used to think you would +be a hero. You are proving yourself a very weak and erring man." + +Dora could not distinguish Ronald's words so plainly; he said +something about life and its mistakes. + +"I told you once," said Valentine, "that the man who could endure +so bravely the consequences of his own actions was a true hero. +Grant the worst--that you have made a mistake. You must make +the best you can of it, and you are not doing that now." + +"No," he said gravely. "I am very unhappy--more so than you can +imagine, Valentine. Life seems to have lost all its charms for +me. I had such great hopes once, but they are all dead now." + +"You are too young to say that," she replied; "a little courage, +a little patience, and all will be well. If it comforts you to +know that my warmest, deepest sympathy is with you--" + +Valentine Charteris never finished her sentence; a pale, angry +face and dark, gleaming eyes full of passion suddenly flashed +before her. + +"You may spare your pity, Miss Charteris," cried a hoarse voice. +"Why have you made my husband dissatisfied with me? Why have you +taken his love from me? Why do you write notes asking him to +meet you, that you may both speak evil and wrong of his low-born +wife?" + +"Hush!" said Ronald, sternly, grasping her arm. "Stop those wild +words, Dora! Are you mad?" + +"No, not yet," she cried; "but this false woman will drive me +so!" + +Then Miss Charteris rose, her calm, grand face unruffled, not a +quiver on her proud lips. + +"Stay, Miss Charteris, one moment, I pray you," said Ronald, +"while my wife apologizes for her folly." + +"It is all true," cried Dora. "She wrote and asked you to meet +her here." + +"Dora," said her husband, gravely, "did you read the letter Miss +Charteris wrote to me?" + +"I did," she replied. + +"And you deliberately came here to listen to what she had to say +to me?" he continued. "You deliberately listened to what you +were never intended to hear?" + +His grave, stern dignity calmed her angry passion, and she looked +half-frightened into his quiet white face. + +"Answer me!" he said. "Have you crouched behind those trees +deliberately and purposely to listen? + +"Yes," she said; "and I would do so again if any one tried to +take my husband from me." + +"Then may I be forgiven for the dishonor I have brought to my +name and race!" said Ronald. "May I be forgiven for thinking +such a woman fit to be my wife! Hear me," he continued, and the +passion in his voice changed to contempt: "Miss Charteris is your +friend; she asked me to meet her here that she might plead your +cause, Dora--that she might advise me to remain more at home +with you, to go less into society, to look more at the bright +side of our married life, and be a better husband than I have +been lately; it was for that she summoned me here." + +"I--I do not believe it," sobbed his wife. + +"That is at your option," he replied coolly. "Miss Charteris, I +should kneel to ask your pardon for the insults you have +received. If a man had uttered them, I would avenge them. The +woman who spoke them bears my name. I entreat your pardon." + +"It is granted," she replied; "your wife must have been mad, or +she would have known I was her friend. I deeply regret that my +good intentions have resulted so unhappily. Forget my annoyance, +Mr. Earle, and forgive Dora; she could not have known what she +was saying." + +"I forgive her," said Ronald; "but I never wish to look upon her +face again. I see nothing but dishonor there. My love died a +violent death ten minutes since. The woman so dead to all +delicacy, all honor as to listen and suspect will never more be +wife of mine." + +"Be pitiful," said Valentine, for Dora was weeping bitterly now; +all her fire and passion, all her angry jealousy, had faded +before his wrath. + +"I am pitiful," he replied. "Heaven knows I pity her. I pity +myself. We Earles love honorable women when we love at all. I +will escort you to your house, Miss Charteris, and then Mrs. +Earle and myself will make our arrangements." + +In her sweet, womanly pity, Valentine bent down and kissed the +despairing face. + +"Try to believe that you are wrong and mistaken, Mrs. Earle," she +said gently. "I had no thought save to be your friend." + +They spoke no word as they passed through the pretty grounds. +Valentine was full of pity for her companion, and of regret for +her own share in that fatal morning's work. + +When Ronald reached the cluster of trees again, Dora was not +there. Just at that moment he cared but little whither she had +gone. His vexation and sorrow seemed almost greater than he +could bear. + + +Chapter XIV + +The passion and despair of that undisciplined heart were +something painful to see. Reason, sense, and honor, for a time +were all dead. If Dora could have stamped out the calm beauty of +Valentine's magnificent face, she would have done so. Ronald's +anger, his bitter contempt, stung her, until her whole heart and +soul were in angry revolt, until bitter thoughts raged like a +wild tempest within her. She could not see much harm in what she +had done; she did not quite see why reading her own husband's +letter, or listening to a private conversation of his was a +breach of honor. She thought but little at the time of what she +had done; her heart was full of anger against Ronald and +Valentine. She clasped her hands angrily after Mrs. Charteris +had kissed her, crying out that she was false, and had lured +Ronald from her. Any one passing her on the high-road would have +thought her mad, seeing the white face, the dark, gleaming eyes, +the rigid lips only opening for moans and cries that marred the +sweet silence. He should keep his word; never--come what might +never should he look upon her fair face again--the face he had +caressed so often and thought so fair. She would go away--he +was quite tired of her, and of her children, too. They would +tease him and intrude upon him no more. Let him go to the fair, +false woman, who had pretended to pity her. + +The little nurse-maid, a simple peasant girl, looked on in mute +amazement when her mistress entered the room where the children +were. + +"Maria," she said, "I am going home, over the seas to England. +Will you come with me?" + +The only thing poor Dora had learned during those quiet years was +a moderate share of Italian. The young nurse looked up in wonder +at the hard voice, usually soft as the cooing of a ring-dove. + +"I will go," she replied, "if the signora will take me. I leave +none behind that I love." + +With trembling, passionate hands and white, stern face, Dora +packed her trunks and boxes--the children's little wardrobe and +her own, throwing far from her every present, either of dress or +toys, that Valentine had brought. + +She never delayed to look round and think of the happy hours +spent in those pretty rooms. She never thought of the young +lover who had given up all the world for her. All she remembered +was the wrathful husband who never wished to see her more--who, +in presence of another, had bitterly regretted having made her +his wife. She could not weep--the burning brain and jealous, +angry heart would have been better for that, but the dark eyes +were bright and full of strange, angry light. The little ones, +looking upon her, wept for fear. With eager, passionate love she +caught them in her arms, crying the while that they should never +remain to be despised as she was. + +In the white-faced, angry woman, roused to the highest pitch of +passion, there was no trace of pretty, blushing Dora. Rapidly +were the boxes packed, corded, and addressed. Once during that +brief time Maria asked, "Where are you going, signora?" And the +hard voice answered, "To my father's--my own home in England." + +When everything was ready, the wondering children dressed, and +the little maid waiting, Dora sat down at her husband's desk and +wrote the following lines. No tears fell upon them; her hand did +not tremble, the words were clear and firmly written: + +"I have not waited for you to send me away. Your eyes shall not +be pained again by resting on the face where you read dishonor. +I saw months ago that you were tired of me. I am going to my +father's house, and my children I shall take with me--you care +no more for them than for me. They are mine--not yours. I +leave you with all you love in the world. I take all I love with +me. If you prayed for long years, I would never return to you +nor speak to you again." + +She folded the note and addressed it to her husband. She left no +kiss warm from her lips upon it. As she passed forever from the +little villa, she never turned for one last look at its vine-clad +walls. + +The gaunt, silent Italian servant who had lived with Dora since +the first day she reached Florence came to her in wonder and +alarm, barely recognizing her pretty, gentle mistress in the +pale, determined woman who looked like one brought to bay. To +her Dora spoke of the letter; it was to be given to her husband +as soon as he returned. Not one word did she utter in reply to +the woman's question. She hurried with the keen desperation of +despair, lest Ronald should return and find her still there. + +Soon after noon, and while Ronald lingered with some friends upon +the steps of the Hotel d'Italia, his wife reached the busy +railway station at Florence. She had money enough to take her +home, but none to spare. She knew no rest; every moment seemed +like an age to her, until the train was in motion, and fair, +sunny Florence left far behind. + +Without the stimulus of anger Dora would have shrunk in terror +from the thought of a long journey alone--she who had never been +without the escort of a kind and attentive husband. But no +prospect daunted her now--the wide seas, the dangers of rail and +road had no terror for her. She was flying in hot haste and +anger from one who had said before her rival that he never wished +to see her face again. + + * * * * * * * * * * * * + +The sun shining so brightly on the waters of the Arno lingered +almost lovingly on the fair, quiet English landscape. Far down +in the fertile and beautiful county of Kent, where the broad +channel washes the shore, stands the pretty, almost unknown +village of Knutsford. + +The world is full of beauty, every country has its share +Switzerland its snow-clad mountains, Germany its dark woods and +broad streams, France its sunny plains, Italy its "thousand +charms of Nature and Art;" but for quiet, tranquil loveliness, +for calm, fair beauty, looking always fresh from the mighty hand +that created it, there is nothing like English scenery. + +The white cliffs of Knutsford, like "grand giants," ran along the +shore; there was a broad stretch of yellow sand, hidden when the +tide was in, shining and firm when it ebbed. The top of the +cliff was like a carpet of thick green grass and springing +heather. Far away, in the blue distance, one could see, of a +bright, sunny day, the outline of the French coast. The waves +rolled in, and broke upon the yellow sands; the sea-birds flew by +with busy wings, white sails gleamed in the sunshine. +Occasionally a large steamer passed; there was no sound save the +rich, never-changing music of Nature, the rush of wind and waves, +the grand, solemn anthem that the sea never tires of singing. + +Far down the cliff ran the zigzag path that led to the village; +there was no sign of the sea on the other side of the white +rocks. There the green fields and pretty hop-gardens stretched +out far and wide, and the Farthinglow Woods formed a belt around +them. In the midst of a green, fertile valley stood the lovely +village of Knutsford. It had no regular street; there were a few +cottages, a few farm houses, a few little villas, one grand +mansion, three or four shops, and quiet homesteads with thatched +roofs and eaves of straw. + +The prettiest and most compact little farm in the village was the +one where Stephen Thorne and his wife dwelt. It was called the +elms, a long avenue of elms leading to the little house and +skirting the broad green meadows. It was at a short distance +from the village, so quiet, so tranquil, that, living there, one +seemed out of the world. + +Stephen Thorne and his wife were not rich. In spite of Lady +Earle's bounty, it was hard for them at times to make both ends +meet. Crops, even in that fair and fertile county, would fail, +cattle would die, rain would fall when it should not, and the sun +refuse to shine. But this year everything had gone on well; the +hay stood in great ricks in the farm yard, the golden corn waved +in the fields ripe and ready for the sickle, the cows and sheep +fed tranquilly in the meadows, and all things had prospered with +Stephen Thorne. One thing only weighed upon his heart--his wife +would have it that Dora's letters grew more and more sad; she +declared her child was unhappy, and he could not persuade her to +the contrary. + +It was a fair August evening. Ah! How weak and feeble are the +words. Who could paint the golden flush of summer beauty that +lay over the meadows and corn fields--the hedge rows filled with +wild flowers, the long, thick grass studded with gay blossoms, +the calm, sullen silence only broken by the singing of the birds, +the lowing of cattle, the rustling of green leaves in the sweet +soft air? + +Stephen Thorne had gone with his guest and visitor, Ralph Holt, +to fetch the cattle home. In Ralph's honor, good, motherly Mrs. +Thorne had laid out a beautiful tea--golden honey that seemed +just gathered from the flowers, ripe fruits, cream from the dairy +everything was ready; yet the farmer and his guest seemed long +in coming. She went to the door and looked across the meadows. +The quiet summer beauty stole like a spell over her. + +Suddenly, down in the meadows, Mrs. Thorne caught sight of a lady +leading a little child by the hand. She was followed by a young +maid carrying another. As the lady drew nearer, Mrs. Thorne +stood transfixed and bewildered. Could the summer sun or the +flickering shade be mocking her? Was she dreaming or awake? Far +off still, through the summer haze, she saw a white, wan face; +dark eyes, shadowed and veiled, as though by long weeping; lips, +once rosy and smiling, rigid and firm. She saw what seemed to +her the sorrowful ghost of the pretty, blooming child that had +left her long ago. She tried to call out, but her voice failed +her. She tried to run forward and meet the figure coming slowly +through the meadows, but she was powerless to move. She never +heard the footsteps of her husband and his guest. She only +stirred when Stephen Thorne placed his hand upon her shoulder, +and in a loud, cheery voice, asked what ailed her. + +"Look," she said, hoarsely, "look down the meadow there and tell +me--if that is Dora or Dora's ghost?" + +She drew near more swiftly now, for she had seen the three +figures at the door. The white face and wild eyes seemed aflame +with anxiety. + +"Dora, Dora!" cried Mrs. Thorne, "is it really you?" + +"It is," said a faint, bitter voice. "I am come home, mother. +My heart is broken and I long to die." + +They crowded around her, and Ralph Holt, with his strong arms, +carried the fragile, drooping figure into the house. They laid +her upon the little couch, and drew the curling rings of dark +hair back from her white face. Mrs. Thorne wept aloud, crying +out for her pretty Dora, her poor, unhappy child. The two men +stood watching her with grave, sad eyes. Ralph clenched his hand +as he gazed upon her, the wreck of the simple, gentle girl he had +loved so dearly. + +"If he has wronged her," he said to Stephen Thorne, "if he has +broken her heart, and sent her home to die, let him beware!" + +"I knew it would never prosper," groaned her father; "such +marriages never do." + +When Dora opened her eyes, and saw the three anxious faces around +her, for a moment she was bewildered. They knew when the torture +of memory returned to her, for she clasped her hands with a low +moan. + +"Dora," said her mother, "what has happened? Trust us, dear +child--we are your best friends. Where is your husband? And +why have you left him?" + +"Because he has grown tired of me," she cried, with passion and +anger flaming again in her white, worn face. "I did something he +thought wrong, and he prayed to Heaven to pardon him for making +me his wife." + +"What did you do?" asked her father, anxiously. + +"Nothing that I thought wrong," she replied. "Ask me no +questions, father. I would rather die any death than return to +him or see him again. Yet do not think evil of him. It was all +a mistake. I could not think his thoughts or live his life--we +were quite different, and very unhappy. He never wishes to see +me again, and I will suffer anything rather than see him." + +The farmer and his wife looked at each other in silent dismay. +This proud, angry woman and her passionate words frightened them. +Could it be their Dora, who had ever been sunshine and music to +them? + +"If you do not like to take me home, father," she said, in a hard +voice, "I can go elsewhere; nothing can surprise or grieve me +now." + +But kindly Mrs. Thorne had drawn the tired head to her. + +"Do you not know, child," she said, gently, "that a mother's love +never fails?" + +Ralph had raised the little one in his arms, and was looking with +wondering admiration at the proud, beautiful face of the little +Beatrice, and the fair loveliness of Lillian. The children +looked with frank, fearless eyes into his plain, honest face. + +"This one with dark hair has the real Earle face," said Stephen +Thorne, proudly; "that is just my lord's look--proud and quiet. +And the little Lillian is something like Dora, when she was quite +a child." + +"Never say that!" cried the young mother. "Let them grow like +any one else, but never like me!" + +They soothed her with gentle, loving words. Her father said she +should share his home with her children, and he would never give +her up again. They bade her watch the little ones, who had +forgotten their fears, and laughed over the ripe fruit and golden +honey. They also drew aside the white curtain, and let her tired +eyes fall upon the sweet summer beauty of earth and sky. Was not +everything peaceful? The sun sinking in the west, the birds +singing their evening song, the flowers closing their bright +eyes, the wind whispering "good night" to the shimmering, +graceful elms--all was peace, and the hot, angry heart grew calm +and still. Bitter tears rose to the burning eyes--tears that +fell like rain, and seemed to take away the sharpest sting of her +pain. + +With wise and tender thought they let Dora weep undisturbed. The +bitter sobbing ceased at last. Dora said farewell to her love. +She lay white and exhausted, but the anger and passion had died +away. + +"Let me live with you, father," she said, humbly. "I will serve +you, and obey you. I an content, more than content, with my own +home. But for my little children, let all be as it was years +ago." + +When the little ones, like the flowers, had gone to sleep, and +Dora had gone into the pretty white room prepared for her, Ralph +rose to take his leave. + +"Surely," said Thorne, "you are not leaving us. You promised to +stay a whole week." + +"I know," said the young farmer; "but you have many to think for +now, Mr. Thorne. The time will come when the poor, wearied girl +sleeping above us will be Lady Earle. Her husband knew I loved +her. No shadow even of suspicion must rest upon her. While your +daughter remains under your roof, I shall not visit you again." + +Dora's father knew the young man was right. + +"Let me see the little ones sometimes," continued Ralph; "and if +large parcels of toys and books find their way to the Elms, you +will know who sent them. But I must not come in Dora's way; she +is no loner Dora Thorne." + +As Stephen watched the young man walking quickly through the long +gray fields, he wished that Dora had never seen Ronald Earle. + +Poor Dora's troubles were not yet ended. When the warm August +sun peeped into her room on the following morning, she did not +see it shine; when the children crept to her side and called for +mamma, she was deaf to their little voices. The tired head +tossed wearily to and fro, the burning eyes would not close. A +raging fever had her in its fierce clutches. When Mrs. Thorne, +alarmed by the children's cries, came in, Dora did not know her, +but cried out loudly that she was a false woman, who had lured +her husband from her. + +They sent in all haste for aid; but the battle was long and +fierce. During the hours of delirium, Mrs. Thorne gleaned +sorrowfully some portions of her daughter's story. She cried out +incessantly against a fair woman--one Valentine--whom Ronald +loved--cried in scorn and anger. Frequently she was in a +garden, behind some trees; then confronting some one with flaming +eyes, sobbing that she did not believe it; then hiding her face +and crying out: + +"He has ceased to love me--let me die!" + +But the time came when the fierce fever burned itself out, and +Dora lay weak and helpless as a little child. She recovered +slowly, but she was never the same again. Her youth, hope, love, +and happiness were all dead. No smile or dimple, no pretty +blush, came to the changed face; the old coy beauty was all gone. + +Calm and quiet, with deep, earnest eyes, and lips that seldom +smiled, Dora seemed to have found another self. Even with her +children the sad restraint never wore off nor grew less. If they +wanted to play, they sought the farmer in the fields, the good- +natured nurse, or the indulgent grandmamma--never the sad, pale +mother. If they were in trouble then they sought her. + +Dora asked for work. She would have been dairy maid, house maid, +or anything else, but her father said "No." A pretty little room +was given to her, with woodbines and roses peeping in at the +window. Here for long hours every day, while the children played +in the meadows, she sat and sewed. There, too, Dora, for the +first time, learned what Ronald, far away in sunny Italy, failed +to teach her--how to think and read. Big boxes of books came +from the town of Shorebeach. Stephen Thorne spared no trouble or +expense in pleasing his daughter. Dora wondered that she had +never cared for books, now that deeper and more solemn thoughts +came to her. The pale face took a new beauty; no one could have +believed that the thoughtful woman with the sweet voice and +refined accent was the daughter of the blunt farmer Thorne and +his homely wife. + +A few weeks passed, and but for the little ones Dora would have +believed the whole to have been but a long, dark dream. She +would not think of Ronald; she would not remember his love, his +sacrifices for her; she thought only of her wrongs and his cruel +words. + +The children grew and throve. Dora had no care at present as to +their education. From her they learned good English, and between +herself and the faithful young nurse they could learn, she +thought, tolerable Italian. She would not think of a future that +might take these beloved children from her. She ignored Ronald's +claim to them--they were hers. He had tired of them when he +tired of her. She never felt the days monotonous in that quiet +farm house, as others might have done. A dead calm seemed to +surround her; but it was destined soon to be broken. + + +Chapter XV + +Ronald did not return in the evening to the pretty villa where he +had once been so happy. In the warmth of his anger, he felt that +he never could look again upon his wife. To his sensitive, +refined nature there was something more repulsive in the +dishonorable act she had committed than there would have been in +a crime of deeper dye. He was shocked and startled--more so +than if he awoke some fair summer morning to find Dora dead by +his side. She was indeed dead to him in one sense. The ideal +girl, all purity, gentleness, and truth, whom he had loved and +married, had, it appeared, never really existed after all. He +shrank from the idea of the angry, vehement words and foul +calumnies. He shrank from the woman who had forgotten every rule +of good breeding, every trace of good manners, in angry, fierce +passion. + +How was he ever to face Miss Charteris again? She would never +mention one word of what had happened, but he could ill brook the +shame Dora had brought upon him. He remembered the summer +morning in the woods when he told Valentine the story of his +love, and had pictured his pretty, artless Dora to her. Could +the angry woman who had dared to insult him, and to calumniate +the fairest and truest lady in all England, possibly be the same? + +Ronald had never before been brought into close contact with +dishonor. He had some faint recollection at college of having +seen and known a young man, the son of a wealthy nobleman, +scorned and despised, driven from all society, and he was told +that it was because he had been detected in the act of listening +at the principal's door. He remembered how old and young had +shunned this young man as though he were plague-stricken; and now +his own wife Dora had done the very same thing under +circumstances that rendered the dishonor greater. He asked +himself, with a cynical smile, what he could expect? He had +married for love of a pretty, child-like face, never giving any +thought to principle, mind, or intellect. The only wonder was +that so wretched and unequal a match had not turned out ten times +worse. His father's warning rang in his ears. How blind, how +foolish he had been! + +Every hope of his own life was wrecked, every hope and plan of +his father's disappointed and dead. There seemed to him nothing +left to care for. His wife--oh, he would not think of her! The +name vexed him. He could not stand in Valentine's presence +again, and for the first time he realized what she had been to +him. Home, and consequently England, was closed to him; the +grand mansion he had once believed his had faded from his mind. + +Thinking of all these things, Ronald's love for his young wife +seemed changed to dislike. Three days passed before he returned +home; then he was somewhat startled to find her really gone. He +had anticipated sullen temper, renewed quarrels, and then perhaps +a separation, but he was startled to find her actually gone. The +servant gave him the cold farewell letter, written without tears, +without sorrow. He tore it into shreds and flung it from him. + +"The last act in the farce," he said, bitterly. "If I had not +been mad, I should have foreseen this." + +The silent, deserted rooms did not remind him of the loving young +wife parted from him forever. He was too angry, too annoyed, for +any gentle thoughts to influence him. She had left him--so much +the better; there could never again be peace between them. He +thought with regret of the little ones--they were too young for +him to undertake charge of them, so that they were best left with +their mother for a time. He said to himself that he must make +the best use he could of his life; everything seemed at an end. +He felt very lonely and unhappy as he sat in his solitary home; +and the more sorrow present upon him, the more bitter his +thoughts grew, the deeper became his dislike to this unhappy +young wife. + +Ronald wrote to his mother, but said no word to her of the cause +of their quarrel. + +"Dora and I," he said, "will never live together again--perhaps +never meet. She has gone home to her father; I am going to +wander over the wide earth. Will you induce my father to receive +my children at Earlescourt? And will you see Mr. Burt, and +arrange that half of my small income is settled upon Dora?" + +But to all his wife's entreaties Lord Earle turned a deaf ear. +He declared that never during his life time should the children +of Dora Thorne enter Earlescourt. His resolution was fixed and +unalterable. How, he asked, was he to trust the man who had once +deceived him? For aught he knew, the separation between Ronald +and his wife might be a deeply laid scheme, and, the children +once with him, there would be a grand reconciliation between the +parents. + +"I am not surprised," he said, "that the unhappy boy is weary of +his pretty toy. It could not be otherwise; he must bear the +consequences of his own folly. He had time for thought, he made +his own choice--now let him abide by it. You have disregarded +my wish, Lady Helena, in even naming the matter to me. Let all +mention of it cease. I have no son. One thing remember--I am +not hard upon you--you can go where you like, see whom you like, +and spend what money you will, and as you will." + +Lady Earle was not long in availing herself of the permission. +There was great excitement at the Elms one morning, caused by the +receipt of a letter from Lady Earle saying that she would be +there on the same day to visit the son's wife and children. + +The little ones looked up to her with wondering eyes. To them +she was like a vision, with her noble face and distinguished air. + +Stephen Thorne and his wife received the great lady not without +some trepidation; yet they were in no way to blame. The fatal +marriage had been as great a blow to them as to Lord and Lady +Earle. With the quiet dignity and graceful ease that never +deserted her, Lady Earle soon made them feel at home. She +started in utter surprise, when a quiet, grave woman, on whose +face sweetness and sullen humor were strangely mingled, entered +the room. This could not be pretty, coy, blushing Dora! Where +were the dimples and smiles? The large dark eyes raised so sadly +to hers were full of strange, pathetic beauty. With sharp pain +the thought struck Lady Earle, "What must not Dora have suffered +to have changed her so greatly!" The sad eyes and worn face +touched her as no beauty could have done. She clasped Dora in +her arms and kissed her. + +"You are my daughter now," she said, in that rich, musical voice +which Dora remembered so well. "We will not mention the past; it +is irrevocable. If you sinned against duty and obedience, your +face tells me you have suffered. What has come between you and +my son I do not seek to know. The shock must have been a great +one which parted you, for he gave up all the world for you, Dora, +years ago. We will not speak of Ronald. Our care must be the +children. Of course you wish them to remain with you?" + +"While it is possible," said Dora, wearily. "I shall never leave +home again; but I can not hope to keep them here always." + +"I should have liked to adopt them," said Lady Earle; "to take +them home and educate them, but--" + +"Lord Earle will not permit it," interrupted Dora, calmly. "I +know--I do not wonder." + +"You must let me do all I can for them here," continued Lady +Earle; "I have made all plans and arrangements. We will give the +children an education befitting their position, without removing +them from you. Then we shall see what time will do. Let me see +the little ones. I wish you had called one Helena, after me." + +Dora remembered why she had not done so, and a flush of shame +rose to her face. + +They were beautiful children, and Dora brought them proudly to +the stately lady waiting for them. Lady Earle took Beatrice in +her arms. + +"Why, Dora," she said admiringly, "she has the Earle face, with a +novel charm all its own. The child will grow up into magnificent +woman." + +"She has the Earle spirit and pride," said the young mother; "I +find it hard to manage her even now." + +Then Lady Earle looked at the fair, spirituelle face and golden +hair of little Lillian. The shy, dove-like eyes and sweet lips +charmed her. + +"There is a great contrast between them," she said, thoughtfully. +"They will require careful training, Dora; and now we will speak +of the matter which brought me here." + +Dora noticed that, long as she remained, Lady Earle never let +Beatrice leave her arms; occasionally she bent over Lillian and +touched her soft golden curls, but the child with the "Earle +face" was the one she loved best. + +Together with Stephen Thorne and his wife, Lady Earle went over +the Elms. The situation delighted her; nothing could be better +or more healthy for the children, but the interior of the house +must be altered. Then with delicate grace that could only charm, +never wound, Lady Earle unfolded her plans. She wished a new +suite of rooms to be built for Dora and the children, to be +nicely furnished with everything that could be required. She +would bear the expense. Immediately on her return she would send +an efficient French maid for the little ones, and in the course +of a year or two she would engage the services of an accomplished +governess, who would undertake the education of Beatrice and +Lillian without removing them from their mother's care. + +"I shall send a good piano and harp," said Lady Earle, "it will +be my pride and pleasure to select books, music, drawings, and +everything else my grandchildren require. I should wish them +always to be nicely dressed and carefully trained. To you, Dora, +I must leave the highest and best training of all. Teach them to +be good, and to do their duty. They have learned all when they +have learned that." + +For the first time in her life, the thought came home to Dora: +How was she to teach what she had never learned and had failed to +practice? That night, long after Lady Earle had gone away, and +the children had fallen to sleep, Dora knelt in the moonlight and +prayed that she might learn to teach her children to do their +duty. + +As Lady Earle wished, the old farm house was left intact, and a +new group of buildings added to it. There was a pretty sitting +room for Dora, and a larger one to serve as a study for the +children, large sleeping rooms, and a bathroom, all replete with +comfort. Two years passed before all was completed, and Lady +Earle thought it time to send a governess to the Elms. + + * * * * * * * * * * * * + +During those years little or nothing was heard from Ronald. +After reading the cold letter Dora left for him, it seemed as +though all love, all care, all interest died out of his heart. +He sat for many long hours thinking of the blighted life "he +could not lay down, yet cared little to hold." + +He was only twenty-three--the age at which life opens to most +men; yet he was worn, tired, weary of everything--the energies +that once seemed boundless, the ambition once so fierce and +proud, all gone. His whole nature recoiled from the shock. Had +Dora, in the fury of her jealousy and rage, tried to kill him, he +would have thought that but a small offense compared with the +breach of honor in crouching behind the trees to listen. He +thought of the quiet, grand beauty of Valentine's face while Dora +was convulsed with passion. He remembered the utter wonder in +Valentine's eyes when Dora's flamed upon them. He remembered the +sickening sense of shame that had cowed him as he listened to her +angry, abusive words. And this untrained, ignorant, ill-bred +woman was his wife! For her he had given up home, parents, +position, wealth--all he had in life worth caring for. For her, +and through her, he stood there alone in the world. + +Those thoughts first maddened him, then drove him to despair. +What had life left for him? He could not return to England; his +father's doors were closed against him. There was no path open +to him; without his father's help he could not get into +Parliament. He could not work as an artist at home. He could +not remain in Florence; never again, he said to himself, would he +see Valentine Charteris--Valentine, who had been the witness of +his humiliation and disgrace. Sooner anything than that. He +would leave the villa and go somewhere--he cared little where. +No quiet, no rest came to him. Had his misfortunes been +accidental--had they been any other than they were, the result +of his boyish folly and disobedience, he would have found them +easier to bear; as it was, the recollection that it was all his +own fault drove him mad. + +Before morning he had written a farewell note to Lady Charteris, +saying that he was leaving Florence at once, and would not be +able to see her again. He wrote to Valentine, but the few stiff +words expressed little of what he felt. He prayed her to forget +the miserable scene that would haunt him to his dying day; to +pardon the insults that had driven him nearly mad; to pardon the +mad jealousy, the dishonor of Dora; to forget him and all +belonging to him. When Miss Charteris read the letter she knew +that all effort to restore peace would for a time be in vain. +She heard the day following that the clever young artist, Mr. +Earle, had left. + +Countess Rosali loudly lamented Ronald's departure. It was so +strange, she said; the dark-eyed little wife and her children had +gone home to England, and the husband, after selling off his +home, had gone with Mr. Charles Standon into the interior of +Africa. What was he going to do there? + +She lamented him for two days without ceasing, until Valentine +was tired of her many conjectures. He was missed in the +brilliant salons of Florence, but by none so much as by Valentine +Charteris. + +What the pretty, coquettish countess had said was true. After +making many plans and forming many resolutions, Ronald met Mr. +Standon, who was on the point of joining an exploring expedition +in South Africa. He gladly consented to accompany him. There +was but little preparation needed. Four days after the never-to- +be-forgotten garden scene, Ronald Earle left Italy and became a +wanderer upon the face of the earth. + + +Chapter XVI + +Valentine Charteris never told the secret. She listened to the +wonder and conjectures of all around her, but not even to her +mother did she hint what had passed. She pitied Ronald +profoundly. She knew the shock Dora had inflicted on his +sensitive, honorable disposition. For Dora herself she felt +nothing but compassion. Her calm, serene nature was incapable of +such jealousies. Valentine could never be jealous or mean, but +she could understand the torture that had made shy, gentle Dora +both. + +"Jealous of me, poor child!" said Valentine to herself. "Nothing +but ignorance can excuse her. As though I, with half Florence at +my feet, cared for her husband, except as a dear and true +friend." + +So the little villa was deserted; the gaunt, silent servant found +a fresh place. Ronald's pictures were eagerly bought up; the +pretty countess, after looking very sentimental and sad for some +days, forgot her sorrow and its cause in the novelty of making +the acquaintance of an impassive unimpressionable American. +Florence soon forgot one whom she had been proud to know and +honor. + +Two months afterward, as Miss Charteris sat alone in her favorite +nook--the bower of trees where poor Dora's tragedy had been +enacted--she was found by the Prince di Borgezi. Every one had +said that sooner or later it would come to this. Prince di +Borgezi, the most fastidious of men, who had admired many women +but loved none, whose verdict was the rule of fashion, loved +Valentine Charteris. Her fair English face, with its calm, grand +beauty, her graceful dignity, her noble mind and pure soul had +captivated him. For many long weeks he hovered round Valentine, +longing yet dreading to speak the words which would unite or part +them for life. + +Lately there had been rumors that Lady Charteris and her daughter +intended to leave Florence; then Prince di Borgezi decided upon +knowing his fate. He sought Valentine, and found her seated +under the shade of her favorite trees. + +"Miss Charteris," he said, after a few words of greeting, "I have +come to ask you the greatest favor, the sweetest boon, you can +confer on any man." + +"What is it?" asked Valentine, calmly, anticipating some trifling +request. + +"Your permission to keep for my own the original 'Queen +Guinevere'," he replied; "that picture is more to me than all +that I possess. Only one thing is dearer, the original. May I +ever hope to make that mine also?" + +Valentine opened her magnificent eyes in wonder. It was an +offer of marriage then that he was making. + +"Have you no word for me, Miss Charteris?" he said. "I lay my +life and my love at your feet. Have you no word for me?" + +"I really do not know what to say," replied Valentine. + +"You do not refuse me?" said her lover. + +"Well, no," replied Valentine. + +"And you do not accept me?" he continued. + +"Decidedly not," she replied, more firmly. + +"Then I shall consider there is some ground for hope," he said. + +Valentine had recovered her self-possession. Her lover gazed +anxiously at her beautiful face, its proud calm was unbroken. + +"I will tell you how it is," resumed Valentine, after a short +pause; "I like you better, perhaps, than any man I know, but I do +not love you." + +"You do not forbid me to try all I can to win your love?" asked +the prince. + +"No," was the calm reply. "I esteem you very highly, prince. I +can not say more." + +"But you will in time," he replied. "I would not change your +quiet friendly liking, Miss Charteris, for the love of any other +woman." + +Under the bright sky the handsome Italian told the story of his +love in words that were poetry itself--how he worshiped the fair +calm girl so unlike the women of his own clime. As she listened, +Valentine thought of that summer morning years ago when Ronald +had told her the story of his love; and then Valentine owned to +her own heart, that, if Ronald were in Prince di Borgezi's place, +she would not listen so calmly nor reply so coolly. + +"How cold and stately these English girls are!" thought her +lover. "They are more like goddesses than women. Would any word +of mine ever disturb the proud coldness of that perfect face?" + +It did not then, but before morning ended Prince di Borgezi had +obtained permission to visit England in the spring and ask again +the same question. Valentine liked him. She admired his noble +and generous character, his artistic tastes, his fastidious +exclusiveness had a charm for her; she did not love him, but it +seemed to her more than probable that the day would come when she +would do so. + + * * * * * * * * * * * * + +Lady Charteris and her daughter left Florence and returned to +Greenoke. Lady Earle paid them a long visit, and heard all they +had to tell of her idolized son. Lady Charteris spoke kindly of +Dora; and Valentine, believing she could do something to restore +peace, sent an affectionate greeting, and asked permission to +visit the Elms. + +Lady Earle saw she had made a mistake when she repeated +Valentine's words to Dora. The young wife's face flushed burning +red, and then grew white as death. + +"Pray bring me no more messages from Miss Charteris," she +replied. "I do not like her--she would only come to triumph +over me; I decline to see her. I have no message to send her." + +Then, for the first time, an inkling of the truth came to Lady +Earle. Evidently Dora was bitterly jealous of Valentine. Had +she any cause for it? Could it be that her unhappy son had +learned to love Miss Charteris when it was all too late? From +that day Lady Earle pitied her son with a deeper and more tender +compassion; she translated Dora's curt words into civil English, +and then wrote to Miss Charteris. Valentine quite understood +upon reading them that she was not yet pardoned by Ronald Earle's +wife. + +Time passed on without any great changes, until the year came +when Lady Earle thought her grandchildren should begin their +education. She was long in selecting one to whom she could +intrust them. At length she met with Mrs. Vyvian, the widow of +an officer who had died in India, a lady qualified in every way +for the task, accomplished, a good linguist, speaking French and +Italian as fluently as English--an accomplished musician, an +artist of no mean skill, and, what Lady Earl valued still more, a +woman of sterling principles and earnest religious feeling + +It was not a light task that Mrs. Vyvian undertook. The children +had reached their fifth year, and for ten years she bound herself +by promise to remain with them night and day, to teach and train +them. It is true the reward promised was great. Lady Earle +settled a handsome annuity upon her. Mrs. Vyvian was not +dismayed by the lonely house, the complete isolation from all +society, or the homely appearance of the farmer and his wife. A +piano and a harp were sent to the Elms. Every week Lady Earle +dispatched a large box of books, and the governess was quite +content. + +Mrs. Vyvian, to whom Lady Earle intrusted every detail of her +son's marriage, was well pleased to find that Dora liked her and +began to show some taste for study. Dora, who would dream of +other things when Ronald read, now tried to learn herself. She +was not ashamed to sit hour after hour at the piano trying to +master some simple little air, or to ask questions when anything +puzzled her in her reading. Mrs. Vyvian, so calm and wise, so +gentle, yet so strong, taught her so cleverly that Dora never +felt her own ignorance, nor did she grow disheartened as she had +done with Ronald. + +The time came when Dora could play pretty simple ballads, singing +them in her own bird-like, clear voice, and when she could +appreciate great writers, and speak of them without any mistake +either as to their names or their works. + +It was a simple, pleasant, happy life; the greater part of the +day was spent by mother children in study. In the evening came +long rambles through the green woods, where Dora seemed to know +the name and history of every flower that grew; over the smiling +meadows, where the kine stood knee-deep in the long, scented +grass; over the rocks, and down by the sea shore, where the waves +chanted their grand anthem, and broke in white foam drifts upon +the sands. + +No wonder the young girls imbibed a deep warm love for all that +was beautiful in Nature. Dora never wearied of it--from the +smallest blade of grass to the most stately of forest trees, she +loved it all. + +The little twin sisters grew in beauty both in body and mind; but +the contrast between them was great; Beatrice was the more +beautiful and brilliant; Lillian the more sweet and lovable. +Beatrice was all fire and spirit; her sister was gentle and calm. +Beatrice had great faults and great virtues; Lillian was simply +good and charming. Yet, withal, Beatrice was the better loved. +It was seldom that any one refused to gratify her wishes. + +Dora loved both children tenderly; but the warmest love was +certainly for the child who had the Earle face. She was +imperious and willful, generous to a fault, impatient of all +control; but her greatest fault, Mrs. Vyvian said, was a constant +craving for excitement; a distaste for and dislike of quiet and +retirement. She would ride the most restive horse, she would do +anything to break the ennui and monotony of the long days. + +Beautiful, daring, and restless, every day running a hundred +risks, and loved the better for the dangers she ran, Beatrice was +almost worshiped at the Elms. Nothing ever daunted her, nothing +ever made her dull or sad. Lillian was gentle and quiet, with +more depth of character, but little power of showing it; somewhat +timid and diffident--a more charming ideal of an English girl +could not have been found--spirituelle, graceful, and refined; +so serene and fair that to look at her was a pleasure. + +Lady Earle often visited the Elms; no mystery had been made to +the girls--they were told their father was abroad and would not +return for many years, and that at some distant day they might +perhaps live with him in his own home. They did not ask many +questions, satisfied to believe what was told them, not seeking +to know more. + +Lady Earle loved the young girls very dearly. Beatrice, so like +her father, was undoubtedly the favorite. Lord Earle never +inquired after them; when Lady Earle asked for a larger check +than usual, he gave it to her with a smile, perfectly +understanding its destination, but never betraying the knowledge. + +So eleven years passed like a long tranquil dream. The sun rose +and set, the tides ebbed and flowed, spring flowers bloomed, and +died, the summer skies smiled, autumn leaves of golden hue +withered on the ground; and winter snows fell; yet no change came +to the quiet homestead in the Kentish meadows. + +Beatrice and Lillian had reached their sixteenth year, and two +fairer girls were seldom seen. Mrs. Vyvian's efforts had not +been in vain; they were accomplished far beyond the ordinary run +of young girls. Lillian inherited her father's talent for +drawing. She was an excellent artist. Beatrice excelled in +music. She had a magnificent contralto voice that had been +carefully trained. Both were cultivated, graceful, elegant +girls, and Lady Earle often sighed to think they should be living +in such profound obscurity. She could do nothing; seventeen +years had not changed Lord Earle's resolution. Time, far from +softening, imbittered him the more against his son. Of Ronald +Lady Earle heard but little. He was still in Africa; he wrote at +rare intervals, but there was little comfort in his letters. + +Lady Earle did what she could for her grandchildren, but it was a +strange, unnatural life. They knew no other girls; they had +never ben twenty miles from Knutsford. All girlish pleasures and +enjoyments were a sealed book to them. They had never been to a +party, a picnic, or a ball; no life was ever more simple, more +quiet, more devoid of all amusement than theirs. Lillian was +satisfied and happy; her rich, teeming fancy, her artistic mind, +and contented, sweet disposition would have rendered her happy +under any circumstances--but it was different with brilliant, +beautiful Beatrice. No wild bird in a cage ever pined for +liberty or chafed under restraint more than she did. She cried +out loudly against the unnatural solitude, the isolation of such +a life. + +Eleven years had done much for Dora. The coy, girlish beauty +that had won Ronald Earle's heart had given place to a sweet, +patient womanhood. Constant association with one so elegant and +refined as Mrs. Vyvian had done for her what nothing else could +have achieved. Dora had caught the refined, high-bred accent, +the graceful, cultivated manner, the easy dignity. She had +become imbued with Mrs. Vyvian's noble thoughts and ideas. + +Dora retained two peculiarities--one was a great dislike for +Ronald, the other a sincere dread of all love and lovers for her +children. From her they heard nothing but depreciation of men. +All men were alike, false, insincere, fickle, cruel; all love was +nonsense and folly. Mrs. Vyvian tried her best to counteract +these ideas; they had this one evil consequence--that neither +Lillian nor Beatrice would ever dream of even naming such +subjects to their mother, who should have been their friend and +confidante. If in the books Lady Earle sent there was any +mention of this love their mother dreaded so, they went to Mrs. +Vyvian or puzzled over it themselves. With these two exceptions +Dora had become a thoughtful, gentle woman. As her mind became +more cultivated she understood better the dishonor of the fault +which had robbed her of Ronald's love. Her fair face grew +crimson when she remembered what she had done. + +It was a fair and tranquil womanhood; the dark eyes retained +their wondrous light and beauty; the curling rings of dark hair +were luxuriant as ever; the lips wore a patient, sweet +expression. The clear, healthy country air had given a delicate +bloom to the fair face. Dora looked more like the elder sister +of the young girls than their mother. + +The quiet, half-dreamy monotony was broken at last. Mrs. Vyvian +was suddenly summoned home. Her mother, to whom she was warmly +attached, was said to be dying, and she wished her last few days +to be spent with her daughter. At the same time Lady Earle wrote +to say that her husband was so ill that it was impossible for her +to look for any lady to supply Mrs. Vyvian's place. The +consequence was that, for the first time in their lives, the +young girls were left for a few weeks without a companion and +without surveillance. + + +Chapter XVII + +One beautiful morning in May, Lillian went out alone to sketch. +The beauty of the sky and sea tempted her; fleecy-white clouds +floated gently over the blue heavens; the sun shone upon the +water until, at times, it resembled a huge sea of rippling gold. +Far off in the distance were the shining white sails of two +boats; they looked in the golden haze like the brilliant wings of +some bright bird. The sun upon the white sails struck her fancy, +and she wanted to sketch the effect. + +It was the kind of morning that makes life seem all beauty and +gladness, even if the heart is weighed down with care. It was a +luxury merely to live and breathe. The leaves were all springing +in the woods; the meadows were green; wild flowers blossomed by +the hedge-rows; the birds sang gayly of the coming summer; the +white hawthorn threw its rich fragrance all around, and the +yellow broom bloomed on the cliffs. + +As she sat there, Lillian was indeed a fair picture herself on +that May morning; the sweet, spirituelle face; the noble head +with its crown of golden hair; the violet eyes, so full of +thought; the sensitive lips, sweet yet firm; the white forehead, +the throne of intellect. The little fingers that moved rapidly +and gracefully over the drawing were white and shapely; there was +a delicate rose-leaf flush in the pretty hand. She looked fair +and tranquil as the morning itself. + +The pure, sweet face had no touch of fire or passion; its +serenity was all unmoved; the world had never breathed on the +innocent, child-like mind. A white lily was not more pure and +stainless than the young girl who sat amid the purple heather, +sketching the white, far-off sails. + +So intent was Lillian upon her drawing that she did not hear +light, rapid steps coming near; she was not aroused until a rich +musical voice called, "Lillian, if you have not changed into +stone or statue, do speak." Then, looking up, she saw Beatrice +by her side. + +"Lay down your pencils and talk to me," said Beatrice, +imperiously. "How unkind of you, the only human being in this +place who can talk, to come here all by yourself! What do you +think was to become of me?" + +"I thought you were reading to mamma," said Lillian, quietly. + +"Reading!" exclaimed Beatrice. "You know I am tired of reading, +tired of writing, tired of sewing, tired of everything I have to +do." + +Lillian looked up in wonder at the beautiful, restless face. + +"Do not look 'good' at me," said Beatrice, impatiently. "I am +tired to death of it all. I want some change. Do you think any +girls in the world lead such lives as we do--shut up in a +rambling old farm house, studying from morn to night; shut in on +one side by that tiresome sea, imprisoned on the other by fields +and woods? How can you take it so quietly, Lillian? I am +wearied to death." + +"Something has disturbed you this morning," said Lillian, gently. + +"That is like mamma," cried Beatrice; "just her very tone and +words. She does not understand, you do not understand; mamma's +life satisfies her, your life contents you; mine does not content +me--it is all vague and empty. I should welcome anything that +changed this monotony; even sorrow would be better than this dead +level--one day so like another, I can never distinguish them." + +"My dear Beatrice, think of what you are saying," said Lillian. + +"I am tired of thinking," said Beatrice; "for the last ten years +I have been told to 'think' and 'reflect.' I have thought all I +can; I want a fresh subject." + +"Think how beautiful those far-off white sails look," said +Lillian--"how they gleam in the sunshine. See, that one looks +like a mysterious hand raised to beckon us away." + +"Such ideas are very well for you, Lillian," retorted Beatrice. +"I see nothing in them. Look at the stories we read; how +different those girls are from us! They have fathers, brothers, +and friends; they have jewels and dresses; they have handsome +admirers, who pay them homage; they dance, ride, and enjoy +themselves. Now look at us, shut up here with old and serious +people." + +"Hush, Beatrice," said Lillian; "mamma is not old." + +"Not in years, perhaps," replied Beatrice; "but she seems to me +old in sorrow. She is never gay nor light-hearted. Mrs. Vyvian +is very kind, but she never laughs. Is every one sad and +unhappy, I wonder? Oh, Lillian, I long to see the world--the +bright, gay world--over the sea there. I long for it as an +imprisoned bird longs for fresh air and green woods." + +"You would not find it all happiness," said Lillian, sagely. + +"Spare me all truism," cried Beatrice. "Ah, sister, I am tired +of all this; for eleven years the sea has been singing the same +songs; those waves rise and fall as they did a hundred years +since; the birds sing the same story; the sun shines the same; +even the shadow of the great elms fall over the meadow just as it +did when we first played there. I long to away from the sound of +the sea and the rustling of the elm trees. I want to be where +there are girls of my own age, and do as they do. It seems to +me we shall go on reading and writing, sewing and drawing, and +taking what mamma calls instructive rambles until our heads grow +gray." + +"It is not so bad as that, Beatrice," laughed Lillian. "Lady +Earle says papa must return some day; then we shall all go to +him." + +"I never believe one word of it," said Beatrice, undauntedly. +"At times I could almost declare papa himself was a myth. Why do +we not live with him? Why does he never write? We never hear of +or from him, save through Lady Earle; besides, Lillian, what do +you think I heard Mrs. Vyvian say once to grandmamma? It was +that we might not go to Earlescourt at all--that if papa did not +return, or died young, all would go to a Mr. Lionel Dacre, and we +should remain here. Imagine that fate--living a long life and +dying at the Elms!" + +"It is all conjecture," said her sister. "Try to be more +contented, Beatrice. We do not make our own lives, we have not +the control of our own destiny." + +"I should like to control mine," sighed Beatrice. + +"Try to be contented, darling," continued the sweet, pleading +voice. "We all love and admire you. No one was ever loved more +dearly or better than you are. The days are rather long at +times, but there are all the wonders and beauties of Nature and +art." + +"Nature and Art are all very well," cried Beatrice; "but give me +life." + +She turned her beautiful, restless face from the smiling sea; the +south wind dancing over the yellow gorse caught up the words +uttered in that clear, musical voice and carried them over the +cliff to one who was lying with half-closed eyes under the shade +of a large tree--a young man with a dark, half-Spanish face +handsome with a coarse kind of beauty. He was lying there, +resting upon the turf, enjoying the beauty of the morning. As +the musical voice reached him, and the strange words fell upon +his ear, he smiled and raised his head to see who uttered them. +He saw the young girls, but their faces were turned from him; +those words range in his ears--"Nature and Art are all very +well, but give me life." + +Who was it longed for life? He understood the longing; he +resolved to wait there until the girls went away. Again he heard +the same voice. + +"I shall leave you to your sails, Lillian. I wish those same +boats would come to carry us away--I wish I had wings and could +fly over the sea and see the bright, grand world that lies beyond +it. Goodbye; I am tired of the never-ending wash of those long, +low waves." + +He saw a young girl rise from the fragrant heather and turn to +descend the cliff. Quick as thought he rushed down by another +path, and, turning back, contrived to meet her half-way. +Beatrice came singing down the cliff. Her humor, never the same +ten minutes together, had suddenly changed. She remembered a new +and beautiful song that Lady Earle had sent, and determined to go +home and try it. There came no warning to her that bright summer +morning. The south wind lifted the hair from her brow and wafted +the fragrance of hawthorn buds and spring flowers to greet her, +but it brought no warning message; the birds singing gayly, the +sun shining so brightly could not tell her that the first link in +a terrible chain was to be forged that morning. + +Half-way down the cliff, where the path was steep and narrow, +Beatrice suddenly met the stranger. A stranger was a rarity at +the Elms. Only at rare intervals did an artist or a tourist seek +shelter and hospitality at the old farm house. The stranger +seemed to be a gentleman. For one moment both stood still; then, +with a low bow, the gentleman stepped aside to let the young girl +pass. As he did so, he noted the rare beauty of that brilliant +face--he remembered the longing words. + +"No wonder," he thought; "it is a sin for such a face as that to +be hidden here." + +The beauty of those magnificent eyes startled him. Who was she? +What could she be doing here? Beatrice turning again, saw the +stranger looking eagerly after her, with profound admiration +expressed in every feature of his face; and that admiring gaze, +the first she had ever received in her life, sank deep into the +vain, girlish heart. + +He watched the graceful, slender figure until the turn of the +road hid Beatrice from his view. He followed her at a safe +distance, and saw her cross the long meadows that led to the +Elms. Then Hugh Fernely waited with patience until one of the +farm laborers came by. By judicious questioning he discovered +much of the history of the beautiful young girl who longed for +life. Her face haunted him--its brilliant, queenly beauty, the +dark, radiant eyes. Come what might, Hugh Fernely said to +himself, he must see her again. + +On the following morning he saw the girls return to the cliff. +Lillian finished her picture. Ever and anon he heard Beatrice +singing, in a low, rich voice, a song that had charmed her with +its weird beauty: + +"For men must work, and women must weep; +And the sooner it's over, the sooner to sleep +And goodbye to the bar and its moaning." + +"I like those words, Lillian," he heard her say. "I wonder how +soon it will be 'over' for me. Shall I ever weep, as the song +says? I have never wept yet." + +This morning the golden-haired sister left the cliff first, and +Beatrice sat reading until the noonday sun shone upon the sea. +Her book charmed her; it was a story telling of the life she +loved and longed for--of the gay, glad world. Unfortunately all +the people in the book were noble, heroic, and ideal. The young +girl, in her simplicity, believed that they who lived in the +world she longed for were all like the people in her book. + +When she left the path that led to the meadows, she saw by her +side the stranger who had met her the day before. Again he bowed +profoundly, and, with many well-expressed apologies, asked some +trifling question about the road. + +Beatrice replied briefly, but she could not help seeing the +wonder of admiration in his face. Her own grew crimson under his +gaze--he saw it, and his heart beat high with triumph. As +Beatrice went through the meadows he walked by her side. She +never quite remembered how it happened, but in a few minutes he +was telling her how many years had passed since he had seen the +spring in England. She forgot all restraint, all prudence, and +raised her beautiful eyes to his. + +"Ah, then," she cried, "you have seen the great world that lies +over the wide sea." + +"Yes," he replied, "I have seen it. I have been in strange, +bright lands, so different from England that they seemed to +belong to another world. I have seen many climes, bright skies, +and glittering seas, where the spice islands lie." + +As he spoke, in words that were full of wild, untutored +eloquence, he saw the young girl's eyes riveted upon him. Sure +of having roused her attention, he bowed, apologized for his +intrusion, and left her. + +Had Dora been like other mothers, Beatrice would have related +this little adventure and told of the handsome young traveler who +had been in strange climes. As it was, knowing her mother's +utter dread of all men--her fear lest her children should ever +love and marry--Beatrice never named the subject. She thought +much of Hugh Fernely--not of him himself, but of the world he +had spoken about--and she hoped it might happen to her to meet +him again. + +"If we had some one here who could talk in that way," she said to +herself, "the Elms would not be quite so insupportable." + +Two days afterward, Beatrice, wandering on the sands, met Hugh +Fernely. She saw the startled look of delight on his face, and +smiled at his pleasure. + +"Pray forgive me," he said. "I--I can not pass you without one +word. Time has seemed to me like one long night since I saw you +last." + +He held in his hand some beautiful lilies of the valley--every +little white warm bell was perfect. He offered them to her with +a low bow. + +"This is the most beautiful flower I have seen for many years," +he said. "May I be forgiven for begging permission to offer it +to the most beautiful lady I have ever seen?" + +Beatrice took it from him, blushing at his words. He walked by +her side along the yellow sands, the waves rolling in and +breaking at their feet. Again his eloquence charmed her. He +told her his name, and how he was captain of a trading vessel. +Instinctively he seemed to understand her character--her +romantic, ideal way of looking at everything. He talked to her +of the deep seas and their many wonders; of the ocean said to be +fathomless; of the coral islands and of waters in whose depths +the oyster containing the pale, gleaming pearl is found; of the +quiet nights spent at sea, where the stars shine as they never +seem to shine on land; of the strange hush that falls upon the +heaving waters before a storm. He told of long days when they +were becalmed upon the green deep, when the vessel seemed + +"A painted ship upon a painted ocean." + +With her marvelous fancy and quick imagination she followed him +to the wondrous depth of silent waters where strange shapes, +never seen by human eye, abound. She hung upon his words; he saw +it, and rejoiced in his success. He did not startle her by any +further compliment, but when their walk was ended he told her +that morning would live in his memory as the happiest time of his +life. + +After a few days it seemed to become a settled thing that +Beatrice should meet Hugh Fernely. Lillian wondered that her +sister so often preferred lonely rambles, but she saw the +beautiful face she loved so dearly grow brighter and happier, +never dreaming the cause. + +For many long days little thought of Hugh Fernely came to +Beatrice. Her mind ran always upon what he had told her--upon +his description of what he had seen and heard. He noted this, +and waited with a patience born of love for the time when she +should take an interest in him. + +Words were weak in which to express the passionate love he felt +for this beautiful and stately young girl. It seemed to him like +a fairy tale. On the morning he first saw Beatrice he had been +walking a long distance, and had lain down to rest on the cliffs. +There the beautiful vision had dawned upon him. The first moment +he gazed into that peerless face he loved Beatrice with a passion +that frightened himself. He determined to win her at any cost. + +At last and by slow degrees he began to speak of her and himself, +slowly and carefully, his keen eyes noting every change upon her +face; he began to offer her delicate compliments and flattery so +well disguised that it did not seem to her flattery at all. He +made her understand that he believed her to be the most beautiful +girl he had ever beheld. He treated her always as though she +were a queen, and he her humblest slave. + +Slowly but surely the sweet poison worked its way; the day came +when that graceful, subtle flattery was necessary to the very +existence of Beatrice Earle. There was much to excuse her; the +clever, artful man into whose hands she had fallen was her first +admirer--the first who seemed to remember she was no longer a +child, and to treat her with deferential attention. Had she +been, as other girls are, surrounded by friends, accustomed to +society, properly trained, prepared by the tender wisdom of a +loving mother, she would never have cast her proud eyes upon Hugh +Fernely; she would never have courted the danger or run the risk. + +As it was, while Dora preferred solitude, and nourished a keen +dislike to her husband in her heart--while Ronald yielded to +obstinate pride, and neglected every duty--while both preferred +the indulgence of their own tempers, and neglected the children +the Almighty intrusted to them, Beatrice went on to her fate. + +It was so sad a story, the details so simple yet so pitiful. +Every element of that impulsive, idealistic nature helped on the +tragedy. Hugh Fernely understood Beatrice as perhaps no one else +ever did. He idealized himself. To her at length he became a +hero who had met with numberless adventures--a hero who had +traveled and fought, brave and generous. After a time he spoke +to her of love, at first never appearing to suppose that she +could care for him, but telling her of his own passionate worship +how her face haunted him, filled his dreams at night, and shone +before him all day--how the very ground she stood upon was +sacred to him--how he envied the flowers she touched--how he +would give up everything to be the rose that died in her hands. +It was all very pretty and poetical, and he knew how to find +pretty, picturesque spots in the woods where the birds and the +flowers helped him to tell his story. + +Beatrice found it very pleasant to be worshiped like a queen; +there was no more monotony for her. Every morning she looked +forward to seeing Hugh--to learning more of those words that +seemed to her like sweetest music. She knew that at some time or +other during the day she would see him; he never tired of +admiring her beauty. Blameworthy was the sad mother with her +stern doctrines, blameworthy the proud, neglectful father, that +she knew not how wrong all this was. He loved her; in a thousand +eloquent ways he told her so. She was his loadstar, beautiful +and peerless. It was far more pleasant to sit on the sea shore, +or under the greenwood trees, listening to such words than to +pass long, dreary hours indoors. And none of those intrusted +with the care of the young girl ever dreamed of her danger. + +So this was the love her mother dreaded so much. This was the +love poets sung of and novelists wrote about. It was pleasant; +but in after days, when Beatrice herself came to love, she knew +that this had been but child's play. + +It was the romance of the stolen meeting that charmed Beatrice. +If Hugh had been admitted to the Elms she would have wearied of +him in a week; but the concealment gave her something to think +of. There was something to occupy her mind; every day she must +arrange for a long ramble, so that she might meet Hugh. So, +while the corn grew ripe in the fields, and the blossoms died +away--while warm, luxurious summer ruled with his golden wand +Ronald Earle's daughter went on to her fate. + + +Chapter XVIII + +At length there came an interruption to Hugh Fernely's love +dream. The time drew near when he must leave Seabay. The vessel +he commanded was bound for China, and was to sail in a few days. +The thought that he must leave the beautiful girl he loved so +dearly and so deeply struck him with unendurable pain; he seemed +only to have lived since he had met her, and he knew that life +without her would be a burden too great for him to bear. He +asked himself a hundred times over: "Does she love me?" He could +not tell. He resolved to try. He dared not look that future in +the face which should take her from him. + +The time drew near; the day was settled on which the "Seagull" +was to set sail, and yet Hugh Fernely had won no promise from +Beatrice Earle. + +One morning Hugh met her at the stile leading from the field into +the meadow lane--the prettiest spot in Knutsford. The ground +was a perfectly beautiful carpet of flowers--wild hyacinths, +purple foxgloves, pretty, pale strawberry blossoms all grew +there. The hedges were one mass of wild roses and woodbine; the +tall elm trees that ran along the lane met shadily overhead; the +banks on either side were radiant in different colored mosses; +huge ferns surrounded the roots of the trees. + +Beatrice liked the quiet, pretty, green meadow lane. She often +walked there, and on this eventful morning Hugh saw her sitting +in the midst of the fern leaves. He was by her side in a minute, +and his dark, handsome face lighted up with joy. + +"How the sun shines!" he said. "I wonder the birds begin to sing +and the flowers to bloom before you are out, Miss Earle." + +"But I am not their sun," replied Beatrice with a smile. + +"But you are mine," cried Hugh; and before she could reply he was +kneeling at her feet, her hands clasped in his, while he told her +of the love that was wearing his life away. + +No one could listen to such words unmoved; they were true and +eloquent, full of strange pathos. He told her how dark without +her the future would be to him, how sad and weary his life; +whereas if she would only love him, and let him claim her when he +returned, he would make her as happy as a queen. He would take +her to the bright sunny lands--would show her all the beauties +and wonders she longed to see--would buy her jewels and dresses +such as her beauty deserved--would be her humble, devoted slave, +if she would only love him. + +It was very pleasant--the bright morning, the picturesque glade, +the warmth and brightness of summer all around. Beatrice looked +at the handsome, pale face with emotion, she felt Hugh's warm +lips pressed to her hand, she felt hot tears rain upon her +fingers, and wondered at such love. Yes, this was the love she +had read of and thought about. + +"Beatrice," cried Hugh, "do not undo me with one word. Say you +love me, my darling--say I may return and claim you as my own. +Your whole life shall be like one long, bright summer's day." + +She was carried away by the burning torrent of passionate words. +With all her spirit and pride she felt weak and powerless before +the mighty love of this strong man. Almost unconscious of what +she did, Beatrice laid her white hands upon the dark, handsome +head of her lover. + +"Hush, Hugh," she said, "you frighten me. I do love you; see, +you tears wet my hand." + +It was not a very enthusiastic response, but it satisfied him. +He clasped the young girl in his arms, and she did not resist; he +kissed the proud lips and the flushed cheek. Beatrice Earle said +no word; he was half frightened, half touched, and wholly +subdued. + +"Now you are mine," cried Hugh--"mine, my own peerless one; +nothing shall part us but death!" + +"Hush!" cried Beatrice, again shuddering as with cold fear. +"That is a word I dislike and dread so much, Hugh--do not use +it." + +"I will not," he replied; and then Beatrice forgot her fears. He +was so happy--he loved her so dearly--he was so proud of +winning her. She listened through the long hours of that sunny +morning. It was the fifteenth of July--he made her note the day +and in two years he would return to take her forever from the +quiet house where her beauty and grace alike were buried. + +That was the view of the matter that had seized upon the girl's +imagination. It was not so much love for Hugh--she liked him. +His flattery--the excitement of meeting him--his love, had +become necessary to her; but had any other means of escape from +the monotony she hated presented itself, she would have availed +herself of it quite as eagerly. Hugh was not so much a lover to +her as a medium of escape from a life that daily became more and +more unendurable. + +She listened with bright smiles when he told her that in two +years he should return to fetch her; and she, thinking much of +the romance, and little of the dishonor of concealment, told him +how her sad young mother hated and dreaded all mention of love +and lovers. + +"Then you must never tell her," he said--"leave that for me +until I return. I shall have money then, and perhaps the command +of a fine vessel. She will not refuse me when she knows how +dearly I love you, and even should your father--the father you +tell of--come home, you will be true to me, Beatrice, will you +not?" + +"Yes, I will be true," she replied--and, to do her justice, she +meant it at the time. Her father's return seemed vague and +uncertain; it might take place in ten or twenty years--it might +never be. Hugh offered her freedom and liberty in two years. + +"If others should seek your love," he said, "should praise your +beauty, and offer you rank or wealth, you will say to yourself +that you will be true to Hugh?" + +"Yes," she said, firmly, "I will do so." + +"Two years will soon pass away," said he. "Ah, Beatrice," he +continued, "I shall leave you next Thursday; give me all the +hours you can. Once away from you, all time will seem to me a +long, dark night." + +It so happened that the farmer and his men were at work in a +field quite on the other side of Knutsford. Dora and Lillian +were intent, the one upon a box of books newly arrived, the other +upon a picture; so Beatrice had every day many hours at her +disposal. She spent them all with Hugh, whose love seemed to +increase with every moment. + +Hugh was to leave Seabay on Thursday, and on Wednesday evening he +lingered by her side as though he could not part with her. To do +Hugh Fernely justice, he loved Beatrice for herself. Had she +been a penniless beggar he would have loved her just the same. +The only dark cloud in his sky was the knowledge that she was far +above him. Still, he argued to himself, the story she told of +her father was an impossible one. He did not believe that Ronald +Earle would ever take his daughters home--he did not quite know +what to think, but he had no fear on that score. + +On the Wednesday evening they wandered down the cliff and sat +upon the shore, watching the sun set over the waters. Hugh took +from his pocket a little morocco case and placed it in Beatrice's +hands. She opened it, and cried out with admiration; there lay +the most exquisite ring she had ever seen, of pure pale gold, +delicately and elaborately chased, and set with three gleaming +opals of rare beauty. + +"Look at the motto inside," said Hugh. + +She held the ring in her dainty white fingers, and read: "Until +death parts us." + +"Oh, Hugh," she cried, that word again?" I dread it; why is it +always coming before me?" + +He smiled at her fears, and asked her to let him place the ring +upon her finger. + +"In two years," he said, "I shall place a plain gold ring on this +beautiful hand. Until then wear this, Beatrice, for my sake; it +is our betrothal ring." + +"It shall not leave my finger," she said. "Mamma will not notice +it, and every one else will think she has given it to me +herself." + +"And now," said Hugh, "promise me once more, Beatrice, you will +be true to me--you will wait for me--that when I return you +will let me claim you as my own?" + +"I do promise," she said, looking at the sun shining on the +opals. + +Beatrice never forgot the hour that followed. Proud, impetuous, +and imperial as she was, the young man's love and sorrow touched +her as nothing had ever done. The sunbeams died away in the +west, the glorious mass of tinted clouds fell like a veil over +the evening sky, the waves came in rapidly, breaking into sheets +of white, creamy foam in the gathering darkness, but still he +could not leave her. + +"I must go, Hugh," said Beatrice, at length; "mamma will miss +me." + +She never forgot the wistful eyes lingering upon her face. + +"Once more, only once more," he said. "Beatrice, my love, when I +return you will be my wife?" + +"Yes," she replied, startled alike by his grief and his love. + +"Never be false to me," he continued. "If you were--" + +"What then?" she asked, with a smile, as he paused. + +"I should either kill myself or you," he replied, "perhaps both. +Do not make me say such terrible things. It could not be. The +sun may fall from the heavens, the sea rolling there may become +dry land. Nature--everything may prove false, but not you, the +noblest, the truest of women. Say 'I love you, Hugh,' and let +those be your last words to me. They will go with me over the +wide ocean, and be my rest and stay." + +"I love you, Hugh," she said, as he wished her. + +Something like a deep, bitter sob came from his white lips. +Death itself would have been far easier than leaving her. He +raised her beautiful face to his--his tears and kisses seemed to +burn it--and then he was gone. + +Gone! The romance of the past few weeks, the engrossing +interest, all suddenly collapsed. Tomorrow the old monotonous +life must begin again, without flattery, praise, or love. He had +gone; the whole romance was ended; nothing of it remained save +the memory of his love and the ring upon her finger. + +At first there fell upon Beatrice a dreadful blank. The +monotony, the quiet, the simple occupations, were more +unendurable than ever; but in a few days that feeling wore off, +and then she began to wonder at what she had done. The glamour +fell from before her eyes; the novelty and excitement, the +romance of the stolen meetings, the pleasant homage of love and +worship no longer blinded her. Ah, and before Hugh Fernely had +been many days and nights upon the wide ocean, she ended by +growing rather ashamed of the matter, and trying to think of it +as little as she could! Once she half tried to tell Lillian; but +the look of horror on the sweet, pure face startled her, and she +turned the subject by some merry jest. + +Then there came a letter from Mrs. Vyvian announcing her return. +The girls were warmly attached to the lady, who had certainly +devoted the ten best years of her life to them. She brought with +her many novelties, new books, new music, amusing intelligence +from the outer world. For some days there was no lack of +excitement and amusement; then all fell again into the old +routine. + +Mrs. Vyvian saw a great change in Beatrice. Some of the old +impetuosity had died away; she was as brilliant as ever, full of +life and gayety, but in some way there was an indescribable +change. At times a strange calm would come over the beautiful +face, a far-off, dreamy expression steal into the dark, bright +eyes. She had lost her old frankness. Time was when Mrs. Vyvian +could read all her thoughts, and very rebellious thoughts they +often were. But now there seemed to be a sealed chamber in the +girl's heart. She never spoke of the future, and for the first +time her watchful friend saw in her a nervous fear that +distressed her. Carefully and cautiously the governess tried to +ascertain the cause; she felt sure at last that, young as she +was, carefully as she had been watched, Beatrice Earle had a +secret in her life that she shared with no one else. + + +Chapter XIX + +There were confusion and dismay in the stately home of the +Earles. One sultry morning in August Lord Earle went out into +the garden, paying no heed to the excessive heat. As he did not +return to luncheon, the butler went in search of him and found +his master lying as one dead on the ground. He was carried to +his own room, doctors were summoned in hot haste from far and +near; everything that science or love, skill or wisdom could +suggest was done for him, but all in vain. The hour had come +when he must leave home, rank, wealth, position--whatever he +valued most--when he must answer for his life and what he had +done with it--when he must account for wealth, talent, for the +son given to him--when human likings, human passions, would seem +so infinitely little. + +But while Lord Earle lay upon the bed, pale and unconscious, Lady +Earle, who knelt by him and never left him, felt sure that his +mind and heart were both active. He could not speak; he did not +seem to understand. Who knows what passes in those dread moments +of silence, when the light of eternity shows so clearly all that +we have done in the past? It may be that while he lay there, +hovering as it were between two worlds, the remembrance of his +son struck him like a two-edged sword--his son, his only child +given to him to train, not only for earth but for heaven--the +boy he had loved and idolized, then cast off, and allowed to +become a wanderer on the face of the earth. It may be that his +stern, sullen pride, his imperious self-will, his resolute +trampling upon the voice of nature and duty, confronted him in +the new light shining upon him. Perhaps his own words returned +to him, that until he lay dead Ronald should never see +Earlescourt again; for suddenly the voice they thought hushed +forever sounded strangely in the silence of that death chamber. + +"My son!" cried the dying man, clasping his hands--"my son!" + +Those who saw it never forgot the blank, awful terror that came +upon the dying face as he uttered his last words. + +They bore the weeping wife from the room. Lady Earle, strong, +and resolute though she was, could not drive that scene from her +mind. She was ill for many days, and so it happened that the +lord of Earlescourt was laid in the family vault long ere the +family at the Elms knew of the change awaiting them. + +Ronald was summoned home in all haste; but months passed ere +letters reached him, and many more before he returned to England. + +Lord Earle's will was brief, there was no mention of his son's +name. There was a handsome provision for Lady Earle, the pretty +little estate of Roslyn was settled upon her; the servants +received numerous legacies; Sir Harry Laurence and Sir Hugh +Charteris were each to receive a magnificent mourning ring; but +there was no mention of the once-loved son and heir. + +As the heir at law, everything was Ronald's--the large amount of +money the late lord had saved, title, estates, everything +reverted to him. But Ronald would have exchanged all for one +line of forgiveness, one word of pardon from the father he had +never ceased to love. + +It was arranged that until Ronald's return his mother should +continue to reside at Earlescourt, and the management of the +estates was intrusted to Mr. Burt, the family solicitor. + +Lady Earle resolved to go to the Elms herself; great changes must +be made there. Ronald's wife and children must take their places +in the world; and she felt a proud satisfaction in thinking that, +thanks to her sensible and judicious management, Dora would fill +her future position with credit. She anticipated Ronald's +delight when he should see his beautiful and accomplished +daughters. Despite her great sorrow, the lady of Earlescourt +felt some degree of hope for the future. She wrote to the Elms, +telling Dora of her husband's death, and announcing her own +coming; then the little household understood that their quiet and +solitude had ended forever. + +The first thing was to provide handsome mourning. Dora was +strangely quiet and sad through it all. The girls asked a +hundred questions about their father, whom they longed to see. +They knew he had left home in consequence of some quarrel with +his father--so much Lady Earle told them--but they never +dreamed that his marriage had caused the fatal disagreement; they +never knew that, for their mother's sake, Lady Earle carefully +concealed all knowledge of it from them. + +Lady Earle reached the Elms one evening in the beginning of +September. She asked first to see Dora alone. + +During the long years Dora had grown to love the stately, gentle +lady who was Ronald's mother. She could not resist her sweet, +gracious dignity and winning manners. So, when Lady Earle, +before seeing her granddaughters, went to Dora's room, wishing +for a long consultation with her, Dora received her with gentle, +reverential affection. + +"I wish to see you first," said Lady Helena Earle, "so that we +may arrange our plans before the children know anything of them. +Ronald will return to England in a few months. Dora, what course +shall you adopt?" + +"None," she replied. "Your son's return has nothing whatever to +do with me." + +"But, surely," said lady Helena, "for the children's sake you +will not refuse at least an outward show of reconciliation?" + +"Mr. Earle has not asked it," said Dora--"he never will do so, +Lady Helena. It is as far from his thoughts as from mine." + +Lady Earle sat for some moments too much astounded for speech. + +"I never inquired the cause of your separation, Dora," she said, +gently, "and I never wish to know it. My son told me you could +live together no longer. I loved my own husband; I was a devoted +and affectionate wife to him. I bore with his faults and loved +his virtues, so that I can not imagine what I should do were I in +your place. I say to you what I should say to Ronald--they are +solemn words--'What therefore God hath joined together, let no +man put asunder.' Now let me tell you my opinion. It is this, +that nothing can justify such a separation as yours--nothing but +the most outrageous offenses or the most barbarous cruelty. Take +the right course, Dora; submit to your husband. Believe me, +woman's rights are all fancy and nonsense; loving, gentle +submission is the fairest ornament of woman. Even should Ronald +be in the wrong, trample upon all pride and temper, and make the +first advances to him." + +"I can not," said Dora gravely. + +"Ronald was always generous and chivalrous," continued Lady +Earle. "Oh, Dora, have you forgotten how my son gave up all the +world for you?" + +"No," she replied, bitterly; "nor has he forgotten it, Lady +Earle." + +The remembrance of what she thought her wrongs rose visibly +before her. She saw again the magnificent face of Valentine +Charteris, with its calm, high-bred wonder. She saw her +husband's white, angry, indignant countenance--gestures full of +unutterable contempt. Ah, no, never again! Nothing could heal +that quarrel. + +"You must take your place in the world," continued Lady Earle. +"You are no longer simply Mrs. Earle of the Elms; you are Lady +Earle, of Earlescourt, wife of its lord, the mother of his +children. You have duties too numerous for me to mention, and +you must not shrink from them." + +"I refuse all," she replied, calmly; "I refuse to share your +son's titles, his wealth, his position, his duties; I refuse to +make any advances toward a reconciliation; I refuse to be +reconciled." + +"And why?" asked Lady Helena, gravely. + +A proud flush rose to Dora's face--hot anger stirred in her +heart. + +"Because your son said words to me that I never can and never +will forget," she cried. "I did wrong--Lady Helena, I was mad, +jealous, blind--I did wrong--I did what I now know to be +dishonorable and degrading. I knew no better, and he might have +pardoned me, remembering that. But before the woman I believe to +be my rival he bitterly regretted having made me his wife." + +"They were hard words," said Lady Earle. + +"Very hard," replied Dora; "they broke my heart--they slew me in +my youth; I have never lived since then." + +"Can you never forgive and forget them, Dora?" asked Lady Helena. + +"Never," she replied; "they are burned into my heart and on my +brain. I shall never forget them; your son and I must be +strangers, Lady Earle, while we live." + +"I can say no more," sighed Lady Earle. "Perhaps a mightier +voice will call to you, Dora, and then you will obey." + +A deep silence fell upon them. Lady Helena was more grieved and +disconcerted than she cared to own. She had thought of taking +her son's wife and children home in triumph, but it was not to +be. + +"Shall we speak of the children now?" she asked at length. "Some +arrangements must be made for them." + +"Yes," said Dora, "their father has claims upon them. I am ready +to yield to them. I do not believe he will ever love them or +care for them, because they are mine. At the same time, I give +them up to him and to you, Lady Earle. The sweetest and best +years of their lives have been spent with me; I must therefore +not repine. I have but one stipulation to make, and it is that +my children shall never hear one word against me." + +"You know little of me," said Lady Helena, "if you think such a +thing is possible. You would rather part with your children than +accompany them?" + +"Far rather," she replied. "I know you will allow them to visit +me, Lady Earle. I have known for many years that such a time +must come, and I am prepared for it." + +"But, my dear Dora," said Lady Earle, warmly, "have you +considered what parting with your children implies--the +solitude, the desolation?" + +"I know it all," replied Dora. "It will be hard, but not so hard +nor so bitter as living under the same roof with their father." + +Carefully and quietly Dora listened to Lady Earle's plans and +arrangements--how her children were to go to Earlescourt and +take the position belonging to them. Mrs. Vyvian was to go with +them and remain until Lord Earle returned. Until then they were +not to be introduced into society; it would take some time to +accustom them to so great a change. When Lord Earl returned he +could pursue what course he would. + +"He will be so proud of them!" said Lady Earle. "I have never +seen a girl so spirited and beautiful as Beatrice, nor one so +fair and gentle as Lillian. Oh, Dora, I should be happy if you +were going with us." + +Never once during the few days of busy preparation did Dora's +proud courage give way. The girls at first refused to leave her; +they exhausted themselves in conjectures as to her continued +residence at the Elms, and were forced to be satisfied with Lady +Earle's off-hand declaration that their mother could not endure +any but a private life. + +"Mamma has a title now," said Beatrice, wonderingly; "why will +she not assume it?" + +"Your mother's tastes are simple and plain," replied Lady Earle. +"Her wishes must be treated with respect." + +Dora did not give way until the two fair faces that had +brightened her house vanished. When they were gone, and a +strange, hushed silence fell upon the place, pride and courage +gave way. In that hour the very bitterness of death seemed to be +upon her. + + +Chapter XX + +It was a proud moment for Lady Earle when she led the two young +girls through the long line of servants assembled to receive +them. They were both silent from sheer wonder. They had left +Florence at so early an age that they had not the faintest +remembrance of the pretty villa on the banks of the Arno. All +their ideas were centered in the Elms--they had never seen any +other home. + +Lady Earle watched the different effect produced upon them by the +glimpse of Earlescourt. Lillian grew pale; she trembled, and her +wondering eyes filled with tears. Beatrice, on the contrary, +seemed instantly to take in the spirit of the place. Her face +flushed; a proud light came into her glorious eyes; her haughty +head was carried more regally than ever. There was no timidity, +no shyly expressed wonder, no sensitive shrinking from new and +unaccustomed splendor. + +They were deeply impressed with the magnificence of their new +home. For many long days Lady Earle employed herself in showing +the numerous treasures of art and vertu the house contained. The +picture gallery pleased Beatrice most; she gloried in the +portraits of the grand old ancestors, "each with a story to his +name." One morning she stood before Lady Helena's portrait, +admiring the striking likeness. Suddenly turning to the stately +lady by her side, she said: "All the Ladies Earle are here; where +is my own mamma? Her face is sweet and fair as any of these. +Why is there no portrait of her?" + +"There will be one some day," said Lady Helena. "When your +father returns all these things will be seen to." + +"We have no brother," continued Beatrice. "Every baron here +seems to have been succeeded by his son--who will succeed my +father?" + +"His next of kin," replied Lady Earle, sadly--"Lionel Dacre; he +is a third cousin of Lord Earle. He will have both title and +estate." + +She signed deeply; it was a real trouble to Lady Helena that she +should never see her son's son, never love and nurse, never bless +the heir of Earlescourt. + +Lillian delighted most in the magnificent gardens, the thickly +wild wooded park, where every dell was filled with flowers and +ferns, every knoll crowned with noble trees. The lake, with +white lilies sleeping on its tranquil bosom and weeping willows +touching its clear surface, pleased her most of all. As they +stood on its banks, Beatrice, looking into the transparent +depths, shuddered, and turned quickly away. + +"I am tired of water," she said; "nothing wearied me so much at +Knutsford as the wide, restless sea. I must have been born with +a natural antipathy to water." + +Many days passed before they were familiar with Earlescourt. +Every day brought its new wonders. + +A pretty suite of rooms had been prepared for each sister; they +were in the western wing, and communicated with each other. The +Italian nurse who had come with them from Florence had preferred +remaining with Dora. Lady Earle had engaged two fashionable +ladies' maids, had also ordered for each a wardrobe suitable to +the daughters of Lord Earle. + +Mrs. Vyvian had two rooms near her charges. Knowing that some +months might elapse before Ronald returned, Lady Helena settled +upon a course of action. The young girls were to be kept in +seclusion, and not to be introduced to the gay world, seeing only +a few old friends of the family; they were to continue to study +for a few hours every morning, to drive or walk with Lady Earle +after luncheon, to join her at the seven o'clock dinner, and to +pass the evening in the drawing room. + +It was a new and delightful life. Beatrice reveled in the luxury +and grandeur that surrounded her. She amused Lady Earle by her +vivacious description of the quiet home at the Elms. + +"I feel at home here," she said, "and I never did there. At +times I wake up, half dreading to hear the rustling of the tall +elm trees, and old Mrs. Thorne's voice asking about the cows. +Poor mamma! I can not understand her taste." + +When they became more accustomed to the new life, the strange +incongruity in their family struck them both. On one side a +grand old race, intermarried with some of the noblest families in +England--a stately house, title, wealth, rank, and position; on +the other a simple farmer and his homely wife, the plain old +homestead, and complete isolation from all they considered +society. + +How could it be? How came it that their father was lord of +Earlescourt and their mother the daughter of a plain country +farmer? For the first time it struck them both that there was +some mystery in the life of their parents. Both grew more shy of +speaking of the Elms, feeling with the keen instinct peculiar to +youth that there was something unnatural in their position. + +Visitors came occasionally to Earlescourt. Sir Harry and Lady +Laurence of Holtham often called; Lady Charteris came from +Greenoke, and all warmly admired the lovely daughters of Lord +Earle. + +Beatrice, with her brilliant beauty, her magnificent voice, and +gay, graceful manner, was certainly the favorite. Sir Harry +declared she was the finest rider in the county. + +There was an unusual stir of preparation once when Lady Earle +told them that the daughter of her devoted friend, Lady +Charteris, was coming to spend a few days at Earlescourt. Then, +for the first time, they saw the beautiful and stately lady whose +fate was so strangely interwoven with theirs. + +Valentine Charteris was no longer "the queen of the county." +Prince di Bergezi had won the beautiful English woman. He had +followed her to Greenoke and repeated his question. There was +neither coquetry nor affectation in Valentine--she had thought +the matter over, and decided that she was never likely to meet +with any one else she liked and respected so much as her Italian +lover. He had the virtues, without the faults, of the children +of the South; a lavishly generous, princely disposition; well- +cultivated artistic tastes; good principles and a chivalrous +sense of honor. Perhaps the thing that touched her most was his +great love for her. In many respects he resembled Ronald Earle +more nearly than any one else she had ever met. + +To the intense delight of both parents, Miss Charteris accepted +him. For her sake the prince consented to spend every alternate +year in England. + +Three times had the whole country side welcomed the stately +Italian and his beautiful wife. This was their fourth visit to +England, and, when the princess heard from Lady Charteris that +Ronald's two daughters, whom she remembered as little babes, were +at Earlescourt, nothing would satisfy her but a visit there. + +The young girls looked in admiring wonder at the lady. They had +never seen any one so dazzling or so bright. The calm, grand, +Grecian face had gained in beauty; the magnificent head, with its +wealth of golden hair, the tall, stately figure, charmed them. +And when Valentine took them in her arms and kissed them her +thoughts went back to the white, wild face in the garden and the +dark eyes that had flamed in hot anger upon her. + +"I knew your mother years ago," she said; "has she never +mentioned my name? I used to nurse you both in the little villa +at Florence. I was one of your father's oldest friends." + +No, they had never heard her name; and Beatrice wondered that her +mother could have known and forgotten one so beautiful as the +princess. + +The week she remained passed like a long, bright dream. Beatrice +almost worshiped Valentine; this was what she had dreamed of long +ago; this was one of the ideal ladies living in the bright, gay +world she was learning to understand. + +When the prince and princess left Earlescourt they made Lady +Helena promise that Beatrice and Lillian should visit them at +Florence. They spoke of the fair and coquettish Countess Rosali, +still a reigning belle, and said how warmly she would welcome +them for their father's sake. + +"You talk so much of Italy," said Valentine to Beatrice. "It is +just the land for the romance you love. You shall see blue skies +and sunny seas, vines, and myrtles, and orange trees in bloom; +you shall see such luxuriance and beauty that you will never wish +to return to this cold, dreary England." + +It was thus arranged that, when Lord Earle returned, the visit +should be paid. The evening after their guests' departure seemed +long and triste. + +"I will write to mamma," said Beatrice; "it is strange she never +told us anything of her friend. I must tell her all about the +visit." + +Not daring to ask the girls to keep any secret from Dora, Lady +Earle was obliged to let the letter go. The passionate, lonely +heart brooded over every word. Beatrice dwelt with loving +admiration on the calm, grand beauty of the princess, her sweet +and gracious manner, her kindly recollection of Dora, and her +urgent invitation to them. Dora read it through calmly, each +word stabbing her with cruel pain. The old, fierce jealousy rose +in her heart, crushing every gentle thought. She tore the +letter, so full of Valentine, into a thousand shreds. + +"She drew my husband from me," she cried, "with the miserable +beauty of her fair face, and now she will win my children." + +Then across the fierce tempest of jealous anger came one thought +like a ray of light. Valentine was married; she had married the +wealthy, powerful prince who had been Ronald's patron; so that, +after all, even if she had lured Ronald from her, he had not +cared for her, or she had soon ceased to care for him. + +Beatrice thought it still more strange when her mother's reply to +that long, enthusiastic letter came. Dora said simply that she +had never named the Princess di Borgesi because she was a person +whom she did not care to remember. + +Fifteen months passed, and at length came a letter from Lord +Earle, saying that he hoped to reach England before Christmas, +and in any case would be with them by Christmas day. It was a +short letter, written in the hurry of traveling; the words that +touched his children most, were "I am glad you have the girls at +Earlescourt; I am anxious to see what they are like. Make them +happy, mother; let hem have all they want; and, if it be +possible, after my long neglect, teach them to love me." + +The letter contained no mention of their mother; no allusion was +made to her. The girls marked the weeks go by in some little +trepidation. What if, after all, this father, whom they did not +remember, should not like them: Beatrice did not think such a +thing very probable, but Lillian passed many an hour in nervous, +fanciful alarm. + +It was strange how completely all the old life had died away. +Both had felt a kind of affection for the homely farmer and his +wife--they sent many presents to them--but Beatrice would curl +her proud lip in scorn when she read aloud that "Mr. And Mrs. +Thorne desired their humble duty to Lady Earle." + +Lady Earle felt no anxiety about her son's return; looking at his +daughters, she saw no fault in them. Beautiful, accomplished, +and graceful, what more could he desire? She inwardly thanked +Providence that neither of them bore the least resemblance to the +Thornes. Beatrice looked like one of the Ladies Earle just +stepped out from a picture; Lillian, in her fair, dove-like +loveliness, was quite as charming. What would Lady Earle--so +truthful, so honorable--have thought or said had she known that +their bright favorite with the Earle face had plighted her troth, +unknown to any one, to the captain of a trading vessel, who was +to claim her in two years for his wife? + +Lady Earl had formed her own plans for Beatrice; she hoped the +time would come when she would be Lady Earle of Earlescourt. +Nothing could be more delightful, nothing easier, provided +Beatrice would marry the young heir, Lionel Dacre. + +One morning, as the sisters sat in Lillian's room, Lady Earle +entered with an unusual expression of emotion on her fair, high- +bred face. She held an open letter in her hand. + +"My dear children," she said, "you must each look your very best +this evening. I have a note here--your father will be home +tonight." + +The calm, proud voice faltered then, and the stately mistress of +Earlescourt wept at the thought of her son's return as she had +never wept since he left her. + + +Chapter XXI + +Once more Ronald Earle stood upon English shores; once again he +heard his mother tongue spoken all around him, once again he felt +the charm of quiet, sweet English scenery. Seventeen years had +passed since he had taken Dora's hand in his and told her he +cared nothing for all he was leaving behind him, nothing for any +one in the world save herself--seventeen years, and his love- +dream had lasted but two! Then came the cruel shock that blinded +him with anger and shame; then came the rude awakening from his +dream when, looking his life bravely in the face, he found it +nothing but a burden--hope and ambition gone--the grand +political mission he had once believed to be his own impossible +nothing left to him of his glorious dreams but existence--and +all for what? For the mad, foolish love of a pretty face. He +hated himself for his weakness and folly. For that--for the +fair, foolish woman who had shamed him so sorely--he had half +broken his mother's heart, and had imbittered his father's life. +For that he had made himself an exile, old in his youth, worn and +weary, when life should have been all smiling around him. + +These thoughts flashed through his mind as the express train +whirled through the quiet English landscape. Winter snows had +fallen, the great bare branches of the tall trees were gaunt and +snow-laden, the fields were one vast expanse of snow, the frost +had hardened the icicles hanging from hedges and trees. The +scene seemed strange to him after so many years of the tropical +sun. Yet every breath of the sharp, frosty air invigorated him +and brought him new life and energy. + +At length the little station was reached, and he saw the carriage +with his liveried servants awaiting him. A warm flush rose to +Lord Earle's face; for a moment he felt almost ashamed of meeting +his old domestics. They must all know now why he had left home. +His own valet, Morton, was there. Lord Earle had kept him, and +the man had asked permission to go and meet his old master. + +Ronald was pleased to see him; there were a few words of +courteous greeting from Lord Earle to all around, and a few still +kinder words to Morton. + +Once again Ronald saw the old trees of which he had dreamed so +often, the stately cedars, the grand spreading oaks, the tall +aspens, the lady beeches, the groves of poplars--every spot was +familiar to him. In the distance he saw the lake shining through +the trees; he drove past the extensive gardens, the orchards now +bare and empty. He was not ashamed of the tears that rushed +warmly to his eyes when the towers and turrets of Earlescourt +came in sight. + +A sharp sense of pain filled his heart--keen regret, bitter +remorse, a longing for power to undo all that was done, to recall +the lost miserable years--the best of his life. He might +return; he might do his best to atone for his error; but neither +repentance nor atonement would give him back the father whose +pride he had humbled in the dust. + +As the carriage rolled up the broad drive, a hundred instances of +his father's love and indulgence flashed across him--he had +never refused any request save one. He wisely and tenderly tried +to dissuade him from the false step that could never be retraced +but all in vain. + +He remembered his father's face on that morning when, with +outstretched hands, he bade him leave his presence and never seek +it more--when he told him that whenever he looked upon his dead +face he was to remember that death itself was less bitter than +the hour in which he had been deceived. + +Sad, bitter memories filled his heart when the carriage stopped +at the door and Ronald caught sight of the old familiar faces, +some in smiles, some in tears. + +The library door was thrown open. Hardly knowing whither he +went, Lord Earle entered, and it was closed behind him. His +eyes, dimmed with tears, saw a tall, stately lady, who advanced +to meet him with open arms. + +The face he remembered so fair and calm bore deep marks of +sorrow; the proud, tender eyes were shadowed; the glossy hair was +threaded with silver; but it was his mother's voice that cried to +him, "My son, my son, thank Heaven you have returned!" + +He never remembered how long his mother held him clasped in her +arms. Earth has no love like a mother's love--none so tender, +so true, so full of sweet wisdom, so replete with pity and +pardon. It was her own son whom Lady Earle held in her arms. +She forgot that he was a man who had incurred just displeasure. +He was her boy, her own treasure, and so it was that her words of +greeting were all of loving welcome. + +"How changed you are," she said, drawing him nearer to the fast- +fading light. "Your face is quite bronzed, and you look so many +years older--so sad, so worn! Oh, Ronald, I must teach you to +grow young and happy again!" + +He sighed deeply, and his mother's heart grew sad as she watched +his restless face. + +"Old-fashioned copy-books say, mother, that 'to be happy one must +be good.' I have not been good," he said with a slight smile, +"and I shall never be happy." + +In the faint waning light, through which the snow gleamed +strangely, mother and son sat talking. Lady Earle told Ronald of +his father's death--of the last yearning cry when all the pent- +up love of years seemed to rush forth and overpower him with its +force. It was some comfort to him, after all, that his father's +last thoughts and last words had been of him. + +His heart was strangely softened; a new hope came to him. +Granted that the best part of his life was wasted, he would do +his best with the remainder. + +"And my children," he said, "my poor little girls! I will not +see them until I am calm and refreshed. I know they are well and +happy with you." + +Then, taking advantage of his mood, Lady Helena said what she had +been longing to say. + +"Ronald," she began, "I have had much to suffer. You will never +know how my heart has been torn between my husband and my son. +Let my last few years be spent in peace." + +"They shall, mother," he said. "Your happiness shall be my +study." + +"There can be no rest for me," continued his mother, "unless all +division in our family ends. Ronald, I, who never asked you a +favor before, ask one now. Seek Dora and bring her home +reconciled and happy." + +A dark angry frown such as she had never seen there before came +into Lord Earle's face. + +"Anything but that," he replied, hastily; "I can not do it, +mother. I could not, if I lay upon my death bed." + +"And why?" asked Lady Helena, simply, as she had asked Dora. + +"For a hundred reasons, the first and greatest of which is that +she has outraged all my notions of honor, shamed and disgraced me +in the presence of one whom I esteemed and revered; she has--But +no, I will not speak of my wife's errors, it were unmanly. I can +not forgive her, mother. I wish her no harm; let her have every +luxury my wealth can procure, but do not name her to me. I +should be utterly devoid of all pride if I could pardon her." + +"Pride on your side," said Lady Earle, sadly, "and temper on +hers! Oh, Ronald, how will it end? Be wise in time; the most +honest and noble man is he who conquers himself. Conquer +yourself, my son, and pardon Dora." + +"I could more easily die," he replied, bitterly. + +"Then," said Lady Earle, sorrowfully, "I must say to you as I +said to Dora--beware; pride and temper must bend and break. Be +warned in time." + +"Mother," interrupted Ronald, bending over the pale face so full +of emotion, "let this be the last time. You distress yourself +and me; do not renew the subject. I may forgive her in the hour +of death--not before." + +Lady Helena's last hope died away; she had thought that in the +first hour of his return, when old memories had softened his +heart, she would prevail on him to seek his wife whom he had +ceased to love, and for their children's sake bring her home. She +little dreamed that the coming home, the recollection of his +father, the ghost of his lost youth and blasted hopes rising +every instant, had hardened him against the one for whom he had +lost all. + +"You will like to see the children now," said Lady Helena. "I +will ring for lights. You will be charmed with both. Beatrice +is much like you--she has the Earle face, and, unless I am +mistaken, the Earle spirit, too." + +"Beatrice," said Lillian, as they descended the broad staircase, +"I am frightened. I wish I could remember something of papa +his voice or his smile; it is like going to see a stranger. And +suppose, after all, he does not like us!" + +"Suppose what is of greater importance," said Beatrice proudly +"that we do not like him!" + +But, for all her high spirits and hauteur, Beatrice almost +trembled as the library door opened and Lady Earle came forward +to met them. Beatrice raised her eyes dauntlessly and saw before +her a tall, stately gentleman with a handsome face, the saddest +and noblest she had ever seen--clear, keen eyes that seemed to +pierce through all disguise and read all thoughts. + +"There is Beatrice," said Lady Helena, as she took her hand +gently; and Ronald looked in startled wonder at the superb beauty +of the face and figure before him. + +"Beatrice," he said, kissing the proud, bright face, "can it be +possible? When I saw you last you were a little, helpless +child." + +"I am not helpless now," she replied, with a smile; "and I hope +you are going to love me very much, papa. You have to make up +for fifteen years of absence. I think it will not be very +difficult to love you." + +He seemed dazzled by her beauty--her frank, high spirit and +fearless words. Then he saw a golden head, with sweet, dove-like +eyes, raised to his. + +"I am Lillian, papa," said a clear, musical voice. "Look at me, +please--and love me too." + +He did both, charmed with the gentle grace of her manner, and the +fair, pure face. Then Lord Earle took both his children in his +arms. + +"I wish," he said, in a broken voice and with tears in his eyes, +"that I had seen you before. They told me my little twin +children had grown into beautiful girls, but I did not realize +it." + +And again, when she saw his proud happiness, Lady Helena longed +to plead for the mother of his children, that she might also +share in his love; but she dared not. His words haunted her. +Dora would be forgiven only in the hour of death. + + +Chapter XXII + +The evening of his return was one of the happiest of Lord Earle's +life. He was charmed with his daughters. Lady Helena thought, +with a smile, that it was difficult to realize the relationship +between them. Although her son looked sad and care-worn, he +seemed more like an elder brother than the father of the two +young girls. + +There was some little restraint between them at first. Lord +Earle seemed at a loss what to talk about; then Lady Helena's +gracious tact came into play. She would not have dinner in the +large dining room, she ordered it to be served in the pretty +morning room, where the fire burned cheerfully and the lamps gave +a flow of mellow light. It was a picture of warm, cozy English +comfort, and Lord Earle looked pleased when he saw it. + +Then, when dinner was over, she asked Beatrice to sing, and she, +only pleased to show Lord Earle the extent of her +accomplishments, obeyed. Her superb voice, with its clear, +ringing tones, amazed him. Beatrice sang song after song with a +passion and fire that told how deep the music lay in her soul. + +Then Lady Helena bade Lillian bring out her folio of drawings, +and again Lord Earle was pleased and surprised by the skill and +talent he had not looked for. He praised the drawings highly. +One especially attracted his attention--it was the pretty scene +Lillian had sketched on the May day now so long passed--the sun +shining upon the distant white sails, and the broad, beautiful +sweep of sea at Knutsford. + +"That is an excellent picture," he said; "it ought to be framed. +It is too good to be hidden in a folio. You have just caught the +right coloring, Lillian; one can almost see the sun sparkling on +the water. Where is this sea-view taken from?" + +"Do you not know it?" she asked, looking at him with wonder in +her eyes. "It is from Knutsford--mamma's home." + +Ronald looked up in sudden, pained surprise. + +"Mamma's home!" The words smote him like a blow. He remembered +Dora's offense--her cold letter, her hurried flight, his own +firm resolve never to receive her in his home again--but he had +not remembered that the children must love her--that she was +part of their lives. He could not drive her memory from their +minds. There before him lay the pretty picture of "mamma's +home." + +"This," said Lillian, "is the Elms. See those grand old trees, +papa! This is the window of Mamma's room, and this was our +study." + +He looked with wonder. This, then, was Dora's home--the pretty, +quaint homestead standing in the midst of the green meadows. As +he gazed, he half wondered what the Dora who for fifteen years +had lived there could be like. Did the curling rings of black +hair fall as gracefully as ever? Had the blushing dimpled face +grown pale and still? And then, chasing away all softened +thought, came the remembrance of that hateful garden scene. Ah, +no, he could never forgive--he could not speak of her even to +these, her children! The two pictures were laid aside, and no +more was said of framing them. + +Lord Earle said to himself, after his daughters had retired, that +both were charming; but, though he hardly owned it to himself, if +he had a preference, it was for brilliant, beautiful Beatrice. +He had never seen any one to surpass her. After Lady Helena had +left him, he sat by the fire dreaming, as his father long years +ago had done before him. + +It was not too late yet, he thought, to retrieve the fatal +mistake of his life. He would begin at once. He would first +give all his attention to his estate; it should be a model for +all others. He would interest himself in social duties; people +who lamented his foolish, wasted youth should speak with warm +admiration of his manhood; above all matters he dreamed of great +things for his daughters, especially Beatrice. With her beauty +and grace, her magnificent voice, her frank, fearless spirit, and +piquant, charming wit, she would be a queen of society; through +his daughter his early error would be redeemed. Beatrice was +sure to marry well; she would bring fresh honors to the grand old +race ha had shamed. When the annals of the family told, in years +to come, the story of his mistaken marriage, it would be amply +redeemed by the grand alliance Beatrice would be sure to +contract. + +His hopes rested upon her and centered in her. As he sat +watching the glowing embers, there came to him the thought that +what Beatrice was to him he had once been to the father he was +never more to see. Ah! If his daughter should be like himself +if she should ruin his hopes, throw down the air castle he had +built--should love unworthily, marry beneath her, deceive and +disappoint him! But no, it should not be--he would watch over +her. Lord Earle shuddered at the thought. + +During breakfast on the morning following his return Lady Helena +asked what his plans were for the day--whether he intended +driving the girls over to Holte. + +"No," said Lord Earle. "I wish to have a long conversation with +my daughters. We shall be engaged during the morning. After +luncheon we will go to Holte." + +Ronald, Lord Earle, had made up his mind. In the place where his +father had warned him, and made the strongest impression upon +him, he would warn his children, and in the same way; so he took +them to the picture gallery, where he had last stood with his +father. + +With gentle firmness he said: "I have brought you here as I have +something to say to you which is best said here. Years ago, +children, my father brought me, as I bring you, to warn and +advise me--I warn and advise you. We are, though so closely +related, almost strangers. I am ready to love you and do love +you. I intend to make your happiness my chief study. But there +is one thing I must have--that is, perfect openness, one thing I +must forbid--that is, deceit of any kind, on any subject. If +either of you have in your short lives a secret, tell it to me +now; if either of you love any one, even though it be one +unworthy, tell me now. I will pardon any imprudence, any folly, +any want of caution--everything save deceit. Trust me, and I +will be gentle as a tender woman; deceive me, and I will never +forgive you." + +Both fair faces had grown pale--Beatrice's from sudden and +deadly fear; Lillian's from strong emotion. + +"The men of our race," said Lord Earle, "have erred at times, the +women never. You belong to a long line of noble, pure, and high- +bred woman; there must be nothing in your lives less high, and +less noble than in theirs; but if there had been--if, from want +of vigilance, of training, and of caution there should be +anything in this short past, tell it to me now, and I will forget +it." + +Neither spoke to him one word, and a strange pathos came into his +voice. + +"I committed one act of deceit in my life," continued Lord Earle; +"it drove me from home, and it made me an exile during the best +years of my life. It matters little what it was--you will never +know; but it has made me merciless to all deceit. I will never +spare it; it has made me harsh and bitter. You will both find in +me the truest, the best of friends; if in everything you are +straightforward and honorable; but, children, dearly as I love +you, I will never pardon a lie or an act of deceit." + +"I never told a lie in my life," said Lillian, proudly. "My +mother taught us to love the truth." + +"And you, my Beatrice?" he asked, gently as he turned to the +beautiful face half averted from him. + +"I can say with my sister," was the haughty reply, "I have never +told a lie." + +Even as she spoke her lips grew pale with fear, as she remembered +the fatal secret of her engagement to Hugh Fernely. + +"I believe it," replied Lord Earle. "I can read truth in each +face. Now tell me--have no fear--have you any secret in that +past life? Remember, no matter what you may have done, I shall +freely pardon it. If you should be in any trouble or difficulty, +as young people are at times, I will help you. I will do +anything for you, if you will trust me." + +And again Lillian raised her sweet face to his. + +"I have no secret," she said, simply. "I do not think I know a +secret, or anything like one. My past life is an open book, +papa, and you can read every page in it." + +"Thank Heaven!" said Lord Earle, as he placed his hand +caressingly upon the fair head. + +It was strange, and he remembered the omission afterward, that he +did not repeat the question to Beatrice--he seemed to consider +that Lillian's answer included her. He did not know her heart +was beating high with fear. + +"I know," he continued, gently, "that some young girls have their +little love secrets. You tell me you have none. I believe you. +I have but one word more to say. You will be out in the great +world soon, and you will doubtless both have plenty of admirers. +Then will come the time of trial and temptation; remember my +words--there is no curse so great as a clandestine love, no +error so great or degrading. One of our race was so cursed, and +his punishment was great. No matter whom you love and who loves +you, let all be fair, honorable, and open as the day. Trust me, +do not deceive me. Let me in justice say I will never oppose any +reasonable marriage, but I will never pardon a clandestine +attachment. + +"However dearly I might love the one who so transgressed," +continued Lord Earle, "even if it broke my heart to part from +her, I should send her from me at once; she should never more be +a child of mine. Do not think me harsh or unkind; I have weighty +reasons for every word I have uttered. I am half ashamed to +speak of such things to you, but it must be done. You are +smiling, Lillian, what is it?" + +"I should laugh, papa," she replied, "if you did not look so very +grave. We must see people in order to love them. Beatrice, how +many do we know in the world? Farmer Leigh, the doctor at +Seabay, Doctor Goode, who came to the Elms when mamma was ill, +two farm laborers, and the shepherd--that was the extent of our +acquaintance until we came to Earlescourt. I may now add Sir +Henry Holt and Prince Borgesi to my list. You forget, papa, we +have lived out of the world." + +Lord Earle remembered with pleasure that it was true. "You will +soon be in the midst of a new world," he said, "and before you +enter society I thought it better to give you this warning. I +place no control over your affections; the only thing I forbid, +detest, and will never pardon, is any underhand, clandestine love +affair. You know not what they would cost." + +He remembered afterward how strangely silent Beatrice was, and +how her beautiful, proud face was turned from him. + +"It is a disagreeable subject," said Lord Earle, "and I am +pleased to have finished with it--it need never be renewed. Now +I have one more thing to say--I shall never control or force +your affections, but in my heart there is one great wish." + +Lord Earle paused for a few minutes; he was looking at the face +of Lady Alicia Earle, whom Beatrice strongly resembled. + +"I have no son," he continued, "and you, my daughters, will not +inherit title or estate--both go to Lionel Dacre. If ever the +time should come when Lionel asks either of you to be his wife, +my dearest wish will be accomplished. And now, as my long +lecture is finished, and the bell has rung, we will prepare for a +visit to Sir Harry and Lady Laurence." + +There was not much time for thought during the rest of the day; +but when night came, and Beatrice was alone, she looked the +secret of her life in the face. + +She had been strongly tempted, when Lord Earle had spoken so +kindly, to tell him all. She now wished she had done so; all +would have been over. He would perhaps have chided her simple, +girlish folly, and have forgiven her. He would never forgive her +now that she had deliberately concealed the fact; the time for +forgiveness was past. A few words, and all might have been told; +it was too late now to utter them. Proud of her and fond of her +as she saw Lord Earle was, there would be no indulgence for her +if her secret was discovered. + +She would have to leave the magnificent and luxurious home, the +splendor that delighted her, the glorious prospects opening to +her, and return to the Elms, perhaps never to leave it again. +Ah, no! The secret must be kept! She did not feel much alarmed; +many things might happen. Perhaps the "Seagull" might be lost +she thought, without pain or sorrow, of the possible death of the +man who loved her as few love. + +Even if he returned, he might have forgotten her or never find +her. She did not feel very unhappy or ill at ease--the chances, +she thought, were many in her favor. She had but one thing to do +to keep all knowledge of her secret from Lord Earle. + + +Chapter XXIII + +As time passed on all constraint between Lord Earle and his +daughters wore away; Ronald even wondered himself at the force of +his own love for them. He had made many improvements since his +return. He did wonders upon the estate; model cottages seemed to +rise by magic in place of the wretched tenements inhabited by +poor tenants; schools, almshouses, churches, all testified to his +zeal for improvement. People began to speak with warm admiration +of the Earlescourt estate and of their master. + +Nor did he neglect social duties; old friends were invited to +Earlescourt; neighbors were hospitably entertained. His name was +mentioned with respect and esteem; the tide of popularity turned +in his favor. As the spring drew near, Lord Earle became anxious +for his daughters to make their debut in the great world. They +could have no better chaperone than his own mother. Lady Helena +was speaking to him one morning of their proposed journey, when +Lord Earle suddenly interrupted her. + +"Mother," he said, "where are all your jewels? I never see you +wearing any." + +"I put them all away," said Lady Earle, "when your father died. +I shall never wear them again. The Earle jewels are always worn +by the wife of the reigning lord, not by the widow of his +predecessor. Those jewels are not mine." + +"Shall we look them over?" asked Ronald. "Some of them might be +reset for Beatrice and Lillian." + +Lady Helena rang for her maid, and the heavy cases of jewelry +were brought down. Beatrice was in raptures with them, and her +sister smiled at her admiration. + +The jewels might have sufficed for a king's ransom; the diamonds +were of the first water; the rubies flashed crimson; delicate +pearls gleamed palely upon their velvet beds; there were emeralds +of priceless value. One of the most beautiful and costly jewels +was an entire suite of opals intermixed with small diamonds. + +"These," said Lord Earle, raising the precious stones in his +hands, "are of immense value. Some of the finest opals ever seen +are in this necklace; they were taken from the crown of an Indian +price and bequeathed to one of our ancestors. So much is said +about the unlucky stone--the pierre du malheur, as the French +call the opal--that I did not care so much for them." + +"Give me the opals, papa," said Beatrice, laughing; "I have no +superstitious fears about them. Bright and beautiful jewels +always seemed to me one of the necessaries of life. I prefer +diamonds, but these opals are magnificent." + +She held out her hands, and for the first time Lord Earle saw the +opal ring upon her finger. He caught the pretty white hand in +his own. + +"That is a beautiful ring," he said. "These opals are splendid. +Who gave it to you, Beatrice?" + +The question came upon her suddenly like a deadly shock; she had +forgotten all about the ring, and wore it only from habit. + +For a moment her heart seemed to stand still and her senses to +desert her. Then with a self-possession worthy of a better +cause, Beatrice looked up into her father's face with a smile. + +"It was given to me at the Elms," she said, so simply that the +same thought crossed the minds of her three listeners--that it +had been given by Dora and her daughter did not like to say so. + +Lord Earle looked on in proud delight while his beautiful +daughters chose the jewels they liked best. The difference in +taste struck and amused him. Beatrice chose diamonds, fiery +rubies, purple amethysts; Lillian cared for nothing but the +pretty pale pearls and bright emeralds. + +"Some of those settings are very old-fashioned," said Lord Earle. +"We will have new designs from Hunt and Boskell. They must be +reset before you go to London." + +The first thing Beatrice did was to take off the opal ring and +lock it away. She trembled still from the shock of her father's +question. The fatal secret vexed her. How foolish she had been +to risk so much for a few stolen hours of happiness--for praise +and flattery--she could not say for love. + + * * * * * * * * * * * * + +The time so anxiously looked for came at last. Lord Earle took +possession of his town mansion, and his daughters prepared for +their debut. It was in every respect a successful one. People +were in raptures with the beautiful sisters, both so charming yet +so unlike. Beatrice, brilliant and glowing, her magnificent face +haunted those who saw it like a beautiful dream--Lillian, fair +and graceful, as unlike her sister as a lily to a rose. + +They soon became the fashion. No ball or soiree, no dance or +concert was considered complete without them. Artists sketched +them together as "Lily and Rose," "Night and Morning," "Sunlight +and Moonlight." Poets indited sonnets to them; friends and +admirers thronged around them. As Beatrice said, with a deep- +drawn sigh of perfect contentment, "This is life"--and she +reveled in it. + +That same year the Earl of Airlie attained his majority, and +became the center of all fashionable interest. Whether he would +marry and whom he would be likely to marry were two questions +that interested every mother and daughter in Belgravia. There +had not been such an eligible parti for many years. The savings +of a long minority alone amounted to a splendid fortune. + +The young earl had vast estates in Scotland. Lynnton Hall and +Craig Castle, two of the finest seats in England, were his. His +mansion in Belgravia was the envy of all who saw it. + +Young, almost fabulously wealthy, singularly generous and +amiable, the young Earl of Airlie was the center of at least half +a hundred of matrimonial plots; but he was not easily managed. +Mammas with blooming daughters found him a difficult subject. He +laughed, talked, danced, walked, and rode, as society wished him +to do; but no one had touched his heart, or even his fancy. Lord +Airlie was heart-whole, and there seemed no prospect of his ever +being anything else. Lady Constance Tachbrook, the prettiest, +daintiest coquette in London, brought all her artillery of +fascination into play, but without success. The beautiful +brunette, Flora Cranbourne, had laid a wager that, in the course +of two waltzes, she would extract three compliments from him, but +she failed in the attempt. Lord Airlie was pronounced +incorrigible. + +The fact was that his lordship had been sensibly brought up. He +intended to marry when he could find some one to love him for +himself, and not for his fortune. This ideal of all that was +beautiful, noble, and true in woman the earl was always searching +for, but as yet had not found. + +On all sides he had heard of the beauty of Lord Earle's +daughters, but it did not interest him. He had been hearing of, +seeing, and feeling disappointed in beautiful women for some +years. Many people made the point of meeting the "new beauties," +but he gave himself no particular trouble. They were like every +one else, he supposed. + +One morning, having nothing else to do, Lord Airlie went to a +fete given in the beautiful grounds of Lady Downham. He went +early, intending to remain only a short time. He found but a few +guests had arrived. After paying the proper amount of homage to +Lady Downham, the young earl wandered off into the grounds. + +It was all very pretty and pleasant, but he had seen the same +before, and was rather tired of it. The day was more Italian +than English, bright and sunny, the sky blue, the air clear and +filled with fragrance, the birds singing as they do sing under +bright, warm skies. + +Flags were flying from numerous tents, bands of music were +stationed in different parts of the grounds, the fountains played +merrily in the sunlit air. Lord Airlie walked mechanically on, +bowing in reply to the salutations he received. + +A pretty little bower, a perfect thicket of roses, caught his +attention. From it one could see all over the lake, with its gay +pleasure boats. Lord Airlie sat down, believing himself to be +quite alone; but before he had removed a large bough that +interfered with the full perfection of the view he heard voices +on the other side of the thick, sheltering rose bower. + +He listened involuntarily, for one of the voices was clear and +pure, the other more richly musical than any he had ever heard +at times sweet as the murmur of the cushat dove, and again +ringing joyously and brightly. + +"I hope we shall not have to wait here long, Lillian," the blithe +voice was saying. "Lady Helena promised to take us on the lake." + +"It is very pleasant," was the reply; "but you always like to be +in the very center of gayety." + +"Yes," said Beatrice; "I have had enough solitude and quiet to +last me for life. Ah, Lillian, this is all delightful. You +think so, but do not admit it honestly as I do." + +There was a faint, musical laugh, and then the sweet voice +resumed: + +"I am charmed, Lillian, with this London life; this is worth +calling life--every moment is a golden one. If there is a +drawback, it consists in not being able to speak one's mind." + +"What do you mean?" asked Lillian. + +"Do you not understand?" was the reply. "Lady Helena is always +talking to me about cultivating what she calls 'elegant repose.' +Poor, dear grandmamma! Her perfect idea of good manners seems to +me to be a simple absence--in society, at least--of all emotion +and all feeling. I, for one, do not admire the nil admirari +system." + +"I am sure Lady Helena admires you, Bee," said her sister. + +"Yes," was the careless reply. "Only imagine, Lillian, +yesterday, when Lady Cairn told me some story about a favorite +young friend of hers the tears came to my eyes. I could not help +it, although the drawing room was full. Lady Helena told me I +should repress all outward emotion. Soon after, when Lord +Dolchester told me a ridiculous story about Lady Everton, I +laughed--heartily, I must confess, though not loudly--and she +looked at me. I shall never accomplish 'elegant repose.'" + +"You would not be half so charming if you did," replied her +sister. + +"Then it is so tempting to say at times what one really thinks! +I can not resist it. When Lady Everton tells me, with that +tiresome simper of hers, that she really wonders at herself, I +long to tell her other people do the same thing. I should enjoy, +for once, the luxury of telling Mrs. St. John that people flatter +her, and then laugh at her affectation. It is a luxury to speak +the truth at all times, is it not, Lily? I detest everything +false, even a false word; therefore I fear Lady Helena will never +quite approve of my manner." + +"You are so frank and fearless! At the Elms, do you remember how +every one seemed to feel that you would say just the right thing +at the right time?" asked Lillian. + +"Do not mention that place," replied Beatrice; "this life is so +different. I like it so much, Lily--all the brightness and +gayety. I feel good and contented now. I was always restless +and longing for life; now I have all I wish for." + +There was a pause then, and Lord Airlie longed to see who the +speakers were--who the girl was that spoke such frank, bright +words--that loved truth, and hated all things false--what kind +of face accompanied that voice. Suddenly the young earl +remembered that he was listening, and he started in horror from +his seat. He pushed aside the clustering roses. At first he saw +nothing but the golden blossoms of a drooping laburnum; then, a +little further on, he saw a fair head bending over some fragrant +flowers; then a face so beautiful, so perfect, that something +like a cry of surprise came from Lord Airlie's lips. + +He had seen many beauties, but nothing like this queenly young +girl. Her dark, bright eyes were full of fire and light; the +long lashes swept her cheek, the proud, beautiful lips, so +haughty in repose, so sweet when smiling, were perfect in shape. +From the noble brow a waving mass of dark hair rippled over a +white neck and shapely shoulders. It was a face to think and +dream of, peerless in its vivid, exquisite coloring and +charmingly molded features. He hardly noticed the fair-haired +girl. + +"Who can she be?" thought Lord Airlie. "I believed that I had +seen every beautiful woman in London." + +Satisfied with having seen what kind of face accompanied the +voice, the young earl left the pretty rose thicket. His friends +must have thought him slightly deranged. He went about asking +every one, "Who is here today?" Among others, he saluted Lord +Dolchester with that question. + +"I can scarcely tell you,"replied his lordship. "I am somewhat +in a puzzle. If you want to know who is the queen of the fete, I +can tell you. It is Lord Earle's daughter, Miss Beatrice Earle. +She is over there, see with Lady Downham." + +Looking in the direction indicated, Lord Airlee saw the face that +haunted him. + +"Yes," said Lord Dolchester, with a gay laugh; "and if I were +young and unfettered, she would not be Miss Earle much longer." + + +Chapter XXIV + +Lord Airlie gazed long and earnestly at the beautiful girl who +looked so utterly unconscious of the admiration she excited. + +"I must ask Lady Downham to introduce me," he said to himself, +wondering whether the proud face would smile upon him, and, if +she carried into practice her favorite theory of saying what she +thought, what she would say to him. + +Lady Downham smiled when the young earl made his request. + +"I have been besieged by gentlemen requesting introductions to +Miss Earle," she said. "Contrary to your general rule, Lord +Airlie, you go with the crowd." + +He would have gone anywhere for one word from those perfect lips. +Lady Downham led him to the spot where Beatrice stood, and in a +few courteous words introduced him to her. + +Lord Airlie was celebrated for his amiable, pleasing manner. He +always knew what to say and how to say it, but when those +magnificent eyes looked into his own, the young earl stood silent +and abashed. In vain he tried confusedly to utter a few words; +his face flushed, and Beatrice looked at him in wonder.--Could +this man gazing so ardently at her be the impenetrable Lord +Airlie? + +He managed at length to say something about the beauty of the +grounds and the brightness of the day. Plainly as eyes could +speak, hers asked: Had he nothing to say? + +He lingered by her side, charmed and fascinated by her grace; she +talked to Lillian and to Lady Helena; she received the homage +offered to her so unconscious of his presence and his regard that +Lord Airlie was piqued. He was not accustomed to being +overlooked. + +"Do you never grow tired of flowers and fetes, Miss Earle?" he +asked at length. + +"No," replied Beatrice, "I could never grow tired of flowers-- +who could? As for fetes, I have seen few, and have liked each +one better than the last." + +"Perhaps your life has not been, like mine, spent among them," he +said. + +"I have lived among flowers," she replied, "but not among fetes; +they have all the charm of novelty for me." + +"I should like to enjoy them as you do," he said. "I wish you +would teach me, Miss Earle." + +She laughed gayly, and the sound of that laugh, like a sweet, +silvery chime, charmed Lord Airlie still more. + +He found out the prettiest pleasure boat, and persuaded Beatrice +to let him row her across the lake. He gathered a beautiful +water lily for her. When they landed, he found out a seat in the +prettiest spot and placed her there. + +Her simple, gay manner delighted him. He had never met any one +like her. She did not blush, or look conscious, or receive his +attentions with the half-fluttered sentimental air common to most +young ladies of his acquaintance. + +She never appeared to remember that he was Lord Airlie, nor +sought by any artifice to keep him near her. The bright, sunny +hours seemed to pass rapidly as a dream. Long before the day +ended, the young earl said to himself that he had met his fate; +that if it took years to win her he would count them well spent +that in all the wide world she was the wife for him. + +Lord Earle was somewhat amused by the solicitude the young +nobleman showed in making his acquaintance and consulting his +tastes. After Lady Downham's fete he called regularly at the +house. Lady Helena liked him, but could hardly decide which of +her grandchildren it was that attracted him. + +The fastidious young earl, who had smiled at the idea of love and +had disappointed half the fashionable mothers in Belgravia, found +himself a victim at last. + +He was diffident of his own powers, hardly daring to hope that he +should succeed in winning the most beautiful and gifted girl in +London. He was timid in her presence, and took refuge with +Lillian. + +All fashionable London was taken by surprise when Lord Airlie +threw open his magnificent house, and, under the gracious +auspices of his aunt, Lady Lecomte, issued invitations for a +grand ball. + +Many were the conjectures, and great was the excitement. Lord +Earle smiled as he showed Lady Helena the cards of invitation. + +"Of course you will go," he said. "We have no engagement for +that day. See that the girls look their best, mother." + +He felt very proud of his daughters--Lillian, looking so fair +and sweet in her white silk dress and favorite pearls! Beatrice, +like a queen, in a cloud of white lace, with coquettish dashes of +crimson. The Earle diamonds shone in her dark hair, clasped the +fair white throat, and encircled the beautiful arms. A +magnificent pomegranate blossom lay in the bodice of her dress, +and she carried a bouquet of white lilies mixed with scarlet +verbena. + +The excitement as to the ball had been great. It seemed like a +step in the right direction at last. The great question was, +with whom would Lord Airlie open the ball? Every girl was on the +qui vive. + +The question was soon decided. When Beatrice Earle entered the +room, Lord Airlie went straight to meet her and solicited her +hand for the first dance. She did not know how much was meant by +that one action. + +He wondered, as he looked upon her, the queen of the most +brilliant ball of the season, whether she would ever love him +if it was within the bounds of possibility that she should ever +care for him. That evening, for the first time, he touched the +proud heart of Beatrice Earle. On all sides she had heard +nothing but praises of Lord Airlie his wealth, his talents, his +handsome person and chivalrous manner. The ladies were eloquent +in praise of their young host. She looked at him, and for the +first time remarked the noble, dignified carriage, the tall, +erect figure, the clear-cut patrician face--not handsome +according to the rules of beauty, but from the truth and honor +written there in nature's plainest hand. + +Then she saw--and it struck her with surprise how Lord Airlie, +so courted and run after, sought her out. She saw smiles on +friendly faces, and heard her name mingled with his. + +"My dear Miss Earle," said Lady Everton, "you have accomplished +wonders--conquered the unconquerable. I believe every eligible +young lady in London has smiled upon Lord Airlie, and all in +vain. What charm have you used to bring him to your feet?" + +"I did not know that he was at my feet," replied Beatrice. "You +like figurative language, Lady Everton." + +"You will find I am right," returned lady Everton. "Remember I +was the first to congratulate you." + +Beatrice wondered, in a sweet, vague way, if there could be +anything in it. She looked again at Lord Airlie. Surely any one +might be proud of the love of such a man. He caught her glance, +and her face flushed. In a moment he was by her side. + +"Miss Earle," he said, eagerly, "you told me the other day you +liked flowers. If you have not been in the conservatory, may I +escort you there?" + +She silently accepted his arm, and they went through the +magnificent suite of rooms into the cool, fragrant conservatory. + +The pretty fountain in the midst rippled musically, and the lamps +gleamed like pale stars among masses of gorgeous color. + +Beatrice was almost bewildered by the profusion of beautiful +plants. Tier upon tier of superb flowers rose until the eye was +dazzled by the varied hues and brightness--delicate white heaths +of rare perfection, flaming azaleas, fuchsias that looked like +showers of purple-red wine. The plant that charmed Beatrice most +was one from far-off Indian climes--delicate, perfumed blossoms, +hanging like golden bells from thick, sheltering green leaves. +Miss Earle stood before it, silent in sheer admiration. + +"You like that flower?" said Lord Airlie. + +"It is one of the prettiest I ever saw," she replied. + +In a moment he gathered the fairest sprays from the precious +tree. She cried out in dismay at the destruction. + +"Nay," said Lord Airlie, "if every flower here could be +compressed into one blossom, it would hardly be a fitting +offering to you." + +She smiled at the very French compliment, and he continued--"I +shall always have a great affection for that tree." + +"Why?" she asked, unconsciously. + +"Because it has pleased you," he replied. + +They stood by the pretty plant, Beatrice touching the golden +bells softly with her fingers. Something of the magic of the +scene touched her. She did not know why the fountain rippled so +musically, why the flowers seemed doubly fair as her young lover +talked to her. She had been loved. She had heard much of love, +but she herself had never known what it really meant. She did +not know why, after a time, her proud, bright eyes drooped, and +had never met Lord Airlie's gaze, why her face flushed and grew +pale, why his words woke a new, strange, beautiful music in her +heart--music that never died until-- + +"I ask for one spray--only one--to keep in memory of this +pleasant hour," said Lord Airlie, after a pause. + +She gave him a spray of the delicate golden bells. + +"I should like to be curious and rude," he said, "and ask if you +ever gave any one a flower before?" + +"No," she replied. + +"Then I shall prize this doubly," he assured her. + +That evening Lord Airlie placed the golden blossom carefully +away. The time came when he would have parted with any treasure +on earth rather than that. + +But his question had suddenly disturbed Beatrice. For a moment +her thoughts flew to the sea shore at Knutsford. The present +faded from her; she saw Hugh Fernely's face as it looked when he +offered her the beautiful lily. The very remembrance of it made +her shudder as though seized with deathly cold--and Lord Airlie +saw it. + +"You are cold," he said; "how careless I am to keep you standing +here!" He helped her to draw the costly lace shawl around her +shoulders, and Beatrice was quickly herself again, and they +returned to the ball room; but Lord Airlie lingered by Miss +Earle. + +"You have enjoyed the ball, Beatrice," said Lord Earle, as he +bade his daughters good night. + +"I have, indeed, papa," she replied. "This has been the happiest +evening of my life." + +"I can guess why," thought Lord Earle, as he kissed the bright +face upraised to him; "there will be no wretched underhand love +business there." + +He was not much surprised on the day following when Lord Airlie +was the first morning caller, and the last to leave, not going +until Lady Helena told him that they should all be at the opera +that evening and should perhaps see him there. He regretted that +he had promised Lady Morton his box for the night, when Lady +Earle felt herself bound to ask him to join them in theirs. + +All night Beatrice had dreamed of the true, noble face which +began to haunt her. She, usually so regardless of all flattery, +remembered every word Lord Airlie had spoken. Could it be true, +as Lady Everton had said, that he cared for her? + +Her lover would have been spared many anxious hours could he have +seen how the golden blossoms were tended and cared for. Long +afterward they were found with the little treasures which young +girls guard so carefully. + +When Lord Airlie had taken his departure and Lord Earle found +himself alone with his mother, he turned to her with the happiest +look she had ever seen upon his face. + +"That seems to me a settled affair," he said. "Beatrice will +make a grand countess--Lady Airlie of Lynnton. He is the finest +young fellow and the best match in England. Ah, mother, my folly +might have been punished more severely. There will no +mesalliance there." + +"No," said Lady Earle, "I have no fears for Beatrice; she is too +proud ever to do wrong." + + +Chapter XXV + +It was a pretty love story, although told in crowded London ball +rooms instead of under the shade of green trees. Beatrice Earle +began by wondering if Lord Airlie cared for her; she ended by +loving him herself. + +It was no child's play this time. With Beatrice, to love once +was to love forever, with fervor and intensity which cold and +worldly natures can not even understand. + +The time came when Lord Airlie stood out distinct from all the +world, when the sound of his name was like music, when she saw no +other face, heard no other voice, thought of nothing else save +him. He began to think there might be some hope for him; the +proud, beautiful face softened and brightened for him as it did +for no other, and the glorious dark eyes never met his own, the +frank, bright words died away in his presence. Seeing all these +things, Lord Airlie felt some little hope. + +For the first time he felt proud and pleased with the noble +fortune and high rank that were his by birthright. He had not +cared much for them before; now he rejoiced that he could lavish +wealth and luxury upon one so fair and worthy as Beatrice Earle. + +Lord Airlie was not a confident lover. There were times when he +felt uncertain as to whether he should succeed. Perhaps true and +reverential love is always timid. Lord Earle had smiled to +himself many long weeks at the "pretty play" enacted before him, +and Lady Helena had wondered when the young man would "speak out" +long before Lord Airlie himself presumed to think that the +fairest and proudest girl in London would accept him. + +No day ever passed during which he did not manage to see her. He +was indefatigable in finding out the balls, soirees, and operas +she would attend. He was her constant shadow, never happy out of +her sight, thinking of her all day, dreaming of her all night, +yet half afraid to risk all and ask her to be his wife, lest he +should lose her. + +To uninterested speculators Lord Airlie was a handsome, kindly, +honorable young man. Intellectual, somewhat fastidious, lavishly +generous, a great patron of fine arts; to Beatrice Earle he was +the ideal of all that was noble and to be admired. He was a +prince among men. The proud heart was conquered. She loved him +and said to herself that she would rather love him as a neglected +wife than be the worshiped wife of any other man. + +She had many admirers; "the beautiful Miss Earle" was the belle +of the season. Had she been inclined to coquetry or flirtation +she would not have been so eagerly sought after. The gentlemen +were quite as much charmed by her utter indifference and haughty +acceptance of their homage as by her marvelous beauty. + +At times Beatrice felt sure that Lord Airlie loved her; then a +sudden fit of timidity would seize her young lover, and again she +would doubt it. One thing she never doubted--her own love for +him. If her dreams were all false, and he never asked her to be +his wife, she said to herself that she would never be the wife of +any other man. + +The remembrance of Hugh Fernely crossed her mind at times--not +very often, and never with any great fear or apprehension. It +seemed to her more like a dark, disagreeable dream than a +reality. Could it be possible that she, Beatrice Earle, the +daughter of that proud, noble father, so sternly truthful, so +honorable, could ever have been so mad or so foolish? The very +remembrance of it made the beautiful face flush crimson. She +could not endure the thought, and always drove it hastily from +her. + +The fifteenth of July was drawing near; the two years had nearly +passed, yet she was not afraid. He might never return, he might +forget her, although, remembering his looks and words, that, she +feared, could not be. + +If he went to Seabay--if he went to the Elms, it was not +probable that he would ever discover her whereabouts, or follow +her to claim the fulfillment of her absurd promise. At the very +worst, if he discovered that she was Lord Earle's daughter, she +believed that her rank and position would dazzle and frighten +him. Rarely as those thoughts came to her, and speedily as she +thrust them from her, she considered them a dear price for the +little novelty and excitement that had broken the dead level calm +of life at the Elms. + +Lord Airlie, debating within himself whether he should risk, +during the whirl and turmoil of the London season, the question +upon which the happiness of his life depended, decided that he +would wait until Lord Earle returned to Earlescourt, and follow +him there. + +The summer began to grow warm; the hawthorn and apple blossoms +had all died away; the corn waved in the fields, ripe and golden; +the hay was all gathered in; the orchards were all filled with +fruit. The fifteenth of July--the day that in her heart +Beatrice Earle had half feared--was past and gone. She had been +nervous and half frightened when it came, starting and turning +deathly pale at the sound of the bell or of rapid footsteps. She +laughed at herself when the day ended. How was it likely he +would find her? What was there in common between the beautiful +daughter of Lord Earle and Hugh Fernely, the captain of a trading +vessel? Nothing, save folly and a foolish promise rashly asked +and rashly given. + +Three days before Lord Earle left London, he went by appointment +to meet some friends at Brookes's. While there, a gentleman +entered the room who attracted his attention, most forcibly--a +young man of tall and stately figure, with a noble head, +magnificently set upon broad shoulders; a fine, manly face, with +proud, mobile features--at times all fire and light, the eyes +clear and glowing, again, gentle as the face of a smiling woman. +Lord Earle looked at him attentively; there seemed to be +something familiar in the outline of the head and face, the +haughty yet graceful carriage. + +"Who is that?" he inquired of his friend, Captain Langdon. "I +have seen that gentleman before, or have dreamed of him." + +"Is it possible that you do not know him?" cried the captain. +"That is Lionel Dacre, 'your next of kin,' if I am not mistaken." + +Pleasure and pain struggled in Lord Earle's heart. He remembered +Lionel many years ago, long before he committed the foolish act +that had cost him so much. Lionel had spent some time with him +at Earlescourt; he remembered a handsome and high-spirited boy, +proud and impetuous, brave to rashness, generous to a fault; a +fierce hater of everything mean and underhand; truthful and +honorable--his greatest failing, want of cool, calm thought. + +Lionel Dacre was poor in those days; now he was heir to +Earlescourt, heir to the title that, with all his strange +political notions, Ronald Earle ever held in high honor; heir to +the grand old mansion and fair domain his father had prized so +highly. Pleasure and pain were strangely intermingled in his +heart when he remembered that no son of his would every succeed +him, that he should never train his successor. The handsome boy +that had grown into so fine a man must take his place one day. + +Lord Earle crossed the room, and going up to the young man, laid +one hand gently upon his shoulder. + +"Lionel," he said, "it is many years since we met. Have you no +remembrance of me?" + +The frank, clear eyes looked straight into his. Lord Earle's +heart warmed as he gazed at the honest, handsome face. + +"Not the least in the world," replied Mr. Dacre, slowly. "I do +not remember ever to have seen you before." + +"Then I must have changed," said Lord Earle. "when I saw you +last, Lionel, you were not much more than twelve years old, and I +gave you a 'tip' the day you went back to Eton. Charlie Villiers +was with you." + +"Then you are Lord Earle," returned Lionel. "I came to London +purposely to see you," and his frank face flushed, and he held +out his hand in greeting. + +"I have been anxious to see you," said Lord Earle; "but I have +not been long in England. We must be better acquainted; you are +my heir at law." + +"Your what?" said Mr. Dacre, wonderingly. + +"My heir," replied Lord Earle. "I have no son; my estates are +entailed, and you are my next of kin." + +"I thought you had half a dozen heirs and heiresses," said +Lionel. "I remember some story of a romantic marriage. Today I +hear of nothing but the beautiful Miss Earle." + +"I have no son," interrupted Lord Earle, sadly. "I wrote to you +last week, asking you to visit me. Have you any settled home?" + +"No," replied the young man gayly. "My mother is at Cowes, and I +have been staying with her." + +"Where are you now?" asked Lord Earle. + +"I am with Captain Poyntz, at his chambers; I promised to spend +some days with him," replied Lionel, who began to look slightly +bewildered. + +"I must not ask you to break an engagement," said Lord Earle, +"but will you dine with us this evening, and, when you leave +Captain Poyntz, come to us?" + +"I shall be very pleased," said Lionel, and the two gentlemen +left Brookes's together. + +"I must introduce you to Lady Earle and my daughters," said +Ronald, as they walked along. "I have been so long absent from +home and friends that it seems strange to claim relationship with +any one." + +"I could never understand your fancy for broiling in Africa, when +you might have been happier at home," said Lionel. + +"Did you not know? Have you not heard why I went abroad?" asked +Lord Earle, gravely. + +"No," replied Lionel. "Your father never invited me to +Earlescourt after you left." + +In a few words Lord Earle told his heir that he had married +against his father's wish, and in consequence had never been +pardoned. + +"And you gave up everything," said Lionel Dacre--"home, friends, +and position, for the love of a woman. She must have been well +worth loving." + +Lord Earle grew pale, as with sudden pain. Had Dora been so well +worth loving? Had she been worth the heavy price? + +"You are my heir," he said gravely--"one of my own race; before +you enter our circle, Lionel, and take your place there, I must +tell you that my wife and I parted years ago, never to meet +again. Do not mention her to me--it pains me." + +Lionel looked at the sad face; he could understand the shadows +there now. + +"I will not," he said. "She must have been--" + +"Not one word more," interrupted Lord Earle. "In your thoughts +lay no unjust blame on her. She left me of her own free will. +My mother lives with me; she will be pleased to see you. +Remember--seven sharp." + +"I shall not forget," said Lionel, pained at the sad words and +the sad voice. + +As Lord Earle went home for the first time during the long years, +a softer and more gentle thought of Dora came to him. "She must +have been--" What--what did Lionel suspect of her? Could it +be that, seeing their divided lives, people judged as his young +kinsman had judged--that they thought Dora to blame--criminal, +perhaps? And she had never in her whole life given one thought +to any other than himself; nay, her very errors--the deed he +could not pardon--sprung from her great affection for him. Poor +Dora! The pretty, blushing face, with its sweet, shy eyes, and +rosy lips, came before him--the artless, girlish love, the +tender worship. If it had been anything else, any other fault, +Ronald must have forgiven her in that hour. But his whole heart +recoiled again as the hated scene rose before him. + +"No," he said, "I can not forgive it. I can not forget it. Men +shall respect Dora; no one must misjudge her; but I can not take +her to my heart or my home again. In the hour of death," he +murmured, "I will forgive her." + + +Chapter XXVI + +Lady Earle thought her son looked graver and sadder that day than +she had ever seen him. She had not the clew to his reflections; +she did not know how he was haunted by the thought of the +handsome, gallant young man who must be his heir--how he +regretted that no son of his would ever succeed him--how proud +he would have been of a son like Lionel. He had but two +children, and they must some day leave Earlescourt for homes of +their own. The grand old house, the fair domain, must all pass +into the hands of strangers unless Lionel married one of the +beautiful girls he loved so dearly. + +Lady Helena understood a little of what was passing in his mind +when he told her that he had met Lionel Dacre, who was coming to +dine with him that day. + +"I used to hope Beatrice might like him," said Lady Earle; "but +that will never be--Lord Airlie has been too quick. I hope he +will not fall in love with her; it would only end in +disappointment." + +"He may like Lillian," said Lord Earle. + +"Yes," assented Lady Helena. "Sweet Lily--she seems almost too +pure and fair for this dull earth of ours." + +"If they both marry, mother," said Ronald, sadly, "we shall be +quite alone." + +"Yes," she returned, "quite alone," and the words smote her with +pain. She looked at the handsome face, with its sad, worn +expression. Was life indeed all over for her son--at the age, +too, when other men sunned themselves in happiness, when a loving +wife should have graced his home, cheered and consoled him, +shared his sorrows, crowned his life with love? In the midst of +his wealth and prosperity, how lonely he was! Could it be +possible that one act of disobedience should have entailed such +sad consequences? Ah, if years ago Ronald had listened to +reason, to wise and tender counsel--if he had but given up Dora +and married Valentine Charteris, how different his life would +have been, how replete with blessings and happiness, how free +from care! + +Lady Earle's eyes grew dim with tears as these thoughts passed +through her mind. She went up to him and laid her hand upon his +shoulder. + +"Ronald," she said, "I will do my best to make home happy after +our bonny birds are caged. For your sake, I wish things had been +different." + +"Hush, mother," he replied gently. "Words are all useless. I +must reap as I have sown; the fruits of disobedience and deceit +could never beget happiness. I shall always believe that evil +deeds bring their own punishment. Do not pity me--it unnerves +me. I can bear my fate." + +Lady Helena was pleased to see Lionel again. She had always +liked him, and rejoiced now in his glorious manhood. He stood +before the two sisters, half dazzled by their beauty. The fair +faces smiled upon him; pretty, white hands were outstretched to +meet his own. + +"I am bewildered by my good fortune," he said. "I shall be the +envy of every man in London; people will no longer call me Lionel +Dacre. I shall be known as the cousin of 'Les Demoiselles +Earle.' I have neither brother nor sister of my own. Fancy the +happiness of falling into the midst of such a family group." + +"And being made welcome there!" interrupted Beatrice. Lionel +bowed profoundly. At first he fancied he preferred this +brilliant, beautiful girl to her fair, gentle sister. Her frank, +fearless talk delighted him. After the general run of young +ladies--all fashioned, he thought, after one model--it was +refreshing to meet her. Her ideas were so original. + +Lord Airlie joined the little dinner party, and then Lionel Dacre +read the secret which Beatrice hardly owned even to herself. + +"I shall not be shipwrecked on that rock," he said to himself. +"When Beatrice Earle speaks to me her eyes meet mine; she smiles, +and does not seem afraid of me; but when Lord Airlie speaks she +turns from him, and her beautiful eyes droop. She evidently +cares more for him than for all the world besides." + +But after a time the fair, spirituelle loveliness of Lillian +stole into his heart. There was a marked difference between the +two sisters. Beatrice took one by storm, so to speak; her +magnificent beauty and queenly grace dazzled and charmed one. +With Lillian it was different. Eclipsed at first sight by her +more brilliant sister, her fair beauty grew upon one by degrees. +The sweet face, the thoughtful brow, the deep dreamy eyes, the +golden ripples of hair, the ethereal expression on the calm +features, seemed gradually to reveal their charm. Many who at +first overlooked Lillian, thinking only of her brilliant sister, +ended by believing her to be the more beautiful of the two. + +They stood together that evening, the two sisters, in the +presence of Lord Airlie and Lionel Dacre. Beatrice had been +singing, and the air seemed still to vibrate with the music of +her passionate voice. + +"You sing like a siren," said Mr. Dacre; he felt no diffidence in +offering so old a compliment to his kins-woman. + +"No," replied Beatrice; "I may sing well--in fact, I believe I +do. My heart is full of music, and it overflows on my lips; but +I am no siren, Mr. Dacre. No one ever heard of a siren with +dusky hair and dark brows like mine." + +"I should have said you sing like an enchantress," interposed +Lord Airlie, hoping that he was apter in his compliments. + +"You have been equally wrong, my lord," she replied, but she did +not laugh at him as she had done at Lionel. "If I were an +enchantress," she continued, "I should just wave my wand, and +that vase of flowers would come to me; as it is, I must go to it. +Who can have arranged those flowers? They have been troubling me +for the last half hour." She crossed the room, and took from a +small side table an exquisite vase filled with blossoms. + +"See," she cried, turning to Lionel, "white heath, white roses, +white lilies, intermixed with these pale gray flowers! There is +no contrast in such an arrangement. Watch the difference which a +glowing pomegranate blossom or a scarlet verbena will make." + +"You do not like such quiet harmony?" said Lionel, smiling, +thinking how characteristic the little incident was. + +"No," she replied; "give me striking contrasts. For many years +the web of my life was gray-colored, and I longed for a dash of +scarlet in its threads." + +"You have it now," said Mr. Dacre, quietly. + +"Yes," she said, as she turned her beautiful, bright fact to him; +"I have it now, never to lose it again." + +Lord Airlie, looking on and listening, drinking in every word +that fell from her lips, wondered whether love was the scarlet +thread interwoven with her life. He sighed deeply as he said to +himself that it would not be; this brilliant girl could never +care for him. Beatrice heard the sigh and turned to him. + +"Does your taste resemble mine, Lord Airlie?" + +"I," interrupted Lord Airlie--"I like whatever you like, Miss +Earle." + +"Yourself best of all," whispered Lionel to Beatrice with a +smile. + + * * * * * * * * * * * * + +As Mr. Dacre walked home that evening, he thought long and +anxiously about the two young girls, his kins-women. What was +the mystery? he asked himself--what skeleton was locked away in +the gay mansion? Where was Lord Earle's wife--the lady who +ought to have been at the head of his table--the mother of his +children? Where was she? Why was her place empty? Why was her +husband's face shadowed and lined with care? + +"Lillian Earle is the fairest and sweetest girl I have ever met," +he said to himself. "I know there is danger for me in those +sweet, true eyes, but if there be anything wrong--if the mother +is blameworthy--I will fly from the danger. I believe in +hereditary virtue and in hereditary vice. Before I fall in love +with Lillian, I must know her mother's story." + +So he said, and he meant it. There was no means of arriving at +the knowledge. The girls spoke at times of their mother, and it +was always with deep love and respect. Lady Helena mentioned +her, but her name never passed the lips of Lord Earle. Lionel +Dacre saw no way of obtaining information in the matter. + +There was no concealment as to Dora's abode. Once, by special +privilege, he was invited into the pretty room where the ladies +sat in the morning--a cozy, cheerful room, into which visitors +never penetrated. There, upon the wall, he saw a picture framed +a beautiful landscape, a quiet homestead in the midst of rich, +green meadows; and Lillian told him, with a smile, that was the +Elms, at Knutsford, "where mamma lived." + +Lionel was too true a gentleman to ask why she lived there; he +praised the painting, and then turned the subject. + +As Lady Earle foresaw, the time had arrived when Dora's children +partly understood there was a division in the family, a breach +never to be healed. "Mamma was quite different from papa," they +said to each other; and Lady Helena told them their mother did +not like fashion and gayety, that she had been simply brought up, +used always to quietness and solitude, so that in all probability +she would never come to Earlescourt. + +But as time went on, and Beatrice began to understand more of the +great world, she had an instinctive idea of the truth. It came +to her by slow degrees. Her father had married beneath him, and +her mother had no home in the stately hall of Earlescourt. At +first violent indignation seized her; then calmer reflection told +her she could not judge correctly. She did not know whether Lord +Earle had left his wife, or whether her mother had refused to +live with him. + +It was the first cloud that shadowed the life of Lord Earle's +beautiful daughter. The discovery did not diminish her love for +the quiet, sad mother, whose youth and beauty had faded so soon. +If possible, she loved her more; there was a pitying tenderness +in her affection. + +"Poor mamma!" thought the young girl--"poor, gentle mamma! I +must be doubly kind to her, and love her better than ever." + +Dora did not understand how it happened that her beautiful +Beatrice wrote so constantly and so fondly to her--how it +happened that week after week costly presents found their way to +the Elms. + +"The child must spend all her pocket money on me," she said to +herself. "How well and dearly she loves me--my beautiful +Beatrice!" + +Lady Helena remembered the depth of her mother's love. She +pitied the lonely, unloved wife, deprived of husband and +children. She did all in her power to console her. She wrote +long letters, telling Dora how greatly her children were admired, +and how she would like their mother to witness their triumph. +She told how many conquests Beatrice had made; how the proud and +exclusive Lord Airlie was always near her, and that Beatrice, of +her own fancy, liked him better than any one else. + +"Neither Lord Earle nor myself could wish a more brilliant future +for Beatrice," wrote Lady Helena. "As Lady Airlie of Lynnton, +she will be placed as her birth and beauty deserve." + +But even Lady Helena was startled when she read Dora's reply. It +was a wild prayer that her child should be saved--spared the +deadly perils of love and marriage--left to enjoy her innocent +youth. + +"There is no happy love," wrote poor Dora, "and never can be. +Men can not be patient, gentle, and true. It is ever self they +worship--self-reflected in the woman they love. Oh, Lady +Helena, let my child be spared! Let no so-called love come near +her! Love found me out in my humble home, and wrecked all my +life. Do not let my bright, beautiful Beatrice suffer as I have +done. I would rather fold my darlings in my arms and lie down +with them to die than live to see them pass through the cruel +mockery of love and sorrow which I have endured. Lady Helena, do +not laugh; your letter distressed me. I dreamed last night, +after reading it, that I placed a wedding veil on my darling's +head, when, as it fell round her, it changed suddenly into a +shroud. A mother's love is true, and mine tells me that Beatrice +is in danger." + + +Chapter XXVII + +"I have been abroad long enough," said Lord Earle, in reply to +some remark made by Lady Helena. "The girls do not care for the +sea--Beatrice dislikes it even; so I think we can not do better +than to return to Earlescourt. It may not be quite fashionable, +but it will be very pleasant." + +"Yes," said Lady Earle; "there is no place I love so well as +home. We owe our neighbors something, too. I am almost ashamed +when I remember how noted Earlescourt once was for its gay and +pleasant hospitality. We must introduce the girls to our +neighbors. I can foresee quite a cheerful winter." + +"Let us get over the summer and autumn," said Ronald with a +smile, "then we will look the winter bravely in the face. I +suppose, mother, you can guess who has managed to procure an +invitation to Earlescourt!" + +"Lord Airlie?" asked Lady Helena. + +"Yes," was the laughing reply. "It did me good, mother--it made +me feel young and happy again to see and hear him. His handsome, +frank face clouded when I told him we were going; then he sighed +said London would be like a desert--declared he could not go +to Lynnton, the place was full of work-people. He did not like +Scotland, and was as homeless as a wealthy young peer with +several estates could well be. I allowed him to bewilder himself +with confused excuses and blunders, and then asked him to join us +at Earlescourt. He almost 'jumped for joy,' as the children say. +He will follow us in a week or ten days. Lionel will come with +us." + +"I am very pleased," said Lady Earle. "Next to you, Ronald, I +love Lionel Dacre; his frank, proud, fearless disposition has a +great charm for me. He is certainly like Beatrice. How he +detests everything false, just as she does!" + +"Yes," said Ronald, gravely; "I am proud of my children. There +is no taint of untruth or deceit there, mother; they are worthy +of their race. I consider Beatrice the noblest girl I have ever +known; and I love my sweet Lily just as well." + +"You would not like to part with them now?" said Lady Earle. + +"I would sooner part with my life!" he replied. "I am not given +to strong expressions, mother, but even you could never guess how +my life is bound up in theirs." + +"Then let me say one word, Ronald," said his mother; "remember +Dora loves them as dearly and as deeply as you do. Just think +for a moment what it has cost her to give them up to you! She +must see them soon, with your full consent and permission. They +can go to her if you will." + +"You are right, mother," he said, after a few minutes. "They are +Dora's children, and she ought to see them; but they must not +return to that farm house--I can not bear the thought of it. +Surely they can meet on neutral ground--at your house, say, or +in London; and let it be at Christmas." + +"It had better be in London," said Lady Helena. "I will write to +Dora, and tell her. The very anticipation of it will make her +happy until the time arrives--she loves the children so dearly." + +And again a softened thought of Dora came to her husband. Of +course she loved them. The little villa at Florence rose before +him; he saw vividly, as though he had left it but yesterday, the +pretty vine-shaded room where Dora used to sit nursing the little +ones. He remembered her sweet patience, her never-failing, +gentle love. Had he done right to wound that sad heart afresh by +taking those children from her? Was it a just and fitting reward +for the watchful love and care of those lonely years? + +He would fain have pardoned her, but he could not; and he said to +himself again: "In the hour of death! I will forgive her then." + + * * * * * * * * * * * * + +The glowing August, so hot and dusty in London, was like a dream +of beauty at Earlescourt. The tall trees gave grateful shelter, +baffling the sun's warm rays; the golden corn stood in the broad +fields ready for the sickle; the hedge-rows were filled with +flowers. The beech trees in the park were in full perfection. +Fruit hung ripe and heavy in the orchards. It was no longer the +blossoming promise of spring, but the perfect glory of summer. + +For many long years Earlescourt had not been so gay. The whole +country-side rang with fashionable intelligence. The house was +filled with visitors, Lord Airlie heading the list. Lionel +Dacre, thinking but little of the time when the grand old place +would be his own, was full of life and spirits. + +Long arrears of hospitalities and festivities had to be repaid to +the neighborhood. Beatrice and Lillian had to make their debut +there. Lady Helena decided upon commencing the programme with a +grand dinner party, to be followed by a ball in the evening. +Ronald said something about the weather being warm for dancing. + +"We danced in London, papa," said Beatrice, "when the heat was so +great that I should not have felt any surprise if the whole +roomful of people had dissolved. Here we have space--large, +cool rooms, fresh air, a conservatory as large as a London house; +it will be child's play in comparison with what we have gone +through." + +"Miss Earle is quite right," said Lord Airlie. "A ball during +the season in London is a toil; here it would be nothing but a +pleasure." + +"Then a ball let it be," said Lord Earle. "Lillian, make out a +list of invitations, and head it with Sir Harry and Lady Laurence +of Holtham Hall. That reminds me, their eldest son, Gaspar, came +home yesterday from Germany; do not forget to include him." + +"Little Gaspar," cried Lady Helena--"has he returned? I should +like to see him." + +"Little Gaspar," said Lord Earle, laughing, "is six feet high +now, mother. You forget how time flies; he is taller than +Lionel, and a fine, handsome young fellow he is. He will be +quite an acquisition." + +Lord Earle was too much engrossed to remark the uneasiness his +few words had caused. Lord Airlie winced at the idea of a rival +a handsome man, and sentimental, too, as all those people +educated in Germany are! + +"I can not understand what possesses English people to send their +sons abroad for education," he said to Beatrice--"and to Germany +of all places in the world." + +"Why should they not?" she asked. + +"The people are so absurdly sentimental," he replied. "Whenever +I see a man with long hair and dreamy eyes, I know he is a +German." + +"You are unjust," said Beatrice, as she left him to join Lillian. + +"You are jealous," said Lionel, who had overheard the +conversation. "Look out for a rival in the lists, my lord." + +"I wish this tiresome ball were over," sighed Lord Airlie. "I +shall have no chance of speaking while it is on the tapis." + +But he soon forgot his chagrin. The formidable Gaspar appeared +that very morning, and, although Lord Airlie could perceive that +he was at once smitten with Beatrice's charms, he also saw that +she paid no heed whatever to the new-comer; indeed, after a few +words of courteous greeting, she returned to the point under +discussion--what flowers would look best in the ball room. + +"If we have flowers at all," she said, imperiously, "let them be +a gorgeous mass of bloom--something worth looking at; not a few +pale blossoms standing here and there like 'white sentinels'; let +us have flowers full of life and fragrance. Lillian, you know +what I mean; you remember Lady Manton's flowers--tier after tier +of magnificent color." + +"You like to do everything en reine, Beatrice," said Lady Helena, +with a well-pleased smile. + +"If you have not flowers sufficient, Miss Earle," said Lord +Airlie, "I will send to Lynnton. My gardener considers himself a +past master of his art." + +"My dear Lord Airlie," said Lady Earle, "we have flowers in +profusion. You have not been through the conservatories. It +would while away the morning pleasantly for you all. Beatrice, +select what flowers you will, and have them arranged as you +like." + +"See," said the triumphant beauty, "what a grand thing a strong +will is! Imagine papa's saying he thought thirty or forty plants +in full flower would be sufficient! We will surprise him. If +the gardener loses his reason, as Lady Earle seems to think +probable, he must be taken care of." + +Lord Airlie loved Beatrice best in such moods; imperious and +piquant, melting suddenly into little gleams of tenderness, then +taking refuge in icy coldness and sunny laughter. Beautiful, +dazzling, capricious, changing almost every minute, yet charming +as she changed, he would not have bartered one of her proudest +smiles or least words for anything on earth. + +He never forgot that morning spent among the flowers. It was a +glimpse of elysium to him. The way in which Beatrice contrived +to do as she liked amused him; her face looked fairer than ever +among the blooming flowers. + +"There is the bell for lunch," she said at last. "We have been +here nearly three hours." + +"Most of your attendants look slightly deranged," said Lionel. +"I am sure I saw poor Donald weeping over his favorite plants. +He told me confidentially they would be fit for nothing after the +heat of the ball room." + +"I shall invent some means of consolation for him," she replied. +"I like dancing among the bright flowers. Why should we not have +everything gay and bright and beautiful, if we can?" + +"Why not?" said Lionel, gravely. "Ah, Miss Earle, why are we not +always young and beautiful and happy? Why must flowers die, +beauty fade, love grow old? Ask a philosopher--do not ask me. +I know the answer, but let some one else give it to you." + +"Philosophy does not interest me at present," she said. "I like +flowers, music, and dancing better. I hope I shall never tire of +them; sometimes--but that is only when I am serious or tired--I +feel that I shall never live to grow old. I can not imagine my +eyes dim or my hair gray. I can not imagine my heart beating +slowly. I can not realize a day when the warmth and beauty of +life will have changed into cold and dullness." + +Even as she spoke a gentle arm stole round her, a fair, +spirituelle face, eyes full of clear, saintly light looked into +hers, and a soft voice whispered to her of something not earthly, +not of flowers and music, not of life and gayety, something far +beyond these, and the proud eyes for a moment grew dim with +tears. + +"Lily," she said, "I am not so good as you, but I will endeavor +to be. Let me enjoy myself first, just for a short time; I will +be good, dear." + +Her mood changed then, and Lord Airlie thought her more +entrancing than ever. + +"That is the kind of wife I want," thought Lionel Dacre to +himself, looking at Lillian--"some one to guide me, to teach me. +Ah, if women only understood their mission! That girl looked as +I can imagine only guardian angels look--I wish she would be +mine." + +Lord Airlie left the conservatory, with its thousand flowers, +more in love than ever. + +He would wait, he said to himself, until the ball was over; then +he would ask Beatrice Earle to be his wife. If she refused him, +he would go far away where no one knew him; if she accepted him, +he would be her devoted slave. She should be a queen, and he +would be her knight. + +Ah! What thanks would he return to Heaven if so great a blessing +should be his. + + +Chapter XXVIII + +Lord Airlie muttered something that was not a benediction when, +on the morning following, Gaspar Laurence made his appearance at +Earlescourt. + +"We can not receive visitors this morning," said Beatrice, half +impatiently. "Mr. Laurence must have forgotten the ball +tonight." + +But Mr. Laurence had forgotten nothing of the kind. It was a +delicious morning, the sun shining brightly and clearly, the +westerly breeze blowing fresh and cool. He had thought it likely +that the young ladies would spend the morning out-of-doors, and +begged permission to join them. + +Lady Earle was pleased with the idea. Lord Airlie mentioned +something about fatigue, but he was overruled. + +"Stroll in the grounds," said Lady Helena; "go down by the lake; +I will join you there afterward. A few hours in the fresh air +will be the best preparation for the ball." + +They went together. Gaspar's preference soon became apparent +he would not leave Beatrice, and Lord Airlie devotedly wished him +at the antipodes. + +They sat down under the shade of a tall lady-birch, the deep, +sunlit lake shining through the trees. Then Gaspar, taking a +little book in his hands, asked: + +"Have you read 'Undine,' Miss Earle--Fonque's 'Undine?'" + +"No," she replied; "I am half ashamed to say so." + +"It is the sweetest, saddest story ever written," he continued. +"This is just the morning for it. May I read it to you?" + +There was a general and pleased murmur of assent. Lord Airlie +muttered to himself that he knew the fellow would air his German +sentiment--at their expense. + +Still it was very pleasant. There was a gentle ripple on the +deep lake, the water washed among the tall reeds, and splashed +with a faint, musical murmur on the stones; the thick leafy +branches rustled in the wind; the birds sang in the trees. + +Gaspar Laurence read well; his voice was clear and distinct; not +a word of the beautiful story was lost. + +Beatrice listened like one in a dream. Her proud, bright face +softened, her magnificent eyes grew tender and half sad. Gaspar +read on--of the fair and lovely maiden, of the handsome young +knight and his love, of the water sprite, grim old Kuhlehorn, and +the cottage where Undine dwelt, of the knight's marriage, and +then of proud, beautiful Bertha. + +The rippling of the lake and the singing of the birds seemed like +an accompaniment to the words, so full of pathos. Then Gaspar +came to Bertha's love for the knight--their journey on the river +to the huge hand rising and snatching the jewel from Undine's +soft fingers, while the knight's love grew cold. + +Even the waters of the lake seemed to sob and sigh as Gaspar read +on of sweet, sad Undine and of her unhappy love, of Bertha's +proud triumph, her marriage with the knight, and the last, most +beautiful scene of all--Undine rising from the unsealed fountain +and going to claim her love. + +"How exquisite!" said Beatrice, drawing a long, deep breath. "I +did not know there was such a story in the world. That is indeed +a creation of genius. I shall never forget Undine." + +Her eyes wandered to the sweet spirituelle face and fair golden +hair of her sister. Lionel Dacre's glance followed hers. + +"I know what you are thinking of," he said--"Miss Lillian is a +perfect Undine. I can fancy her, with clasped hands and sad +eyes, standing between the knight and Bertha, or rising with +shadowy robes from the open fountain." + +"It is a beautiful creation," said Beatrice, gently. "Lillian +would be an ideal Undine--she is just as gentle, as fair, as +true. I am like Bertha, I suppose; at least I know I prefer my +own way and my own will." + +"You should give some good artist a commission to paint a +picture," said Lord Airlie. "Choose the scene in the boat +Undine bending over the water, a dreamy expression on her fair +face; Bertha sitting by the knight, proud, bright, and half +scornful of her companion. Imagine the transparent water +Undine's little hand half lost in it, and the giant fingers +clasping hers. I wonder that an artist has never painted that +scene." + +"Who would do for the knight?" said Beatrice. "Lillian and I +will never dispute over a knight." + +"Artists would find some difficulty in that picture," said +Lillian. "How could one clothe a beautiful ideal like Undine? +Sweeping robes and waving plumes might suit Bertha; but how could +one depict Undine?" + +"The knight is the difficulty," laughed Lionel. + +"Why should we not go out on the lake now?" said Gaspar; "I will +row." + +"I have been wishing for the last ten minutes," replied Beatrice, +"to be upon the lake. I want to put my hand in the water and see +what comes." + +Gaspar was not long in getting a pleasure boat out of the boat +house. Lionel managed to secure a seat near his Undine, and Lord +Airlie by his Beatrice. + +It was even more pleasant on the water than on the land; the boat +moved easily along, the fresh, clear breeze helping it. + +"Steer for those pretty water lilies," said Beatrice, "they look +so fresh and shining in the sun." + +And as they floated over the water, her thoughts went back to +that May morning when Lillian sat upon the cliffs and sketched +the white far-off sails. How distant it seemed! She longed then +for life. Now every sweet gift which life could bestow was here, +crowned with love. Yet she sighed as Hugh Fernely's face rose +before her. If she could but forget it! After all it had been +on her side but a mockery of love. Yet another sigh broke from +her lips, and then Lord Airlie looked anxiously at her. + +"Does anything trouble you, Miss Earle?" he asked. "I never +remember to have seen you so serious before." + +She looked for a moment wistfully into his face. Ah, if he could +help her, if he could drive this haunting memory from her, if +ever it could be that she might tell him of this her trouble and +ask him to save her from Hugh Fernely! But that was impossible. +Almost as though in answer to her thought, Gaspar Laurence began +to tell them of an incident that had impressed him. A gentleman, +a friend of his, after making unheard-of sacrifices to marry a +lady who was both beautiful and accomplished, left her suddenly, +and never saw her again, the reason being that he discovered that +she had deceived him by telling him a willful lie before her +marriage. Gaspar seemed to think she had been hardly used. Lord +Airlie and Lionel differed from him. + +"I am quite sure," said Lord Airlie, "that I could pardon +anything sooner than a lie; all that is mean, despicable, and +revolting to me is expressed in the one word, 'liar.' Sudden +anger, passion, hot revenge--anything is more easily forgiven. +When once I discover that a man or woman has told me a lie, I +never care to see their face again." + +"I agree with you," said Lionel; "perhaps I even go further. I +would never pardon an air of deceit; those I love must be +straightforward, honest, and sincere always." + +"Such a weight of truth might sink the boat," said Beatrice, +carelessly; but Lord Airlie's words had gone straight to her +heart. If he only knew. But he never would. And again she +wished that in reply to her father's question she had answered +truthfully. + +The time came when Lillian remembered Mr. Dacre's words, and knew +they had not been spoken in vain. + +Beatrice had taken off her glove, and drew her hand trough the +cool, deep water; thinking intently of the story she had just +heard--of Undine and the water-sprites--she leaned over the +boat's side and gazed into the depths. The blue sky and white +fleecy clouds, the tall green trees and broad leaves, were all +reflected there. There was a strange, weird fascination in the +placid water--what went on in the depths beneath? What lay +beneath the ripples? Suddenly she drew back with a startled cry +a cry that rang out in the clear summer air, and haunted Lord +Airlie while he lived. He looked at her; her face had grown +white, even to the very lips, and a nameless, awful dread lay in +her dark eyes. + +"What is it?" he asked, breathlessly. She recovered herself with +a violent effort, and tried to smile. + +"How foolish I am!" she said; "and what is worse you will all +laugh at me. It was sheer fancy and nonsense, I know; but I +declare that looking down into the water, I saw my own face there +with such a wicked, mocking smile that it frightened me." + +"It was the simple reflection," said Lionel Dacre. "I can see +mine. Look again, Miss Earle." + +"No," she replied, with a shudder; "it is only nonsense, I know, +but it startled me. The face seemed to rise from the depths and +smile--oh, oh, such a smile! When shall I forget it?" + +"It was only the rippling of the water which distorted the +reflection," said Lord Airlie. + +Beatrice made no reply, but drew her lace shawl around her as +though she were cold. + +"I do not like the water," she said presently; "it always +frightens me. Let us land, Mr. Laurence, please. I will never +go on the lake again." + +Gaspar laughed, and Mr. Dacre declared Beatrice had had too +strong a dose of Undine and the water-sprites. Lord Airlie felt +her hand tremble as he helped her to leave the boat. He tried to +make her forget the incident by talking of the ball and the +pleasure it would bring. She talked gayly, but every now and +then he saw that she shuddered as though icily cold. + +When they were entering the house she turned round, and, in her +charming, imperious way, said: + +"None of you must tell papa about my fright. I should not like +him to think that an Earle could be either fanciful or a coward. +I am brave enough on land." + +The heat had tried both girls, and Lady Helena said they must +rest before dinner. She made Beatrice lie down upon the cosy +little couch in her dressing room. She watched the dark eyes +close, and thought how beautiful the young face looked in repose. + +But the girl's sleep was troubled. Lady Earle, bending over her, +heard her sigh deeply and murmur something about the "deep +water." She awoke, crying out that she saw her own face, and Lady +Earle saw great drops of perspiration standing in beads upon her +brow. + +"What have you been dreaming of, child?" she asked. "Young girls +like you ought to sleep like flowers." + +"Flowers never quite close their eyes," said Beatrice, with a +smile. "I shut mine, but my brain is active, it seems, even in +sleep. I was dreaming of the lake, Lady Helena. Dreams are very +wonderful; do they ever come true?" + +"I knew one that did," replied Lady Earle. "When I was young, I +had a friend whom I loved very dearly--Laura Reardon. A +gentleman, a Captain Lemuel, paid great attention to her. She +loved him--my poor Laura--as I hope few people love. For many +months he did everything but make an offer--saw her ever day, +sent her flowers, books, and music, won her heart by a thousand +sweet words and gentle deeds. She believed he was in earnest, +and never suspected him of being a male flirt. He left London, +suddenly, saying goodbye to her in the ordinary way, and speaking +of his return in a few weeks. + +"She came to me one morning and told me a strange dream. She +dreamed she was dead, and lay buried in the center aisle of an +old country church. At the same time, and in the usual vague +manner of dreams, she was conscious of an unusual stir. She +heard carriages drive up to the church door; she heard the +rustling of dresses, the sound of footsteps above her head, the +confused murmur of a crowd of people; then she became aware that +a marriage was going on. She heard the minister ask: + +"'George Victor Lemuel, will you have this woman for your lawful +wedded wife?' + +"The voice she knew and loved best in the world replied: + +"'I will.' + +"'Alice Ferrars, will you take this man for your lawful wedded +husband?" + +"'I will,' replied the clear, low voice. + +"She heard the service finished, the wedding bells peal, the +carriages drive away. I laughed at her, Beatrice; but the +strange thing is, Captain George Lemuel was married on the very +day Laura dreamed the dream. He married a young lady, Alice +Ferrars, and Laura had never heard of the name before she dreamed +it. The marriage took place in an old country church. That +dream came true, Beatrice; I never heard of another dream like +it." + +"Did your friend die?" she asked. + +"No," replied Lady Helena; "she did not die, but her life was +spoiled by her unhappy love." + +"I should have died had it been my disappointment," said +Beatrice; "the loss of what one loves must be more bitter than +death." + + * * * * * * * * * * * * + +Far and near nothing was spoken of but the ball at Earlescourt. +Anything so brilliant or on so grand a scale had not been given +in the county for many years. + +Lord Earle felt proud of the arrangements as he looked through +the ball room and saw the gorgeous array of flowers, tier upon +tier of magnificent bloom, a sight well worth coming many miles +to see. Here and there a marble statue stood amid the flowers. +Little fountains of scented water rippled musically. He stopped +for a few moments looking at the blossoms and thinking of his +beautiful child. + +"How she loves everything bright and gay!" he said to himself. +"She will be queen of the ball tonight." + +As Lord Earle stood alone in his library that evening, where he +had been reading, stealing a quiet half hour, there came a gentle +knock at the door. + +"Come in," he said, and there stood before him something that he +thought must be a vision. + +"Grandmamma sent me," said Beatrice, blushing, "to see if I +should do. You are to notice my diamonds, papa, and tell me if +you approve of the setting." + +As he looked at the radiant figure a sense of wonder stole over +him. Could this magnificent beauty really be Dora's daughter-- +Dora who had stained her pretty hand with strawberry juice so +many years ago? + +He knew nothing of the details of the dress, he saw only the +beautiful face and glorious eyes, the crowns of waving hair, the +white, stately neck and exquisite arms. Before him was a gleam +of pale pink satin, shrouded with lace so fine and delicate that +it looked like a fairy web; and the Earle diamonds were not +brighter than the dark eyes. They became the wearer well. They +would have eclipsed a fair, faded beauty; they added radiance to +Beatrice's. + +"Where is Lillian?" he asked; and she knew from the tone of his +voice how proud and satisfied he was. + +"I am here, papa," said a gentle voice. "I wanted you to see +Beatrice first." + +Lord Earle hardly knew which to admire the more. Lillian looked +so fair and graceful; the pure, spiritual face and tender eyes +had new beauty; the slender, girlish figure contrasted well with +the stately dignity of Beatrice. + +"I hope it will be a happy evening for you both," he said. + +"I feel sure it will for me," said Beatrice, with a smile. "I am +thoroughly happy, and am looking forward to the ball with +delight." + +Lord Earle smiled half sadly as he gazed at her bright face, +wondering whether, in years to come, it would be clouded or +shadowed. + +"Will you dance, papa?" asked Beatrice, with a gleam of mischief +in her dark eyes. + +"I think not," he replied; and Ronald Earle's thoughts went back +to the last time he had ever danced--with Valentine Charteris. +He remembered it well. Ah, no! All those pleasant, happy days +were over for him. + + +Chapter XXIX + +The dinner party was over, and carriage after carriage rolled up +to the Hall; the rooms began to fill; there was a faint sound of +music, a murmur of conversation and laughter. + +"You have not forgotten your promise to me, Miss Earle?" said +Lord Airlie. "I am to have the first dance and the last, +certainly, and as many more as you can spare." + +"I have not forgotten," replied Beatrice. She was never quite at +her ease with him, although she loved him better than any one +else on earth. There was ever present with her the consciousness +that she did so love him, and the wonder whether he cared for +her. + +They opened the ball, and many significant comments were made +upon the fact. Gaspar Laurence was present. He was deeply +engaged for more than two hours in making up his mind whether he +should ask Beatrice to dance with him or not--she looked so +beautiful, so far above him. Gaspar could not help loving her-- +that was impossible; the first moment he saw her he was +entranced. But his was a humble, hopeless kind of adoration. He +would sooner have dreamed of wooing and winning a royal princess +than of ever asking Beatrice to be his wife. + +At length he summoned up courage, and was rewarded by a bright +smile and kind words. Poor Gaspar! When the beautiful face was +near him, and her hand rested on his shoulder, he thought he must +be dreaming. + +"There," he said, when the dance was over; "I shall not dance +again. I should not like to lose the memory of that waltz." + +"Why not?" she asked, wonderingly. + +"I must be candid with you," said Gaspar, sadly. "Perhaps my +confession is a vain one; but I love you, Miss Earle--so dearly +that the ground on which you stand is sacred to me." + +"That is not a very timid declaration," said Beatrice with a +smile. "You are courageous, Mr. Laurence. I have only seen you +three times." + +"It would make no difference," said Gaspar, "whether I had seen +you only once, or whether I met you every day. I am not going to +pain you, Miss Earle. Think kindly of me--I do not ask more; +only remember that living in this world there is one who would +stand between you and all peril--who would sacrifice his life +for you. You will not forget?" + +"I will not,"said Beatrice, firmly. "Never could I forget such +words. I am willing to be your friend--I know how to value +you." + +"I shall be happier with your friendship than with the love of +any other woman," said Gaspar, gratefully. + +Just then Lord Earle came and took Mr. Laurence away. Beatrice +stood where he had left her, half screened from sight by the +luxuriant foliage and magnificent flowers of a rare American +plant. There was a thoughtful, tender expression on her face +that softened it into wondrous beauty. She liked Gaspar, and was +both pleased and sorry that he loved her. Very pleasant was this +delicious homage of love--pleasant was it to know that strong, +brave, gifted men laid all they had in the world at her feet--to +know that her looks, smiles, and words moved them as nothing else +could. + +Yet she was sorry for Gaspar. It must be sad to give all one's +love and expect no return. She would be his friend, but she +could never be anything more. She could give him her sincere +admiration and esteem, but not her love. + +The proud, beautiful lips quivered, and the bright eyes grew dim +with tears. No, not her love--that was given, and could never +be recalled; in all the wide world, from among all men's, Lord +Airlie's face stood out clear and distinct. Living or dying, +Lord Earle's daughter knew she could care for no other man. + +She had taken in her hand one of the crimson flowers of the plant +above her, and seemed lost in contemplating it. She saw neither +the blossom nor the leaves. She was thinking of Lord Airlie's +face, and the last words he had said to her, when suddenly a +shadow fell before her, and looking up hastily, she saw him by +her side. He appeared unlike himself, pale and anxious. + +"Beatrice," said he, "I must speak with you. Pray come with me, +away from all these people. I can bear this suspense no longer." + +She looked at him, and would have refused; but she saw in his +face that which compelled obedience. For Lord Airlie had watched +Gaspar Laurence--he had watched the dance and the interview that +followed it. He saw the softened look on her face, and it half +maddened him. For the first time in his life Lord Airlie was +fiercely jealous. He detested this fair-haired Gaspar, with his +fund of German romance and poetry. + +Could it be that he would win the prize he himself would have +died to secure? What was he saying to her that softened the +expression on her face? What had he said that left her standing +there with a tender light in her dark eyes which he had never +seen before? He could not bear the suspense; perhaps a ball room +might not be the most appropriate place for an offer of marriage, +but he must know his fate, let it be what it might. He went up +to her and made his request. + +"Where are you going?" asked Beatrice, suddenly, for Lord Airlie +had walked rapidly through the suite of rooms, crowded with +people, and through the long conservatory. + +"We are not alone," he replied. "See, Lady Laurence and Mr. +Gresham prefer the rose garden here to those warm rooms. I must +speak with you, Miss Earle. Let me speak now." + +They stood in the pretty garden, where roses of varied hues hung +in rich profusion; the air was heavy with perfume. The moon +shone brightly in the evening sky; its beams fell upon the +flowers, bathing them in floods of silver light. + +A little rustic garden seat stood among the sleeping roses; and +there Beatrice sat, wondering at the strong emotion she read in +her lover's face. + +"Beatrice," he said, "I can bear it no longer. Why did Gaspar +Laurence bend over you? What was he saying? My darling, do you +not know how I love you--so dearly and so deeply that I could +not live without you? Do you not know that I have loved you from +the first moment I ever beheld you? Beatrice, my words are weak. +Look at me--read the love in my face that my lips know not how +to utter." + +But she never raised her eyes to him; the glorious golden light +of love that had fallen upon her dazzled her. + +"You must not send me from you, Beatrice," he said, clasping her +hands in his. "I am a strong man, not given to weakness; but, +believe me, if you send me from you, it will kill me. Every hope +of my life is centered in you. Beatrice, will you try to care +for me?" + +She turned her face to his--the moonlight showed clearly the +bright tears in her dark eyes. For answer she said, simply: + +"Do not leave me--I care for you now; my love--my love--did +you not know it?" + +The sweet face and quivering lips were so near him that Lord +Airlie kissed the tears away; he also kissed the white hands that +clasped his own. + +"You are mine--my own," he whispered, "until death; say so, +Beatrice." + +"I am yours," she said, "even in death." + +It was a stolen half hour, but so full of happiness that it could +never fade from memory. + +"I must go," said Beatrice, at length, unclasping the firm hand +that held her own. "Oh, Lord Airlie, how am I to meet all my +friends? Why did you not wait until tomorrow?" + +"I could not," he said; "and you perhaps would not then have been +so kind." + +He loved her all the more for her simplicity. As they left the +garden, Lord Airlie gathered a white rose and gave it to +Beatrice. Long afterward, when the leaves had become yellow and +dry, the rose was found. + +They remained in the conservatory a few minutes, and then went +back to the ball room. + +"Every waltz must be mine now," said Lord Airlie. "And, +Beatrice, I shall speak to Lord Earle tonight. Are you willing?" + +Yes, she was willing. It was very pleasant to be taken +possession of so completely. It was pleasant to find a will +stronger than her own. She did not care how soon all the world +knew that she loved him. The only thing she wondered at was why +he should be so unspeakably happy. + + +Chapter XXX + +Beatrice never recollected how the ball ended; to her it was one +long trance of happiness. She heard the music, the murmur of +voices, as though in a dream. There were times when everything +seemed brighter than usual--that was when Lord Airlie stood by +her side. Her heart was filled with unutterable joy. + +It was strange, but in that hour of happiness she never even +thought of Hugh Fernely; the remembrance of him never once +crossed her mind. Nothing marred the fullness of her content. + +She stood by Lord Earle's side as guest after guest came up to +say adieu. She saw Lord Airlie waiting for her father. + +"Lord Earle will be engaged for some time, I fear," he said; "I +must see him tonight. Beatrice, promise me you will not go to +rest until your father has given us his consent." + +She could not oppose him. When girls like Beatrice Earle once +learn to love, there is something remarkable in the complete +abandonment of their will. She would fain have told him, with +gay, teasing words, that he had won concession enough for one +night; as it was, she simply promised to do as he wished. + +Lord Earle received the parting compliments of his guests, +wondering at the same time why Lord Airlie kept near him and +seemed unwilling to lose sight of him. The happy moment arrived +when the last carriage rolled away, and the family at Earlescourt +were left alone. Lady Earle asked the two young girls to go into +her room for half an hour to "talk over the ball." Lionel, sorry +the evening was over, retired to his room; then Hubert Airlie +went to Lord Earle and asked if he might speak with him for ten +minutes. + +"Will it not do tomorrow?" inquired Ronald, smiling, as he held +up his watch. "See, it is past three o'clock." + +"No," replied Lord Airlie; "I could not pass another night in +suspense." + +"Come with me, then," said the master of Earlescourt, as he led +the way to the library, where the lamps were still alight. + +"Now, what is it?" he asked, good-humoredly, turning to the +excited, anxious lover. + +"Perhaps I ought to study my words," said Lord Airlie; "but I can +not. Lord Earle, I love your daughter Beatrice. Will you give +her to me to be my wife?" + +"Sooner than to any one else in the world," replied Ronald. "Is +she willing?" + +"I think so," was the answer, Lord Airlie's heart thrilling with +happiness as he remembered her words. + +"Let us see," said Lord Earle. He rang the bell, and sent for +his daughter. + +Lord Airlie never forgot the beautiful, blushing face half turned +from him as Beatrice entered the room. + +"Beatrice," said her father, clasping her in his arms, "is this +true? Am I to give you to Lord Airlie?" + +"If you please, papa," she whispered. + +"I do please," he cried. "Hubert, I give you a treasure beyond +all price. You may judge of my daughter's love from her own +word. I know it has never been given to any one but you. You +are my daughter's first lover, and her first love. You may take +her to your heart, well satisfied that she has never cared for +any one else. It is true, Beatrice, is it not?" + +"Yes," she said, faltering for a moment as, for the first time, +she remembered Hugh. + +"Tomorrow," continued Lord Earle, "we will talk of the future; we +are all tired tonight. You will sleep in peace, Airlie, I +suppose?" + +"If I sleep at all," he replied. + +"Well, you understand clearly that, had the choice rested with me +I should have selected you from all others to take charge of my +Beatrice," said Lord Earle. "Do not wait to thank me. I have a +faint idea of how much a grateful lover has to say. Good night." + + * * * * * * * * * * * * + +"What is it, Beatrice?" asked Lillian, as the two sisters stood +alone in the bright little dressing room. + +"I can hardly tell you in sober words," she replied. "Lord Airlie +has asked me to be his wife--his wife; and oh, Lily, I love him +so dearly!" + +Pride and dignity all broke down; the beautiful face was laid +upon Lillian's shoulder, and Beatrice wept happy tears. + +"I love him so, Lily," she went on; "but I never thought he cared +for me. What have I ever done that I should be so happy?" + +The moonbeams never fell upon a sweeter picture than these fair +young sisters; Lillian's pure, spirituelle face bent over +Beatrice. + +"I love him, Lily," she continued, "for himself. He is a king +among men. Who is so brave, so generous, so noble? If he were a +beggar, I should care just as much for him." + +Lillian listened and sympathized until the bright, dark eyes +seemed to grow weary; then she bade her sister goodnight, and +went to her own room. + +Beatrice Earle was alone at last--alone with her happiness and +love. It seemed impossible that her heart and brain could ever +grow calm or quiet again. It was all in vain she tried to sleep. +Lord Airlie's face, his voice, his words haunted her. + +She rose, and put on a pretty pink dressing gown. The fresh air, +she thought, would make her sleep, so she opened the long window +gently, and looked out. + +The night was still and clear; the moon hung over the dark trees; +floods of silvery light bathed the far-off lake, the sleeping +flowers, and the green grass. There was a gentle stir amid the +branches; the leaves rustled in the wind; the blue, silent +heavens above bright and calm. The solemn beauty of the starlit +sky and the hushed murmur appealed to her. Into the proud, +passionate heart there came some better, nobler thoughts. Ah, in +the future that lay so brilliant and beautiful before her she +would strive to be good, she would be true and steadfast, she +would think more of what Lily loved and spoke about at times. +Then her thoughts went back to her lover, and that happy half +hour in the rose garden. From her window she could see it--the +moon shone full upon it. The moonlight was a fair type of her +life that was to be, bright, clear, unshadowed. Even as the +thought shaped itself in her mind, a shadow fell among the trees. +She looked, and saw the figure of a tall man walking down the +path that divided the little garden from the shrubbery. He stood +still there, gazing long and earnestly at the windows of the +house, and then went out into the park, and disappeared. + +She was not startled. A passing wonder as to who it might be +struck her. Perhaps it was one of the gamekeepers or gardeners, +but she did not think much about it. A shadow in the moonlight +did not frighten her. + +Soon the cool, fresh air did its work; the bright, dark eyes grew +tired in real earnest, and at length Beatrice retired to rest. + +The sun was shining brightly when she awoke. By her side lay a +fragrant bouquet of flowers, the dew-drops still glistening upon +them, and in their midst a little note which said: + +"Beatrice, will you come into the garden for a few minutes before +breakfast, just to tell me all that happened last night was not a +dream?" + +She rose quickly. Over her pretty morning-dress she threw a +light shawl, and went down to meet Lord Airlie. + +"It was no dream," she said, simply, holding out her hand in +greeting to him. + +"Dear Beatrice, how very good of you!" replied Lord Airlie; +adding presently: "we have twenty minutes before the breakfast +bell will ring; let us make the best of them." + +The morning was fresh, fair, and calm, a soft haze hanging round +the trees. + +"Beatrice," said Lord Airlie, "you see the sun shining there in +the high heavens. Three weeks ago I should have thought it +easier for that same sun to fall than for me to win you. I can +scarcely believe that my highest ideal of woman is realized. It +was always my ambition to marry some young girl who had never +loved any one before me. You never have. No man ever held your +hand as I hold it now, no man ever kissed your face as I kissed +it last night." + +As he spoke, a burning flush covered her face. She remembered +Hugh Fernely. He loved her better for the blush, thinking how +pure and guileless she was. + +"I fear I shall be a very jealous lover," he continued. "I shall +envy everything those beautiful eyes rest upon. Will you ride +with me this morning? I want to talk to you about Lynnton--my +home, you know. You will be Lady Airlie of Lynnton, and no king +will be so proud as I shall." + +The breakfast bell rang at last. When Beatrice entered the room, +Lady Earle went up to her. + +"Your papa has told me the news," she said. "Heaven bless you, +and make you happy, dear child!" + +Lionel Dacre guessed the state of affairs, and said but little. +The chief topic of conversation was the ball, interspersed by +many conjectures on the part of Lord Earle as to why the post-bag +was so late. + +It did not arrive until breakfast was ended. Lord Earle +distributed the letters; there were three for Lord Airlie, one to +Lady Earle from Dora, two for Lionel, none for Lillian. Lord +Earle held in his hand a large common blue envelope. + +"Miss Beatrice Earle," he said; "from Brookfield. What large +writing! The name was evidently intended to be seen." + +Beatrice took the letter carelessly from him; the handwriting was +quite unknown to her; she knew no one in Brookfield, which was +the nearest post-town--it was probably some circular, some +petition for charity, she thought. Lord Airlie crossed the room +to speak to her, and she placed the letter carelessly in the +pocket of her dress, and in a few minutes forgot all about it. + +Lord Airlie was waiting; the horses had been ordered for an early +hour. Beatrice ran upstairs to put on her riding habit, and +never gave a thought to the letter. + +It was a pleasant ride; in the after-days she looked back upon it +as one of the brightest hours she had ever known. Lord Airlie +told her all about Lynnton, his beautiful home--a grand old +castle, where every room had a legend, every tree almost a +tradition. + +For he intended to work wonders; a new and magnificent wing +should be built, and on one room therein art, skill, and money +should be lavished without stint. + +"Her boudoir" he said, "should be fit for a queen and for a +fairy." + +So they rode through the pleasant, sunlit air. A sudden thought +struck Beatrice. + +"I wonder," she said, "what mamma will think? You must go to see +her, Hubert. She dreaded love and marriage so much. Poor +mamma!" + +She asked herself, with wondering love, what could have happened +that her mother should dread what she found so pleasant? Lord +Airlie entered warmly into all her plans and wishes. Near the +grand suite of rooms that were to be prepared for his beautiful +young wife, Lord Airlie spoke of rooms for Dora, if she would +consent to live with them. + +"I must write and tell mamma today," said Beatrice. "I should +not like her to hear it from any one but myself." + +"Perhaps you will allow me to inclose a note," suggested Lord +Airlie, "asking her to tolerate me." + +"I do not think that will be very difficult," laughingly replied +his companion. + +Their ride was a long one. On their return Beatrice was slightly +tired, and went straight to her own room. She wrote a long +letter to Dora, who must have smiled at her description of Lord +Airlie. He was everything that was true, noble, chivalrous, and +grand. The world did not hold such another. When the letter was +finished it was time to dress for dinner. + +"Which dress will you wear, miss?" asked the attentive maid. + +"The prettiest I have," said the young girl, her bright face +glowing with the words she had just written. + +What dress could be pretty enough for him? One was found at last +that pleased her--a rich, white crepe. But she would wear no +jewels--nothing but crimson roses. One lay in the thick coils +of her dark hair, another nestled against her white neck, others +looped up the flowing skirt. + +Beatrice's toilet satisfied her--this, too, with her lover's +fastidious taste to please. She stood before the large mirror, +and a pleased smile overspread her face as she saw herself +reflected therein. + +Suddenly she remembered the letter. The morning-dress still hung +upon a chair. She took the envelope from the pocket. + +"Shall you want me again, Miss Earle?" asked her maid. + +"No," replied Beatrice, breaking the seal; "I am ready now." + +The girl quitted the room, and Beatrice, standing before the +mirror, drew out a long, closely written letter, turning +presently, in amazement, to the signature, wondering who could be +the writer. + + +Chapter XXXI + +The sun shone brightly upon the roses that gleamed in her hair +and nestled against the white neck. Could it be lingering in +cruel mockery upon the pale face and the dark eyes so full of +wild horror? As Beatrice Earle read that letter, the color left +even her lips, her heart seemed to stand still, a vague, nameless +dread took hold of her, the paper fell from her hands, and with a +long, low cry she fell upon her knees, hiding her face in her +hands. + +It had fallen at last--the cruel blow that even in her dreams +and thoughts she had considered impossible. Hugh Fernely had +found her out, and claimed her as his own! + +This letter, which had stricken joy and beauty from the proud +face and left it white and cold almost as the face of the dead +was from him; and the words it contained were full of such +passionate love that they terrified her. The letter ran as +follows: + +"My own Beatrice,--From peril by sea and land I have returned to +claim you. Since we parted I have stood face to face with death +in its most terrible form. Each time I conquered because I felt +I must see you again. It is a trite saying that death is +immortal. Death itself would not part me from you--nay, if I +were buried, and you came to my grave and whispered my name, it +seems to me I must hear you. + +"Beatrice, you promised to be my wife--you will not fail me? +Ah, no, it can not be that the blue heavens above will look on +quietly and witness my death blow! You will come to me, and give +me a word, a smile to show how true you have been. + +"Last evening I wandered round the grounds, wondering which were +the windows of my love's chamber, and asking myself whether she +was dreaming of me. Life has changed for you since we sat upon +the cliffs at Knutsford and you promised to be my wife. I heard +at the farm all about the great change, and how the young girl +who wandered with me through the bonny green woods is the +daughter of Lord Earle. Your home, doubtless, is a stately one. +Rank and position like yours might frighten some lovers--they do +not daunt me. You will not let them stand between us. You can +not, after the promises you uttered. + +"Beatrice, my voyage has been a successful one; I am not a rich +man, but I have enough to gratify every wish to your heart. I +will take you away to sunny lands over the sea where life shall +be so full of happiness that you will wish it never to end. + +"I wait your commands. Rumor tells me Lord Earl is a strange, +disappointed man. I will not yet call upon you at your own home; +I shall await your reply at Brookfield. Write at once, Beatrice, +and tell me how and when I may meet you. I will go anywhere, at +any time. Do not delay--my heart hungers and thirsts for one +glance of your peerless face. Appoint an hour soon. How shall I +live until it comes? Until then think of me as + +"Your devoted lover, Hugh Fernely. + +"Address Post Office, Brookfield." + +She read every word carefully and then slowly turned the letter +over and read it again. Her white lips quivered with indignant +passion. How dared he presume so far? His love! Ah, if Hubert +Airlie could have read those words! Fernely's love! She loathed +him; she hated, with fierce, hot hatred, the very sound of his +name. Why must this most wretched folly of her youth rise up +against her now? What must she do? Where could she turn for +help and counsel? + +Could it be possible that this man she hated so fiercely had +touched her face and covered her hands with kisses and tears? +She struck the little white hands which held the letter against +the marble stand, and where Hugh Fernely's tears had fallen a +dark bruise purpled the fair skin; white hard, fierce words came +from the beautiful lips. + +"Was I blind, foolish, mad?" she cried. "Dear Heaven, save me +from the fruits of my own folly!" + +Then hot anger yielded to despair. What should she do? Look +which way she might, there was no hope. If Lord Earle once +discovered that she had dealt falsely with him, she would be +driven from the home she had learned to love. He would never +pardon such concealment, deceit, and folly as hers. She knew +that. If Lord Airlie ever discovered that any other man had +called her his love, had kissed her face, and claimed her as his +own, she would lose his affection. Of that she was also quite +sure. + +If she would remain at Earlescourt, if she would retain her +father's affection and Lord Airlie's love, they must never hear +of Hugh Fernely. There could be no doubt on that head. + +What should she do with him? Could she buy him off? Would money +purchase her freedom? Remembering his pride and his love, she +thought not. Should she appeal to his pity--tell him all her +heart and life were centered in Lord Airlie? Should she appeal +to his love for pity's sake? + +Remembering his passionate words, she knew it would be useless. +Had she but been married before he returned--were she but Lady +Airlie of Lynnton--he could not have harmed her. Was the man +mad to think he could win her--she who had had some of the most +noble-born men in England at her feet? Did he think she would +exchange her grand old name for his obscure one--her +magnificence for his poverty. + +There was no more time for thought; the dinner bell had sounded +for the last time, and she must descend. She thrust the letter +hastily into a drawer, and locked it, and then turned to her +mirror. She was startled at the change. Surely that pale face, +with its quivering lips and shadowed eyes could not be hers. +What should she do to drive away the startled fear, the vague +dread, the deadly pallor? The roses she wore were but a ghastly +contrast. + +"I must bear it better," she said to herself. "such a face as +this will betray my secret. Let me feel that I do not care +that it will all come right in the end." + +She said the words aloud, but the voice was changed and hoarse. + +"Women have faced more deadly peril than this," she continued, +"and have won. Is there any peril I would not brave for Hubert +Airlie's sake?" + +Beatrice Earle left the room. She swept, with her beautiful head +erect, through the wide corridors and down the broad staircase. +She took her seat at the sumptuous table, whereon gold and silver +shone, whereon everything recherche and magnificent was +displayed. But she had with her a companion she was never again +to lose, a haunting fear, a skeleton that was never more to quit +her side, a miserable consciousness of folly that was bringing +sore wretchedness upon her. Never again was she to feel free +from fear and care. + +"Beatrice," said Lady Earle when dinner was over, "you will never +learn prudence." + +She started, and the beautiful bloom just beginning to return, +vanished again. + +"Do not look alarmed, my dear," continued Lady Helena; "I am not +angry. I fear you were out too long today. Lord Airlie must +take more care of you; the sun was very hot, and you look quite +ill. I never saw you look as you do tonight." + +"We had very little sun," replied Beatrice, with a laugh as she +tried to make a gay one; "we rode under the shade in the park. I +am tired, but not with my ride." + +It was a pleasant evening, and when the gentlemen joined the +ladies in the drawing room, the sunbeams still lingered on flower +and tree. The long windows were all open, and the soft summer +wind that came in was laden with the sweet breath of the flowers. + +Lord Airlie asked Beatrice to sing. It was a relief to her; she +could not have talked; all the love and sorrow, all the fear and +despair that tortured her, could find vent in music. So she sat +in the evening gloaming, and Lord Airlie, listening to the superb +voice, wondered at the pathos and sadness that seemed to ring in +every note. + +"What weird music, Beatrice!" he said, at length. "You are +singing of love, but the love is all sorrow. Your songs are +generally so bright and happy. What has come over you?" + +"Nothing," was the reply, but he, bending over her, saw the dark +eyes were dim with tears. + +"There," cried Lord Airlie, "you see I am right. You have +positively sung yourself to tears." + +He drew her from the piano, and led her to the large bay window +where the roses peeped in. He held her face up to the mellow +evening light, and looked gravely into her beautiful eyes. + +"Tell me," he said, simply, "what has saddened you, Beatrice +you have no secrets from me. What were you thinking of just now +when you sang that dreamy 'Lebenwold?' Every note was like a +long sigh." + +"Shall you laugh if I tell you?" she asked. + +"No," he replied; "I can not promise to sigh, but I will not +smile." + +"I was thinking what I should do if--if anything happened to +part us." + +"But nothing ever will happen," he said; "nothing can part us but +death. I know what would happen to me if I lost you, Beatrice." + +"What?" she asked, looking up into the handsome, kindly face. + +"I should not kill myself," he said, "for I hold life to be a +sacred gift; but I should go where the face of no other woman +would smile upon me. Why do you talk so dolefully, Beatrice? +Let us change the subject. Tell me where you would like to go +when we are married--shall it be France, Italy, or Spain?" + +"Would nothing ever make you love me less, Hubert?" she asked. +"Neither poverty nor sickness?" + +"No," he replied; "nothing you can think of or invent." + +"Nor disgrace?" she continued; but he interrupted her half +angrily. + +"Hush!" he said, "I do not like such a word upon your lips; never +say it again. What disgrace can touch you? You are too pure, +too good." + +She turned from him, and he fancied a low moan came from her +trembling lips. + +"You are tired, and--pray forgive me, Beatrice--nervous too," +said Lord Airlie; "I will be your doctor. You shall lie down +here upon this couch. I will place it where you can see the sun +set in the west, and I will read to you something that will drive +all fear away. I thought during dinner that you looked ill and +worn." + +Gently enough he drew the couch to the window, Lady Earle +watching him the while with smiling face. He induced Beatrice to +lie down, and then turned her face to the garden where the +setting sun was pleasantly gilding the flowers. + +"Now, you have something pleasant to look at," said Lord Airlie, +"and you shall have something pleasant to listen to. I am going +to read some of Schiller's 'Marie Stuart.'" + +He sat at her feet, and held her white hands in his. He read the +grand, stirring words that at times seemed like the ring of +martial music, and again like the dirge of a soul in despair. + +His clear, rich voice sounded pleasantly in the evening calm. +Beatrice's eyes lingered on the western sky all aflame, but her +thoughts were with Hugh Fernely. + +What could she do? If she could but temporize with him, if she +could but pacify him, for a time, until she was married, all +would be safe. He would not dare to talk of claiming Lady Airlie +it would be vain if he did. Besides, she would persuade Lord +Airlie to go abroad; and, seeing all pursuit useless, Hugh would +surely give her up. Even at the very worst, if Hubert and she +were once married, she would not fear; if she confessed all to +him, he would forgive her. He might be very angry, but he would +pardon his wife. If he knew all about it before marriage, there +was no hope for her. + +She must temporize with Fernely--write in a style that would +convey nothing, and tell him that he must wait. He could not +refuse. She would write that evening a letter that should give +him no hope, nor yet drive him to despair. + +"That is a grand scene, is it not?" said Lord Airlie suddenly; +then he saw by Beatrice's startled look that she had not +listened. + +"I plead guilty at once," she replied. "I was thinking--do not +be angry--I was thinking of something that relates to yourself. +I heard nothing of what you read, Hubert. Will you read it +again?" + +"Certainly not," he said, with a laugh of quiet amusement. +"Reading does not answer; we will try conversation. Let us +resume the subject you ran away from before--where shall we go +for our wedding trip?" + +Only three days since she would have suggested twenty different +places; she would have smiled and blushed, her dark eyes growing +brighter at every word. Now she listened to her lover's plans as +if a ghostly hand had clutched her heart and benumbed her with +fear. + + * * * * * * * * * * * * + +That evening it seemed to Beatrice Earle as though she would +never be left alone. In the drawing room stood a dainty little +escritoire used by the ladies of Earlescourt. Here she dared not +write lest Lord Airlie should, as he often did, linger by her, +pretending to assist her. If she went into the library, Lord +Earle would be sure to ask to whom she was writing. There was +nothing to be done but to wait until she retired to her own room. + +First came Lady Earle, solicitous about her health, recommending +a long rest and a quiet sleep; then Lillian, full of anxiety, +half longing to ask Beatrice if she thought Lionel Dacre +handsomer and kinder than any one else; then the maid Suzette, +who seemed to linger as though she would never go. + +At length she was alone, the door locked upon the outer world. +She was soon seated at her little desk, where she speedily wrote +the following cold letter, that almost drove Hugh Fernely mad: + +"My dear Hugh,--Have you really returned? I thought you were +lost in the Chinese Seas, or had forgotten the little episode at +Knutsford. I can not see you just yet. As you have heard, Lord +Earle has peculiar notions--I must humor them. I will write +again soon, and say when and where I can see you. Yours +sincerely, Beatrice Earle." + +She folded the letter and addressed it as he wished; then she +left her room and went down into the hall, where the post-bag lay +open upon the table. She placed the missive inside, knowing that +no one would take the trouble to look at the letters; then she +returned, as she had come, silently. + +The letter reached Brookfield at noon the following day. When +Hugh Fernely opened it he bit his lips with rage. Cold, +heartless lines! Not one word was there of welcome. Not one of +sorrow for his supposed death; no mention of love, truth, or +fidelity; no promise that she would be his. What could such a +letter mean? + +He almost hated the girl whom he had loved so well. Yet he could +not, would not, believe anything except that perhaps during his +long absence she had grown to think less kindly of him. She had +promised to be his wife, and let come what might, he would make +her keep her word. + +So he said, and Hugh Fernely meant it. His whole life was +centered in her and he would not tamely give her up. + +The letter dispatched, Beatrice awaited the reply with a suspense +no words can describe. A dull wonder came over her at times why +she must suffer so keenly. Other girls had done what she had +done--nay, fifty times worse--and no Nemesis haunted them. Why +was this specter of fear and shame to stand by her side every +moment and distress her? + +It was true it had been very wrong of her to meet this tiresome +Hugh Fernely in the pleasant woods and on the sea shore; but it +had broken the monotony that had seemed to be killing her. His +passionate love had been delicious flattery; still she had not +intended anything serious. It had only been a novelty and an +amusement to her, although to him perhaps it had been a matter of +life or death. But she had deceived Lord Earle. If, when he had +questioned her, and sought with such tender wisdom to win her +confidence, if she had told him her story then, he would have +saved her from further persecution and from the effects of her +own folly; if she had told him then, it would not have mattered +there would have been no obstacle to her love for Lord Airlie. + +It was different now. If she were to tell Lord Earle, after his +deliberate and emphatic words, she could expect no mercy; yet, +she said to herself, other girls have done even worse, and +punishment had not overtaken them so swiftly. + +At last she slept, distressed and worn out with thought. + + +Chapter XXXII + +For the first time in her life, when the bright sun shone into +her room, Beatrice turned her face to the wall and dreaded the +sight of day. The post-bag would leave the hall at nine in the +morning--Hugh would have the letter at noon. Until then she was +safe. + +Noon came and went, but the length of the summer's day brought +nothing save fresh misery. At every unusual stir, every loud +peal of the bell, every quick footstep, she turned pale, and her +heart seemed to die within her. + +Lady Earle watched her with anxious eyes. She could not +understand the change that had come over the brilliant young girl +who had used to be the life of the house. Every now and then she +broke out into wild feverish gayety. Lillian saw that something +ailed her sister--she could not tell what. + +For the fiftieth time that day, when the hall door bell sounded, +Beatrice looked up with trembling lips she vainly tried to still. +At last Lady Earle took the burning hands in her own. + +"My dear child," she said, "you will have a nervous fever if you +go on in this way. What makes you start at every noise? You +look as though you were waiting for something dreadful to +happen." + +"No one ever called me nervous," replied Beatrice, with a smile, +controlling herself with an effort; "mamma's chief complaint +against me was that I had no nerves;" adding presently to +herself: "This can not last. I would rather die at once that +live in this agony." + +The weary day came to a close, however, and it was well for +Beatrice that Lord Airlie had not spent it with her. The +gentlemen at Earlescourt had all gone to a bachelor's dinner, +given by old Squire Newton of the Grange. It was late when they +returned, and Lord Airlie did not notice anything unusual in +Beatrice. + +"I call this a day wasted," he said, as he bade her goodnight; +"for it has been a day spent away from you. I thought it would +never come to an end." + +She sighed, remembering what a dreary day it had been to her. +Could she live through such another? Half the night she lay +awake, wondering if Hugh's answer to her letter would come by the +first post, and whether Lord Earle would say anything if he +noticed another letter from Brookfield. Fortune favored her. In +the morning Lord Earle was deeply engrossed by a story Lionel was +telling, and asked Beatrice to open the bag for him. She again +saw a hated blue envelope bearing her own name. When all the +other letters were distributed, she slipped hers into the pocket +of her dress, without any one perceiving the action. + +Breakfast was over at last; and leaving Lord Airlie talking to +Lillian, Beatrice hastened to read the letter. None of Hugh's +anger was there set down; but if she had cared for him her heart +must have ached at the pathos of his simple words. He had +received her note, he said--the note so unworthy of her--and +hastened to tell her that he was obliged to go to London on some +important business connected with his ship, and that he should be +absent three weeks. He would write to her at once on his return, +and he should insist upon seeing her then, as well as exact the +fulfillment of her promise. + +It was a respite; much might happen in three weeks. She tore the +letter into shreds, and felt as though relieved of a deadly +weight. If time could but be gained, she thought--if something +could happen to urge on her marriage with Hubert Airlie before +Hugh returned! At any rate, for the moment she was free. + +She looked like herself again when Lord Airlie came to ask her if +she would ride or walk. The beautiful bloom had returned to her +face and the light to her eyes. All day she was in brilliant +spirits. There was no need now to tremble at a loud ring or a +rapid step. Three weeks was a long time--much might happen. +"Oh, if Lord Airlie would but force me to marry him soon!" + +That very evening Lord Airlie asked her if she would go out with +him. He wanted to talk to her alone, for he was going away on +the morrow, and had much to say to her. + +"Where are you going?" she asked with sad, wondering eyes, her +chance of escaping seeming rapidly to diminish. + +"I am going to Lynnton," he replied, "to see about plans for the +new buildings. They should be begun at once. For even if we +remain abroad a whole year they will then be hardly finished. I +shall be away ten days or a fortnight. When I return, Beatrice, +I shall ask you a question. Can you guess what it will be?" + +There was no answering smile on her face. Perhaps he would be +absent three weeks. What chance of escape had she now? + +"I shall ask you when you will fulfill your promise," he +continued--"when you will let me make you in deed and in word my +wife. You must not be cruel to me, Beatrice. I have waited long +enough. You will think about it while I am gone, will you not?" + +Lord Earle smiled as he noted his daughter's face. Airlie was +going away, and therefore she was dull--that was just as it +should be. He was delighted that she cared so much for him. He +told Lady Helena that he had not thought Beatrice capable of such +deep affection. Lady Helena told him she had never known any one +who could love so well or hate so thoroughly as Beatrice. + +The morning came, and Lord Airlie lingered so long over his +farewell that Lady Helena began to think he would alter his mind +and remain where he was. He started at last, however, promising +to write every day to Beatrice, and followed by the good wishes +of the whole household. + +He was gone, and Hugh was gone; for three weeks she had nothing +to fear, nothing to hope, and a settled melancholy calm fell upon +her. Her father and Lady Helena thought she was dull because her +lover was away; the musical laugh that used to gladden Lord +Earle's heart was hushed; she became unusually silent; the +beautiful face grew pale and sad. They smiled and thought it +natural. Lillian, who knew every expression of her sister's +face, grew anxious, fearing there was some ailment either of body +or mind of which none of them were aware. + +They believed she was thinking of her absent lover and feeling +dull without him. In reality her thoughts were centered upon one +idea--what could she do to get rid of Hugh Fernely? Morning, +noon, and night that one question was always before her. She +talked when others did, she laughed with them; but if there came +an interval of silence the beautiful face assumed a far-off +dreamy expression Lillian had never seen there before. Beatrice +was generally on her guard, watchful and careful, but there were +times when the mask she wore so bravely fell off, and Lillian, +looking at her then, knew all was not well with her sister. + +What was to be done to get free from Hugh? Every hour in the day +fresh plans came to her--some so absurd as to provoke feverish, +unnatural laughter, but none that were feasible. With all her +daring wit, her quick thought, her vivid fancy--with all her +resource of mind and intellect, she could do nothing. Day and +night the one question was still there--what could she do to get +free from Hugh Fernely? + + +Chapter XXXIII + +A whole week passed, and the "something" Beatrice longed for had +not happened. Life went on quietly and smoothly. Her father and +Lady Earle busied themselves in talking of preparations for the +marriage. Lionel Dacre and Lillian slowly drifted into the +fairyland of hope, Lord Airlie wrote every day. No one dreamed +of the dark secret that hung over Earlescourt. + +Every morning Beatrice, with the sanguine hopefulness of youth, +said to herself, "Something will happen today;" every night she +thought, "Something must happen tomorrow;" but days and nights +went on calmly, unbroken by any event or incident such as she +wished. + +The time of reprieve was rapidly passing. What should she do if, +at the end of three weeks, Lord Airlie returned and Hugh Fernely +came back to Earlescourt? Through the long sunny hours that +question tortured her--the suspense made her sick at heart. +There were times when she thought it better to die at once than +pass through this lingering agony of fear. + +But she was young, and youth is ever sanguine; she was brave, and +the brave rarely despair. She did not realize the difficulties +of her position, and she did not think it possible that anything +could happen to take her from Hubert Airlie. + +Only one person noted the change in Beatrice, and that was her +sister, Lillian Earle. Lillian missed the high spirits, the +brilliant repartee, the gay words that had made home so bright; +over and over again she said to herself all was not well with her +sister. + +Lillian had her own secret--one she had as yet hardly whispered +to herself. From her earliest childhood she had been accustomed +to give way to Beatrice. Not that there was any partiality +displayed, but the willful young beauty generally contrived to +have her own way. By her engaging manners and high spirits she +secured every one's attention; and thus Lillian was in part +overlooked. + +She was very fair and gentle, this golden-haired daughter of +Ronald Earle. Her face was so pure and spirituelle that one +might have sketched it for the face of a seraph; the tender +violet eyes were full of eloquence, the white brow full of +thought. Her beauty never dazzled, never took any one by storm; +it won by slow degrees a place in one's heart. + +She was of a thoughtful, unobtrusive nature; nothing could have +made her worldly, nothing could have made her proud. + +Sweet, calm, serene, ignorant alike of all the height of +happiness and the depths of despair--gifted, too with a +singularly patient disposition and amiable temper, no one had +ever seen Lillian Earle angry or hasty; her very presence seemed +full of rest and peace. + +Nature had richly endowed her. She had a quick, vivid fancy, a +rare and graceful imagination; and perhaps her grandest gift was +a strong and deep love for things not of this world. Not that +Lillian was given to "preaching," or being disagreeably "goody," +but high and holy thoughts came naturally to her. When Lord +Earle wanted amusement, he sent for Beatrice--no one could while +away long hours as she could; when he wanted comfort, advice, or +sympathy, he sought Lillian. Every one loved her, much as one +loves the sunbeams that bring bright light and warmth. + +Lionel Dacre loved her best of all. His only wonder was that any +one could even look at Beatrice when Lillian was near. He +wondered sometimes whether she had not been made expressly for +him--she was so strong where he was weak, her calm serene +patience controlled his impetuosity, her gentle thoughtfulness +balanced his recklessness, her sweet, graceful humility corrected +his pride. + +She influenced him more than he knew--one word from her did +wonders with him. He loved her for her fair beauty, but most of +all for the pure, guileless heart that knew no shadow of evil +upon which the world had never even breathed. + +Lionel Dacre had peculiar ideas about women. His mother, who had +been a belle in her day, was essentially worldly. The only +lessons she had ever taught him were how to keep up appearance, +how to study fashionable life and keep pace with it. + +She had been a lady of fashion, struggling always with narrow +means; and there were times when her son's heart grew sick, +remembering the falseness, the meanness, the petty cunning +maneuvers she had been obliged to practice. + +As he grew older and began to look around the world, he was not +favorably impressed. The ladies of his mother's circle were all +striving together to get the foremost place. He heard of envy, +jealousy, scandal, untruth, until he wondered if all women were +alike. + +He himself was of a singularly truthful, honorable nature--all +deceit, all false appearances were hateful to him. He had formed +to himself an ideal of a wife, and he resolved to live and die +unmarried unless he could find some one to realize it. + +Lillian Earle did. He watched her keenly; she was truthful and +open as the day. He never heard a false word from her not even +one of the trifling excuses that pass current in society for +truth. He said to himself, if any one was all but perfect, +surely she was. To use his own expression, he let his heart's +desire rest in her; all he had ever hoped for or dreamed of was +centered in her. He set to work deliberately and with all the +ardor of his impetuous nature to win her love. + +At first she did not understand him; then by degrees he watched +the pure young heart awaken to consciousness. It was as pretty a +development of love as ever was witnessed. At the sound of his +footsteps or his voice the faint color flushed into her face, +light came into her eyes; and when he stood by her side, bending +his handsome head to read her secret, she would speak a word or +two, and then hurry away from him. If he wished to join her in +her walks or rides, she begged to be excused with trembling lips +and drooping eyes. + +She hardly knew herself what had come to her--why the world +seemed suddenly to have grown so fair--what made fresh luster in +the sky above. A vague, delicious happiness stirred in the +gentle heart. She longed for, yet half dreaded, Lionel's +presence. When he was near her, the little hands trembled and +the sweet face grew warm and flushed. Yet the measure of her +content and happiness seemed full. + +Lionel saw it all, and he wondered why such a precious treasure +as the love of this pure, innocent girl should be his. What had +he ever done to deserve it? Through her he began to respect all +other women, through her he began to value the high and holy +teachings he had hitherto overlooked. She was his ideal +realized. If ever the time should come for him to be +disappointed in her, then he would believe all things false--but +it never could be. + +How should he tell her of his love? It would be like trying to +cage a startled, timid bird. He stood abashed before her sweet +innocence. + +But the time came when he resolved to woo and win her--when he +felt that his life would be unbearable without her; and he said +to himself that sweet Lillian Earle should be his wife, or he +would never look upon a woman's face again. + +Lionel felt some slight jealousy of Beatrice; he paid dearly +enough for it in the dark after-days. He fancied that she +eclipsed Lillian. He thought that if he spoke to Lord Earle of +his love, he would insist upon both marriages taking place on one +day; and then his fair gentle love would, as usual, be second to +her brilliant sister. + +"That shall never be," he said to himself. "Lillian shall have a +wedding day of her own, the honors unshared. She shall be the +one center of attraction." + +He determined to say nothing to Lord Earle until Beatrice was +married; surely her wedding must take place soon--Lord Airlie +seemed unable to exist out of her presence. When they were +married and gone, Lillian should have her turn of admiration and +love. It was nothing but proud, jealous care for her that made +him delay. + +And Lillian discovered her own secret at last. She knew she +loved Lionel. He was unlike every one else. Who was so +handsome, so brave, so good? She liked to look shyly at the +frank, proud face and the careless wave of hair thrown back from +his brow; his voice made music in her heart, and she wondered +whether he really cared for her. + +In her rare sweet humility she never saw how far she was above +him; she never dreamed that he looked up to her as a captain to +his queen. He was always by her side, he paid her a thousand +graceful attentions, he sought her advice and sympathy, some +unspoken words seemed ever on his lips. Lillian Earle asked +herself over and over again whether he loved her. + +She was soon to know. From some careless words of Lord Earle's, +Lionel gathered that Beatrice's marriage would take place in +November. Then he decided, if he could win her consent, that +Lillian's wedding should be when the spring flowers were +blooming. + +August, with its sunny days, was at an end. Early in September +Lillian stood alone on the shore of the deep, clear lake. Lionel +saw her there, and hastened to join her, wondering at the grave +expression on her face. + +"What are you thinking of, Lillian?" he asked. "You look sad and +anxious." + +"I was thinking of Beatrice," she replied. "She seems so +changed, so different. I can not understand it." + +"I can," said Lionel. "You forget that she will soon leave the +old life far behind her. She is going into a new world; a change +so great may well make one thoughtful." + +"She loves Lord Airlie," returned Lillian--she could hear even +then the musical voice saying, "I love him so dearly, Lily"-- +"she can not be unhappy." + +"I do not mean that," he replied; "thought and silence are not +always caused by unhappiness. Ah, Lily," he cried, "I wonder if +you guess ever so faintly at the thoughts that fill my heart! I +wonder if you know how dearly I love you. Nay, do not turn from +me, do not look frightened. To me you are the truest, noblest, +and fairest woman in the world. I love you so dearly, Lily, that +I have not a thought or wish away from you. I am not worthy to +win you, I know--you are as far above me as the sun shining +overhead but, if you would try, you might make me what you +would. Could you like me?" + +The sweet flushed face was raised to his; he read the happiness +shining in the clear eyes. But she could not speak to him; words +seemed to die upon her lips. Lionel took the little white hands +and clasped them in his own. + +"I knew I should frighten you, Lily," he said, gently. "Forgive +me if I have spoken too abruptly. I do not wish you to decide at +once. Take me on trial--see if you can learn to love me weeks, +months, or years hence. I am willing to wait a whole life time +for you, my darling, and should think the time well spent. Will +it be possible for you ever to like me?" + +"I like you now," she said, simply. + +"Then promise to endeavor to love me," he persisted; "will you, +Lily? I will do anything you wish me; I will try my best to be +half as good as you are. Promise me, darling--my life hangs on +your answer." + +"I promise," she said; and he knew how much the words meant. + +On the little hand that rested in his own he saw a pretty ring; +it was a large pearl set in gold. Lionel drew it from her +finger. + +"I shall take this, Lily," he said; "and, when Beatrice is +married and gone, I shall go to Lord Earle and ask him to give +you to me. I will not go now; we will keep our secret for a +short time. Two love affairs at once would be too much. You +will learn to love me, and when the spring time comes, perhaps +you will make me happy as Beatrice will by then have made Lord +Airlie. I shall keep the ring. Lillian, you are my pearl, and +this will remind me of you. Just to make me very happy, say you +are pleased." + +"I will say more than that," she replied, a happy smile rippling +over her face; "I have more than half learned my lesson." + +He kissed the pretty hand, and looked at the fair, flushed face +he dared not touch with his lips. + +"I can not thank you," he said, his voice full of emotion. "I +will live for you, Lily, and my life shall prove my gratitude. I +begin to wish the spring were nearer. I wonder if you will have +learned your lesson then." + + +Chapter XXXIV + +Lord Airlie's return to Earlescourt had been delayed. The +changes to take place at Lynnton involved more than he thought. +It was quite three weeks before he could leave the Hall and seek +again the presence he loved best on earth. + +Three weeks, yet nothing had happened. Beatrice had watched each +day begin and end until her heart grew faint with fear; she was +as far as ever from finding herself freed from Hugh Fernely. + +Lord Airlie, on his arrival, was startled by the change in her +brilliant face. Yet he was flattered by it. He thought how +intensely she must love him if his absence could affect her so +strongly. He kissed her pale face over and over again, declaring +that he would not leave her any more--no one else knew how to +take care of her. + +They were all pleased to welcome him for every one liked Lord +Airlie, and the family circle did not seem complete without him. +That very night he had an interview with Lord Earle and besought +him to allow the marriage to take place as soon as possible. He +had been miserable away from Beatrice, he declared, and he +thought she looked pale and grave. Would Lord Earle be willing +to say November, or perhaps the latter end of October? + +"My daughter must arrange the time herself" said Lord Earle; +"whatever day she chooses will meet with my approval." + +Lord Airlie went to the drawing room where he had left Beatrice, +and told her Lord Earle's answer; she smiled, but he saw the +white lips quiver as she did so. + +Only one month since his passionate, loving words would have made +the sweetest music to her; she listened and tried to look like +herself, but her heart was cold with vague, unutterable dread. + +"The fourteenth of October"--clever Lord Airlie, by some system +of calculation known only to himself, persuaded Beatrice that +that was the "latter end of the month." + +"Not another word," he said, gayly. "I will go and tell Lord +Earle. Do not say afterward that you have changed your mind, as +many ladies do. Beatrice, say to me, 'Hubert, I promise to +marry you on the fourteenth of October.'" + +She repeated the words after him. + +"It will be almost winter," he added; "the flowers will have +faded, the leaves will have fallen from the trees; yet no summer +day will ever be so bright to me as that." + +She watched him quit the room, and a long, low cry came from her +lips. Would it ever be? She went to the window and looked at +the trees. When the green leaves lay dead she would be Lord +Airlie's wife, or would the dark cloud of shame and sorrow have +fallen, hiding her forever from his sight? + +Ah, if she had been more prudent! How tame and foolish, how +distasteful the romance she had once thought delightful seemed +now! If she had but told all to Lord Earle! + +It was too late now! Yet, despite the deadly fear that lay at +her heart, Beatrice still felt something like hope. Hope is the +last thing to die in the human breast--it was not yet dead in +hers. + +At least for that one evening--the first after Lord Airlie's +return--she would be happy. She would throw the dark shadow +away from her, forget it, and enjoy her lover's society. He +could see smiles on her face, and hear bright words such as he +loved. Let the morrow bring what it would, she would be happy +that night. And she kept her word. + +Lord Airlie looked back afterward on that evening as one of the +pleasantest of his life. There was no shadow upon the beautiful +face he loved so well. Beatrice was all life and animation; her +gay, sweet words charmed every one who heard them. Even Lionel +forgot to be jealous, and admired her more than he ever had +before. + +Lord Earle smiled as he remarked to Lady Helena that all her +fears for her grandchild's health were vain--the true physician +was come at last. + +When Lord Airlie bade Beatrice good night, he bent low over the +white, jeweled hand. + +"I forget all time when with you," he said; "it does not seem an +hour since I came to Earlescourt." + +The morrow brought the letter she had dreaded yet expected to +see. + +It was not filled with loving, passionate words, as was the first +Hugh had written. He said the time had come when he must have an +answer--when he must know from her own lips at what period he +might claim the fulfillment of her promise--when she would be +his wife. + +He would wait no longer. If it was to be war, let the war begin +he should win. If peace, so much the better. In any case he +was tired of suspense, and must know at once what she intended to +do. He would trust to no more promises; that very night he would +be at Earlescourt, and must see her. Still, though he intended +to enforce his rights, he would not wantonly cause her pain. He +would not seek the presence of her father until she had seen him +and they had settled upon some plan of action. + +"I know the grounds around Earlescourt well," he wrote. "I +wandered through them for many nights three weeks ago. A narrow +path runs from the gardens to the shrubbery--meet me there at +nine; it will be dark then, and you need not fear being seen. +Remember, Beatrice, at nine tonight I shall be there; and if you +do not come, I must seek you in the house, for see you I will." + +The letter fell from her hands; cold drops of fear and shame +stood upon her brow; hatred and disgust filled her heart. Oh, +that she should ever have placed herself in the power of such a +man! + +The blow had fallen at last. She stood face to face with her +shame and fear. How could she meet Hugh Fernely? What should +she say to him? How must such a meeting end? It would but anger +him the more. He should not even touch her hand in greeting, she +said to herself; and how would he endure her contempt? + +She would not see him. She dared not. How could she find time? +Lord Airlie never left her side. She could not meet Hugh. The +web seemed closing round her, but she would break through it. + +She would send him a letter saying she was ill, and begging him +to wait yet a little longer. Despite his firm words, she knew he +would not refuse it if she wrote kindly. Again came the old hope +something might happen in a few days. If not, she must run +away; if everything failed and she could not free herself from +him, then she would leave home; in any case she would not fall +into his hands--rather death than that. + +More than once she thought of Gaspar's words. He was so true, so +brave--he would have died for her. Ah, if he could but help +her, if she could but call him to her aid! In this, the dark +hour of her life by her own deed she had placed herself beyond +the reach of all human help. + +She would write--upon that she was determined; but who would +take the letter? Who could she ask to stand at the shrubbery +gate and give to the stranger a missive from herself? If she +asked such a favor from a servant, she would part with her secret +to one who might hold it as a rod of iron over her. She was too +proud for that. There was only one in the world who could help +her, and that was her sister Lillian. + +She shrank with unutterable shame from telling her. She +remembered how long ago at Knutsford she had said something that +had shocked her sister, and the scared, startled expression of +her face was with her still. It was a humiliation beyond all +words. Yet, if she could undergo it, there would be comfort in +Lillian's sympathy. Lillian would take the letter, she would see +Hugh, and tell him she was ill. Ill she felt in very truth. +Hugh would be pacified for a time if he saw Lillian. She could +think of no other arrangement. That evening she would tell her +sister--there was rest even in the thought. + +Long before dinner Lady Helena came in search of Beatrice--it +was high time, she said, that orders should be sent to London for +her trousseau, and the list must be made out at once. + +She sat calmly in Lady Helena's room, writing in obedience to her +words, thinking all the time how she should tell Lillian, how +best make her understand the deadly error committed, yet save +herself as much as she could. Lady Earle talked of laces and +embroidery, of morning dresses and jewels, while Beatrice went +over in her mind every word of her confession. + +"That will do," said Lady Earle, with a smile; "I have been very +explicit, but I fear it has been in vain. Have you heard +anything I have said, Beatrice?" + +She blushed, and looked so confused that Lady Helena said, +laughingly: + +"You may go--do not be ashamed. Many years ago I was just as +much in love myself, and just as unable to think of anything else +as you are now." + +There was some difficulty in finding Lillian; she was discovered +at last in the library, looking over some fine old engravings +with Mr. Dacre. He looked up hastily when Beatrice asked her +sister to spare her half an hour. + +"Do not go, Lily," he said, jestingly; "it is only some nonsense +about wedding dresses. Let us finish this folio." + +But Beatrice had no gay repartee for him. She looked grave, +although she tried to force a smile. + +"I can not understand that girl," he said to himself, as the +library door closed behind the two sisters. "I could almost +fancy that something was distressing her." + +"Lily," said Beatrice, "I want you very much. I am sorry to take +you from Lionel; you like being with him, I think." + +The fair face of her sister flushed warmly. + +"But I want you, dear," said Beatrice. "Oh, Lily, I am in bitter +trouble! No one can help me but you." + +They went together into the little boudoir Beatrice called her +own. She placed her sister in the easy lounging chair drawn near +the window, and then half knelt, half sat at her feet. + +"I am in such trouble, Lily!" she cried. "Think how great it is +when I know not how to tell you." + +The sweet, gentle eyes looked wonderingly into her own. Beatrice +clasped her sister's hands. + +"You must not judge me harshly," she said, "I am not good like +you, Lily; I never could be patient and gentle like you. Do you +remember, long ago, at Knutsford, how I found you one morning +upon the cliffs, and told you that I hated my life? I did hate +it, Lillian," she continued. "You can never tell how much; its +quiet monotony was killing me. I have done wrong; but surely +they are to blame who made my life what it was then--who shut me +out from the world, instead of giving me my rightful share of its +pleasures. I can not tell you what I did, Lily." + +She laid her beautiful, sad face on her sister's hands. Lillian +bent over her, and whispered how dearly she loved her, and how +she would do anything to help her. + +"That very morning," she said, never raising her eyes to her +sister's face--"that morning, Lily, I met a stranger--a +gentleman he seemed to me--and he watched me with admiring eyes. +I met him again, and he spoke to me. He walked by my side +through the long meadows, and told me strange stories of foreign +lands he had visited--such stories! I forgot that he was a +stranger, and talked to him as I am talking to you now. I met +him again and again. Nay, do not turn from me; I shall die if +you shrink away." + +The gentle arms clasped her more closely. + +"I am not turning from you," replied Lillian. "I can not love +you more than I do now." + +"I met him" continued Beatrice, "every day, unknown to every one +about me. He praised my beauty, and I was filled with joy; then +he talked to me of love, and I listened without anger. I swear +to you," she said, "that I did it all without thought; it was the +novelty, the flattery, the admiration that pleased me, not he +himself, I believe Lily. I rarely thought of him. He interested +me; he had eloquent words at his command, and seeing how I loved +romance, he told me stories of adventure that held me enchanted +and breathless. I lost sight of him in thinking of the wonders +he related. They are to blame, Lily, who shut me out from the +living world. Had I been in my proper place here at home, where +I could have seen and judged people rightly, it would not have +happened. At first it was but a pleasant break in a life dreary +beyond words; then I looked for the daily meed of flattery and +homage. I could not do without it. Lily, will you hold me to +have been mad when I tell you the time came when I allowed that +man to hold my hands as you are doing, to kiss my face, and win +from me a promise that I would be his wife?" + +Beatrice looked up then and saw the fair, pitying face almost as +white as snow. + +"Is it worse than you thought?" she asked. + +"Oh, yes," said Lillian; "terrible, irretrievable, I fear!" + + +Chapter XXXV + +There was unbroken silence for some minutes; then Lillian bent +over her sister, and said: + +"Tell me all, darling; perhaps I can help you." + +"I promised to be his wife, Lily," continued Beatrice. "I am +sure I did not mean it. I was but a child. I did not realize +all that the words meant. He kissed my face, and said he should +come to claim me. Believe me, Lily, I never thought of marriage. +Brilliant pictures of foreign lands filled my mind; I looked upon +Hugh Fernely only as a means of escape from a life I detested. +He promised to take me to places the names of which filled me +with wonder. I never thought of leaving you or mamma--I never +thought of the man himself as of a lover." + +"You did not care for him, then, as you do for Lord Airlie?" +interposed Lillian. + +"Do not pain me!" begged Beatrice. "I love Hubert with the love +that comes but once in life; that man was nothing to me except +that his flattery, and the excitement of contriving to meet him, +made my life more endurable. He gave me a ring, and said in two +years' time he should return to claim me. He was going on a long +voyage. Lily, I felt relieved when he was gone--the novelty was +over--I had grown tired. Besides, when the glamour fell from my +eyes, I was ashamed of what I had done. I tried to forget all +about him; every time the remembrance of him came to my mind I +drove it from me. I did not think it possible he would ever +return. It was but a summer's pastime. That summer has darkened +my life. Looking back, I own I did very wrong. There is great +blame attaching to me, but surely they who shut me out from the +living world were blameworthy also. + +"Remember all through my story, darling, that I am not so good, +not so patient and gentle as you. I was restless at the Elms, +like a bird in a cage; you were content. I was vain, foolish, +and willful; but, looking back at the impetuous, imperious child, +full of romance, untrained, longing for the strife of life, +longing for change, for excitement, for gayety, chafing under +restraint, I think there was some little excuse for me. There +was no excuse for what followed. When papa spoke to us--you +remember it, Lily--and asked so gently if we had either of us a +secret in our lives--when he promised to pardon anything, +provided we kept nothing from him--I ought to have told him +then. There is no excuse for that error. I was ashamed. +Looking round upon the noble faces hanging on the wall, looking +at him, so proud, so dignified, I could not tell him what his +child had done. Oh, Lily, if I had told him, I should not be +kneeling here at your feet now." + +Lillian made no reply, but pressed the proud, drooping figure +more closely to her side. + +"I can hardly tell the rest," said Beatrice; "the words frighten +me as I utter them. This man, who has been the bane of my life, +was going away for two years. He was to claim me when he +returned. I never thought he would return; I was so happy, I +could not believe it." Here sobs choked her utterance. + +Presently she continued: "Lily, he is here; he claims me, and +also the fulfillment of my promise to be his wife." + +A look of unutterable dread came over the listener's fair, +pitying face. + +"He wrote to me three weeks since; I tried to put him off. He +wrote again this morning, and swears he will see me. He will be +here tonight at nine o'clock. Oh, Lily, save me, save me, or I +shall die!" + +Bitter sobs broke from the proud lips. + +"I never knelt to any one before," Beatrice said; "I kneel to +you, my sister. No one else can help me. You must see him for +me, give him a letter from me, and tell him I am very ill. It is +no untruth, Lily. I am ill, my brain burns, and my heart is cold +with fear. Will you do this for me?" + +"I would rather almost give you my life," said Lillian gently. + +"Oh, do not say that, Lily! Do you know what there is at stake? +Do you remember papa's words--that, if ever he found one of us +guilty of any deceit, or involved in any clandestine love affair, +even if it broke his heart he would send the guilty one from him +and never see her again? Think, darling, what it would be for me +to leave Earlescourt--to leave all the magnificence I love so +dearly, and drag out a weary life at the Elms. Do you think I +could brook Lord Earle's angry scorn and Lady Helena's pained +wonder? Knowing our father as you know him, do you believe he +would pardon me?" + +"I do not," replied Lily, sadly. + +"That is not all," continued Beatrice. "I might bear anger, +scorn, and privation, but, Lily, if this miserable secret is +discovered, Lord Airlie will cease to love me. He might have +forgiven me if I had told him at first; he would not know that I +had lied to him and deceived him. I can not lose him--I can not +give him up. For our mother's sake, for my sake, help me, Lily. +Do what I have asked!" + +"If I do it," said Lillian, "it will give you but a few days' +reprieve; it will avail nothing; he will be here again." + +"I shall think of some means of escape in a few days," answered +Beatrice wistfully. "Something must happen, Lily, fortune could +not be so cruel to me; it could not rob me of my love. If I can +not free myself, I shall run away. I would rather suffer +anything than face Lord Airlie or my father. Say you will help +me for my love's sake! Do not let me lose my love!" + +"I will help you," said Lillian; "it is against my better +judgment--against my idea of right--but I can not refuse you. +I will see the man, and give him your letter. Beatrice, let me +persuade you. You can not free yourself. I see no way--running +away is all nonsense--but to tell Lord Earle and your lover; +anything would be better than to live as you do, a drawn sword +hanging over your heart. Tell them, and trust to their kindness; +at least you will have peace of mind then. They will prevent him +from annoying you." + +"I can not," she said, and the breath came gasping from her lips. +"Lillian, you do not know what Lord Airlie is to me. I could +never meet his anger. If ever you love any one you will +understand better. He is everything to me. I would suffer any +sorrow, even death, rather than see his face turned coldly from +me." + +She loosened her grasp of Lillian's hands and fell upon the +floor, weeping bitterly and passionately. Her sister, bending +over her, heard the pitiful words--"My love, my love! I can not +lose my love!" + +The passionate weeping ceased, and the proud, sad face grew calm +and still. + +"You can not tell what I have suffered, Lily," she said, humbly. +"See, my pride is all beaten down, only those who have had a +secret, eating heart and life away, can tell what I have endured. +A few more days of agony like this, and I shall be free forever +from Hugh Fernely." + +Her sister tried to soothe her with gentle words, but they +brought no comfort. + +"He will be here at nine," she said; "it is six now. I will +write my letter. He will be at the shrubbery gate. I will +manage so that you shall have time. Give him the note I will +write, speak to him for me, tell him I am ill and can not see +him. Shall you be frightened?" + +"Yes," replied Lillian, gently; "but that will not matter. I +must think of you, not of myself." + +"You need not fear him," said Beatrice. "Poor Hugh, I could pity +him if I did not hate him. Lily, I will thank you when my agony +is over; I can not now." + +She wrote but a few words, saying she was ill and unable to see +him; he must be satisfied, and willing to wait yet a little +longer. + +She gave the letter to her sister. Lillian's heart ached as she +noted the trembling hands and quivering lips. + +"I have not asked you to keep my secret, Lily," said Beatrice, +sorrowfully. + +"There is no need," was the simple reply. + + * * * * * * * * * * * * + +Sir Harry and Lady Laurence dined that day at Earlescourt, and it +was nearly nine before the gentlemen, who did not sit long over +their wine, came into the drawing room. The evening was somewhat +chilly; a bright fire burned in the grate, and the lamps were +lighted. Sir Harry sat down to his favorite game of chess with +Lady Helena; Lord Earle challenged Lady Laurence to a game at +ecarte. The young people were left to themselves. + +"In twenty years' time," said Lionel to Lillian, "we may seek +refuge in cards; at present music and moonlight are preferable, +Lily. You never sing to me; come to the piano now." + +But she remembered the dreaded hour was drawing near. + +"Pray excuse me," she begged; "I will sing for you presently." + +He looked surprised; it was the first time she had ever refused +him a favor. + +"Shall we finish the folio of engravings?" he asked. + +Knowing that, when once she was seated by his side, it would be +impossible to get away, she again declined; but this time the +fair face flushed, and the sweet eyes drooped. + +"How guilty you look," he said. "Is there any mystery on hand? +Are you tired of me? Or is there to be another important +consultation over the wedding dresses?" + +"I have something to attend to," she replied, evasively. "Get +the folio ready--I shall not be long." + +Beatrice, who had listened to the brief dialogue in feverish +suspense, now came to the rescue, asking Lionel to give them the +benefit of his clear, ringing tenor in a trio of Mendelssohn's. + +"My 'clear, ringing tenor' is quite at your service," he said +with a smile. "Lily is very unkind to me tonight." + +They went to the piano, where Lord Airlie awaited them; and +Lillian, looking at her small, jeweled watch--Lord Earle's +present--saw that it wanted three minutes to nine. + +She at once quitted the room, unobserved, as she thought; but +Lionel saw her go. + +No words can tell how distasteful and repugnant was the task she +had undertaken. She would have suffered anything almost to have +evaded it. She, who never had a secret; she, whose every word +and action were open as the day; she, who shrank from all deceit +and untruth as from a deadly plague, to be mixed up with a +wretched clandestine love affair like this! She, to steal out of +her father's house at night, to meet a stranger, and plead her +sister's cause with him! The thought horrified her; but the +beautiful face in its wild sorrow, the sad voice in its +passionate anguish, urged her on. + +Lillian went hastily to her own room. She took a large black +shawl and drew it closely round her, hiding the pretty evening +dress and the rich pearls. Then, with the letter in her hand, +she went down the staircase that led from her rooms to the +garden. + +The night was dark; heavy clouds sailed swiftly across the sky, +the wind moaned fitfully, bending the tall trees as it were in +anger, then whispering round them as though suing for pardon. +Lillian had never been out at night alone before, and her first +sensation was one of fear. She crossed the gardens where the +autumn flowers were fading; the lights shone gayly from the Hall +windows; the shrubbery looked dark and mysterious. She was +frightened at the silence and darkness, but went bravely on. He +was there. By the gate she saw a tall figure wrapped in a +traveling cloak; as she crossed the path, he stepped hastily +forward, crying with a voice she never forgot: + +"Beatrice, at last you have come!" + +"It is not Beatrice," she said, shrinking from the outstretched +arms. "I am Lillian Earle. My sister is ill, and has sent you +this." + + +Chapter XXXVI + +Hugh Fernely took the letter from Lillian's hands, and read it +with a muttered imprecation of disappointment. The moon, which +had been struggling for the last hour with a mass of clouds, +shone out faintly; by its light Lillian saw a tall man with a +dark, handsome face browned with the sun of warm climes, dark +eyes that had in them a wistful sadness, and firm lips. He did +not look like the gentlemen she was accustomed to. He was polite +and respectful. When he heard her name, he took off his hat, and +stood uncovered during the interview. + +"Wait!" he cried. "Ah, must I wait yet longer? Tell your sister +I have waited until my yearning wish to see her is wearing my +life away." + +"She is really ill,"returned Lillian. "I am alarmed for her. Do +not be angry with me if I say she is ill through anxiety and +fear." + +"Has she sent you to excuse her?" he asked, gloomily. "It is of +no use. Your sister is my promised wife, Miss Lillian, and see +her I will." + +"You must wait at least until she is willing," said Lillian, and +her calm, dignified manner influenced him even more than her +words, as she looked earnestly into Hugh Fernely's face. + +It was not a bad face, she thought; there was no cruelty or +meanness there. She read love so fierce and violent in it that +it startled her. He did not look like one who would wantonly and +willfully make her sister wretched for life. Hope grew in her +heart as she gazed. She resolved to plead with him for Beatrice, +to ask him to forget a childish, foolish promise--a childish +error. + +"My sister is very unhappy," she said, bravely; "so unhappy that +I do not think she can bear much more; it will kill her or drive +her mad." + +"It is killing me," he interrupted. + +"You do not look cruel, Mr. Fernely," continued Lillian. "Your +face is good and true--I would trust you. Release my sister. +She was but a foolish, impetuous child when she made you that +promise. If she keeps it, all her life will be wretched. Be +generous and release her." + +"Did she bid you ask me?" he interrogated. + +"No," she replied; "but do you know what the keeping of the +promise will cost her? Lord Earle will never forgive her. She +will have to leave home, sister, friends--all she loves and +values most. Judge whether she could ever care for you, if you +brought this upon her." + +"I can not help it," he said gloomily. "She promised to be my +wife, Miss Lillian--Heaven knows I am speaking truthfully--and +I have lived on her words. You do not know what the strong love +of a true man is. I love her so that if she chose to place her +little foot upon me, and trample the life out of me, I would not +say her nay. I must see her--the hungry, yearning love that +fills my heart must be satisfied." Great tears shone in his +eyes, and deep sobs shook his strong frame. + +"I will not harm her," he said, "but I must see her. Once, and +once only, her beautiful face lay on my breast--that beautiful, +proud face! No mother ever yearned to see her child again more +than I long to see her. Let her come to me, Miss Lillian; let me +kneel at her feet as I did before,--If she sends me from her, +there will be pity in death; but she can not. There is not a +woman in the world who could send such love as mine away! You +can not understand," he continued. "It is more than two years +since I left her; night and day her face has been before me. I +have lived upon my love; it is my life--my everything. I could +no more drive it from my breast than I could tear my heart from +my body and still live on." + +"Even if my sister cared for you," said Lillian, gently--for +his passionate words touched her--"you must know that Lord Earle +would never allow her to keep such a promise as she made." + +"She knew nothing of Lord Earle when it was made," he replied, +"nor did I. She was a beautiful child, pining away like a bright +bird shut up in a cage. I promised her freedom and liberty; she +promised me her love. Where was Lord Earle then? She was safe +with me. I loved her. I was kinder to her than her own father; +I took care of her--he did not." + +"It is all changed now," said Lillian. + +"But I can not change," he answered. "If fortune had made me a +king, should I have loved your sister less! Is a man's heart a +plaything? Can I call back my love? It has caused me woe +enough." + +Lillian knew not what to say in the presence of this mighty love; +her gentle efforts at mediation were bootless. She pitied him +she pitied Beatrice. + +"I am sure you can be generous," she said, after a short silence. +"Great, true, noble love is never selfish. My sister can never +be happy with you; then release her. If you force her, or rather +try to force her, to keep this rash promise, think how she will +dislike you. If you are generous, and release her, think how she +will esteem you." + +"Does she not love me?" he asked; and his voice was hoarse with +pain. + +"No," replied Lillian, gently; "it is better for you to know the +truth. She does not love you--she never will." + +"I do not believe it," he cried. "I will never believe it from +any lips but her own! Not love me! Great Heaven! Do you know +you are speaking of the woman who promised to be my wife? If she +tells me so, I will believe her." + +"She will tell you," said Lillian, "and you must not blame her. +Come again when she is well." + +"No," returned Hugh Fernely; "I have waited long enough. I am +here to see her, and I swear I will not leave until she has +spoken to me." + +He drew a pencil case from his pocket, and wrote a few lines on +the envelope which Beatrice had sent. + +"Give that to your sister," he said, softly; "and, Miss Lillian, +I thank you for coming to me. You have been very kind and +gentle. You have a fair, true face. Never break a man's heart +for pastime, or because the long sunny hours hang heavy upon your +hands." + +"I wish I could say something to comfort you," she said. He held +out his hand and she could not refuse hers. + +"Goodbye, Miss Lillian! Heaven bless you for your sympathy." + +"Goodbye," she returned, looking at the dark, passionate face she +was never more to see. + +The moon was hidden behind a dense mass of thick clouds. Hugh +Fernely walked quickly down the path. Lillian, taking the folded +paper, hastened across the gardens. But neither of them saw a +tall, erect figure, or a pale, stricken face; neither of them +heard Lionel Dacre utter a low cry as the shawl fell from +Lillian's golden head. + +He had tried over the trio, but it did not please him; he did not +want music--he wanted Lillian. Beatrice played badly, too, as +though she did not know what she was doing. Plainly enough Lord +Airlie wanted him out of the way. + +"Where are you going?" asked Beatrice, as he placed the music on +the piano. + +"To look for a good cigar," he replied. "Neither Airlie nor you +need pretend to be polite, Bee, and say you hope I will not leave +you." He quitted the drawing room, and went to his own room, +where a box of cigars awaited him. He selected one, and went out +into the garden to enjoy it. Was it chance that led him to the +path by the shrubbery? The wind swayed the tall branches, but +there came a lull, and then he heard a murmur of voices. Looking +over the hedge, he saw the tall figure of a man, and the slight +figure of a young girl shrouded in a black shawl. + +"A maid and her sweetheart," said Lionel to himself. "Now that +is not precisely the kind of thing Lord Earle would like; still, +it is no business of mine." + +But the man's voice struck him--it was full of the dignity of +true passion. He wondered who he was. He saw the young girl +place her hand in his for a moment, and then hasten rapidly away. + +He thought himself stricken mad when the black shawl fall and +showed in the faint moonlight the fair face and golden hair of +Lillian Earle. + + * * * * * * * * * * * * + +When Lillian re-entered the drawing room, the pretty ormulu clock +was chiming half past nine. The chess and card tables were just +as she had left them. Beatrice and Lord Airlie were still at the +piano. Lionel was nowhere to be seen. She went up to Beatrice +and smilingly asked Lord Airlie if he could spare her sister for +five minutes. + +"Ten, if you wish it," he replied, "but no longer;" and the two +sisters walked through the long drawing room into the little +boudoir. + +"Quick, Lillian," cried Beatrice, "have you seen him? What does +he say?" + +"I have seen him," she replied; "there is no time now to tell all +he said. He sent this note," and Lillian gave the folded paper +into her sister's hand, and then clasped both hands in her own. + +"Let me tell you, Beatrice darling, before you read it," she +said, "that I tried to soften his heart; and I think, if you will +see him yourself, and ask for your freedom, you will not ask in +vain." + +A light that was dazzling as sunshine came into the beautiful +face. + +"Oh, Lily," she cried, "can it be true? Do not mock me with +false hopes; my life seems to tremble in the balance." + +"He is not cruel," said Lillian. "I am sorry for him. If you see +him I feel sure he will release you. See what he says." + +Beatrice opened the letter; it contained but a few penciled +lines. She did not give them to Lillian to read. + +"Beatrice," wrote Hugh Fernely, "you must tell me with your own +lips that you do not love me. You must tell me yourself that +every sweet hope you gave me was a false lie. I will not leave +Earlescourt again without seeing you. On Thursday night, at ten +o'clock, I will be at the same place--meet me, and tell me if +you want your freedom. Hugh." + +"I shall win!" she cried. "Lily, hold my hands--they tremble +with happiness. See, I can not hold the paper. He will release +me, and I shall not lose my love--my love, who is all the world +to me. How must I thank you? This is Tuesday; how shall I live +until Thursday? I feel as though a load, a burden, the weight of +which no words can tell, were taken from me. Lily, I shall be +Lord Airlie's wife, and you will have saved me." + +"Beatrice," said Lord Earle, as the sisters, in returning, passed +by the chess table, "our game is finished, will you give us a +song?" + +Never had the magnificent voice rung out so joyously, never had +the beautiful face looked so bright. She sang something that was +like an air of triumph--no under current of sadness marred its +passionate sweetness. Lord Airlie bent over her chair +enraptured. + +"You sing like one inspired, Beatrice," he said. + +"I was thinking of you," she replied; and he saw by the dreamy, +rapt expression of her face that she meant what she had said. + +Presently Lord Airlie was summoned to Lady Helena's assistance in +some little argument over cards, and Beatrice, while her fingers +strayed mechanically over the keys, arrived at her decision. She +would see Hugh. She could not avert that; and she must meet him +as bravely as she could. After all, as Lillian had said, he was +not cruel, and he did love her. The proud lip curled in scornful +triumph as she thought how dearly he loved her. She would appeal +to his love, and beseech him to release her. + +She would beseech him with such urgency that he could not refuse. +Who ever refused her? Could she not move men's hearts as the +wind moves the leaves? He would be angry at first, perhaps +fierce and passionate, but in the end she would prevail. As she +sat there, dreamy, tender melodies stealing, as it were, from her +fingers, she went in fancy through the whole scene. She knew how +silent the sleeping woods would be--how dark and still the +night. She could imagine Hugh's face, browned by the sun and +travel. Poor Hugh! In the overflow of her happiness she felt +more kindly toward him. + +She wished him well. He might marry some nice girl in his own +station of life, and be a prosperous, happy man, and she would be +a good friend to him if he would let her. No one would ever know +her secret. Lillian would keep it faithfully, and down the fair +vista of years she saw herself Lord Airlie's beloved wife, the +error of her youth repaired and forgotten. + +The picture was so pleasant that it was no wonder her songs grew +more triumphant. Those who listened to the music that night +never forgot it. + + +Chapter XXXVII + +Lionel Dacre stood for some minutes stunned with the shock and +surprise. He could not be mistaken; unless his senses played him +false, it was Lillian Earle whom he had mistaken for a maid +meeting her lover. It was Lillian he had believed so pure and +guileless who had stolen from her father's home under the cover +of night's darkness and silence--who had met in her father's +grounds one whom she dared not meet in the light of day. + +If his dearest friend had sworn this to Lionel he would not have +believed it. His own senses he could not doubt. The faint, +feeble moonlight had as surely fallen on the fair face and golden +hair of Lillian Earle as the sun shone by day in the sky. + +He threw away his cigar, and ground his teeth with rage. Had the +skies fallen at his feet he could not have been more startled and +amazed. Then, after all, all women were alike. There was in +them no truth; no goodness; the whole world was alike. Yet he +had believed in her so implicitly--in her guileless purity, her +truth, her freedom from every taint of the world. That fair, +spirituelle form had seemed to him only as a beautiful casket +hiding a precious gem. Nay, still more, though knowing and +loving her, he had begun to care for everything good and pure +that interested her. Now all was false and hateful. + +There was no truth in the world, he said to himself. This girl, +whom he had believed to be the fairest and sweetest among women, +was but a more skillful deceiver than the rest. His mother's +little deceptions, hiding narrow means and straitened +circumstances, were as nothing compared with Lillian's deceit. + +And he had loved her so! Looking into those tender eyes, he had +believed love and truth shone there; the dear face that had +blushed and smiled for him had looked so pure and guileless. + +How long was it since he had held her little hands clasped within +his own, and, abashed before her sweet innocence, had not dared +to touch her lips, even when she had promised to love him? How +he had been duped and deceived! How she must have laughed at his +blind folly! + +Who was the man? Some one she must have known years before. +There was no gentleman in Lord Earle's circle who would have +stolen into his grounds like a thief by night. Why had he not +followed him, and thrashed him within an inch of his life? Why +had he let him escape? + +The strong hands were clinched tightly. It was well for Hugh +Fernely that he was not at that moment in Lionel's power. Then +the fierce, hot anger died away, and a passion of despair seized +him. A long, low cry came from his lips, a bitter sob shook his +frame. He had lost his fair, sweet love. The ideal he had +worshiped lay stricken; falsehood and deceit marked its fair +form. + +While the first smart of pain was upon him, he would not return +to the house; he would wait until he was calm and cool. Then he +would see how she dared to meet him. + +His hands ceased to tremble; the strong, angry pulsating of his +heart grew calmer. He went back to the drawing room; and, except +that the handsome face was pale even to the lips, and that a +strange, angry light gleamed in the frank, kindly eyes, there was +little difference in Lionel Dacre. + +She was there, bending over the large folio he had asked her to +show him; the golden hair fell upon the leaves. She looked up as +he entered; her face was calm and serene; there was a faint pink +flush on the cheeks, and a bright smile trembled on her features. + +"Here are the drawings," she said; "will you look over them?" + +He remembered how he had asked her to sing to him, and she +refused, looking confused and uneasy the while. He understood +now the reason why. + +He took a chair by her side; the folio lay upon a table placed in +a large room, lighted by a silver lamp. They were as much alone +there as though they had been in another room. She took out a +drawing, and laid it before him. He neither saw it nor heard +what she remarked. + +"Lillian," he said, suddenly, "if you were asked what was the +most deadly sin a woman could commit, what should you reply?" + +"That is a strange question," she answered. "I do not know, +Lionel. I think I hate all sin alike." + +"Then I will tell you," he said bitterly; "it is false, foul +deceit--black, heartless treachery." + +She looked up in amazement at his angry tone; then there was for +some moments unbroken silence. + +"I can not see the drawings," he said; "take them away. Lillian +Earle, raise your eyes to mine; look me straight in the face. +How long is it since I asked you to be my wife?" + +Her gentle eyes never wavered, they were fixed half in wonder on +his, but at his question the faint flush on her cheeks grew +deeper. + +"Not very long," she replied; "a few days." + +"You said you loved me," he continued. + +"I do," she said. + +"Now, answer me again. Have you ever loved or cared for any one +else, as you say you do for me?" + +"Never," was the quiet reply. + +"Pray pardon the question--have you received the attentions of +any lover before receiving mine?" + +"Certainly not," she said, wondering still more. + +"I have all your affection, your confidence, your trust; you have +never duped or deceived me; you have been open, truthful, and +honest with me?" + +"You forget yourself, Lionel," she said, with gentle dignity; +"you should not use such words to me." + +"Answer!" he returned. "You have to do with a desperate man. +Have you deceived me?" + +"Never," she replied, "In thought, word, or deed." + +"Merciful Heaven!" he cried. "That one can be so fair and so +false!" + +There was nothing but wonder in the face that was raised to his. + +"Lillian," he said, "I have loved you as the ideal of all that +was pure and noble in woman. In you I saw everything good and +holy. May Heaven pardon you that my faith has died a violent +death." + +"I can not understand you," she said, slowly. "Why do you speak +to me so?" + +"I will use plainer words," he replied--"so plain that you can +not mistake them. I, your betrothed husband, the man you love +and trust, ask you, Lillian Earle, who was it you met tonight in +your father's grounds?" + +He saw the question strike her as lightning sometimes strikes a +fair tree. The color faded from her lips; a cloud came over the +clear, dove-like eyes; she tried to answer, but the words died +away in a faint murmur. + +"Do you deny that you were there?" he asked. "Remember, I saw +you, and I saw him. Do you deny it?" + +"No," she replied. + +"Who was it?" he cried; and his eyes flamed so angrily upon her +that she was afraid. "Tell me who it was. I will follow him to +the world's end. Tell me." + +"I can not, Lionel," she whispered; "I can not. For pity's sake, +keep my secret!" + +"You need not be afraid," he said, haughtily. "I shall not +betray you to Lord Earle. Let him find out for himself what you +are, as I have done. I could curse myself for my own trust. Who +is he?" + +"I can not tell you," she stammered, and he saw her little white +hands wrung together in agony. "Oh, Lionel, trust me--do not be +angry with me." + +"You can not expect me," he said, although he was softened by the +sight of her sorrow, "to know of such an action and not to speak +of it, Lillian. If you can explain it, do so. If the man was an +old lover of yours, tell me so; in time I may forget the deceit, +if you are frank with me now. If there be any circumstance that +extenuates or explains what you did, tell it to me now." + +"I can not," she said, and her fair face drooped sadly away from +him. + +"That I quite believe," he continued, bitterly. "You can not and +will not. You know the alternative, I suppose?" + +The gentle eyes were raised to his in mute, appealing sorrow, but +she spoke not. + +"Tell me now," he said, "whom it was you stole out of the house +to meet--why you met him? Be frank with me; and, if it was but +girlish nonsense, in time I may pardon you. If you refuse to +tell me, I shall leave Earlescourt, and never look upon your +false, fair face again." + +She buried her face in her hands, and he heard a low moan of +sorrow come from her white lips. + +"Will you tell me, Lillian?" he asked again--and he never +forgot the deadly anguish of the face turned toward him. + +"I can not," she replied; her voice died away, and he thought she +was falling from her chair. + +"That is your final decision; you refuse to tell me what, as your +accepted lover, I have a right to know?" + +"Trust me, Lionel," she implored. "Try, for the love you bear +me, to trust me!" + +"I will never believe in any one again," he said. "Take back +your promise, Lillian Earle; you have broken a true and honest +heart, you have blighted a whole life. Heaven knows what I shall +become, drifted from you. I care not. You have deceived me. +Take back your ring. I will say goodbye to you. I shall not +care to look upon your false, fair face again." + +"Oh, Lionel, wait!" she cried. "Give me time--do not leave me +so!" + +"Time will make little difference," he answered; "I shall not +leave the Hall until tomorrow morning; you can write to me if you +wish me to remain." + +He laid the ring upon the table, refusing to notice the +trembling, outstretched hand. He could not refrain from looking +back at her as he quitted the room. He saw the gentle face, so +full of deadly sorrow, with its white quivering lips; and yet he +thought to himself, although she looked stricken with anguish, +there was no guilt on the clear, fair brow. + +He turned back from the door and went straight to Lord Earle. + +"I shall leave Earlescourt tomorrow," he said, abruptly. "I must +go, Lord Earle; do not press to stay." + +"Come and go as you will, Lionel," said Ronald, surprised at the +brusqueness of his manner; "we are always pleased to see you and +sorry to lose you. You will return soon, perhaps?" + +"I will write to you in a few days," he replied. "I must say +goodbye to Lady Earle." + +She was astounded. Beatrice and Lord Airlie came up to him +there was a general expression of surprise and regret. He, +unlike himself, was brusque, and almost haughty. + +Sir Harry and Lady Laurence had gone home. Beatrice, with a +vague fear that something had gone wrong, said she was tired; +Lord Airlie said goodnight; and in a few minutes Lady Helena and +her son were left alone. + +"What has come over Lionel?" asked Ronald. "Why, mother, how +mistaken I am! Do you know that I quite believed he was falling +in love with Lillian?" + +"He did that long ago," replied Lady Helena, with a smile. "Say +nothing about it. Lionel is very proud and impetuous. I fancy +he and Lillian have had some little dispute. Matters of that +kind are best left alone--interference always does harm. He +will come back in a few days; and all be right again. Ronald, +there is one question I have been wishing to ask you--do not be +angry if I pain you, my son. Beatrice will be married soon--do +you not intend her mother to be present at the wedding?" + +Lord Earle rose from his chair, and began, as he always did in +time of anxiety, to pace up and down the room. + +"I had forgotten her claim," he said. "I can not tell what to +do, mother. It would be a cruel, unmerited slight to pass her +over, but I do not wish to see her. I have fought a hard battle +with my feelings, but I can not bring myself to see her." + +"Yet you loved her very much once," said Lady Helena. + +"I did," he replied, gently. "Poor Dora." + +"It is an awful thing to live at enmity with any one," said Lady +Helena--"but with one's own wife! I can not understand it, +Ronald." + +"You mistake, mother," he said, eagerly; "I am not at enmity with +Dora. She offended me--she hurt my honor--she pained me in a +way I can never forget." + +"You must forgive her some day," replied Lady Earle; "why not +now?" + +"No," he said, sadly. "I know myself--I know what I can do and +what I can not do. I could take my wife in my arms, and kiss her +face--I could not live with her. I shall forgive her, mother, +when all that is human is dying away from me. I shall forgive +her in the hour of death." + + +Chapter XXXVIII + +Lillian Earle was no tragedy queen. She never talked about +sacrifice or dying, but there was in her calm, gentle nature a +depth of endurance rarely equaled. She had never owned, even to +herself, how dearly she loved Lionel Dacre--how completely every +thought and hope was centered in him. Since she had first +learned to care for him, she had never looked her life in the +face and imagined what it would be without him. + +It never entered her mind to save herself at the expense of her +sister; the secret had been intrusted to her, and she could not +conceive the idea of disclosing it. If the choice had been +offered her between death and betraying Beatrice, she would have +chosen death, with a simple consciousness that she was but doing +her duty. + +So, when Lionel uttered those terrible words--when she found +that he had seen her--she never dreamed of freeing herself from +blame, and telling the story of her sister's fault. His words +were bitterly cruel; they stung her with sharp pain. She had +never seen contempt or scorn before on that kindly, honest face; +now, she read both. Yet, what could she do? Her sister's life +lay in her hands, and she must guard it. + +Therefore, she bore the cruel taunts, and only once when the fear +of losing him tortured her, cried out for pity and trust. But he +had no trust; he stabbed her gentle heart with his fierce words, +he seared her with his hot anger; she might, at the expense of +another, have explained all, and stood higher than ever in his +esteem, but she would not do it. + +She was almost stunned by the sorrow that had fallen upon her. +She saw him, with haughty, erect bearing, quit the drawing room, +and she knew that unless Beatrice permitted her to tell the +truth, she would never see his face again. She went straight to +her sister's room and waited for her. + +The pale face grew calm and still; her sister could not refuse +her request when she had told her all; then she would write to +Lionel and explain. He would not leave Earlescourt; he would +only love her the better for her steadfast truth. + +"Send Suzette away," she whispered to Beatrice, when she entered; +"I must see you alone at once." + +Beatrice dismissed her maid, and then turned to her sister. + +"What is it, Lily?" she asked. "Your face is deathly pale. What +has happened?" + +"Beatrice," said Lillian, "will you let me tell your secret to +Lionel Dacre? It will be quite sacred with him." + +"To Lionel Dacre!" she cried. "No, a thousand times over! How +can you ask me, Lily? He is Lord Airlie's friend and could not +keep it from him. Why do you ask me such an extraordinary +question?" + +"He saw me tonight," she replied; "he was out in the grounds, and +saw me speaking to Hugh Fernely." + +"Have you told him anything?" she asked; and for a moment +Beatrice looked despairing. + +"Not a word," said Lily. "How could I, when you trusted me?" + +"That is right," returned her sister, a look of relief coming +over her face; "his opinion does not matter much. What did he +say?" + +"He thought I had been to meet some one I knew," replied Lillian, +her face growing crimson with shame. + +"And was dreadfully shocked, no doubt," supplemented Beatrice. +"Well, never mind, darling. I am very sorry it happened, but it +will not matter. I am so near freedom and happiness, I can not +grieve over it. He will not surely tell? He is too honorable +for that." + +"No," said Lillian, dreamily, "he will not tell." + +"Then do not look so scared, Lily; nothing else matters." + +"You forget what he must think of me," said Lillian. "Knowing +his upright, truthful character, what must he think of me?" + +That view of the question had not struck Beatrice. She looked +grave and anxious. It was not right for her sister to be +misjudged. + +"Oh, I am so sorry," she began, but Lillian interrupted her, she +came close to her, and lowered her pale face over her sister's +arm. + +"Beatrice," she said, slowly, "you must let me tell him. He +cares for me. He loves me; I promised to be his wife, and I love +him--just as you do Lord Airlie." + +Under the shock of those words Beatrice Earle sat silent and +motionless. + +"I love him," continued Lillian. "I did not tell you. He said +it was not to be mentioned until you were married. I love him so +dearly, Beatrice--and when he asked me who it was I had been to +meet, I could not answer him. He was very angry; he said sharp, +cruel words to me, and I could not tell him how false they were. +He will leave Earlescourt; he will never look upon my face again +unless I tell him all. He has said so, and he will keep his +word. Beatrice, must I lose my love?" + +"It would be only for a time," she replied. "I hate myself for +being so selfish, but I dare not trust Lionel Dacre. He is so +impetuous, so hasty, he would betray me, as surely as he knew it. +Do you not remember his saying the other day that it was well for +him he had no secrets, for he could not manage to keep them!" + +"He would keep this," pleaded Lillian--"for your sake and mine." + +"He would not," said Beatrice; "and I am so near freedom, so near +happiness. Oh, Lily, you have saved me once--save me again! My +darling, keep my secret until I am married; then I swear to you I +will tell Lionel every word honorably myself, and he will love +you doubly. Could you do this for me?" + +"It is not fair to him--he has a right to my confidence--it is +not fair to myself, Beatrice." + +"One of us must be sacrificed," returned her sister. "If myself, +the sacrifice will last my life--will cause my death; if you, it +will last, at the most, only three or four weeks. I will write +to Lionel on my wedding day." + +"Why trust him then and not now?" asked Lillian. + +"Because, once married to Lord Airlie, I shall have no fear. +Three or four weeks of happiness are not so much to give up for +your own sister, Lily. I will say no more. I leave it for you +to decide." + +"Nay, do not do that," said Lillian, in great distress. "I could +not clear myself at your expense"--a fact which Beatrice +understood perfectly well. + +"Then let the matter rest," said her sister; "some day I shall be +able to thank you for all you have done for me--I can not now. +On my wedding day I will tell Lionel Dacre that the girl he loves +is the truest, the noblest, the dearest in the world." + +"It is against my better judgment," returned Lillian. + +"It is against my conscience, judgment, love, everything," added +Beatrice; "but it will save me from cruel ruin and sorrow; and it +shall not hurt you, Lily--it shall bring you good, not harm. +Now, try to forget it. He will not know how to atone to you for +this. Think of your happiness when he returns." + +She drew the golden head down upon her shoulder, and with the +charm that never failed, she talked and caressed her sister until +she had overcome all objections. + +But during the long hours of that night a fair head tossed +wearily to and fro on its pillow--a fair face was stained with +bitter tears. Lionel Dacre lingered, half hoping that even at +the last she would come and bid him stay because she wished to +tell him all. + +But the last moment came, and no messenger from Lillian brought +the longed-for words. He passed out from the Hall. He could not +refrain from looking once at the window of her room, but the +blind was closely drawn. He little knew or dreamed how and why +he would return. + +Thursday morning dawned bright and beautiful, as though autumn +wished to surpass the glories or summer. Beatrice had not told +Lillian when she was going to meet Hugh, partly because she +dreaded her sister's anxiety, partly because she did not wish any +one to know how long she might be with him; for Beatrice +anticipated a painful interview, although she felt sure of +triumph in the end. + +Lillian was ill and unable to rise; unused to emotion, the strain +upon her mind had been too great. When Lady Helena listened to +her maid's remarks and went up to see her granddaughter, she +forbade her to get up, and Lillian, suffering intensely, was only +too pleased to obey. + +The breakfast party was a very small one. Lord Earle was absent; +he had gone to Holte. Lady Helena hurried away to sit with +Lillian. Lord Airlie had been smiling very happily over a +mysterious little packet that had come by post. He asked +Beatrice if she would go out with him--he had something to show +her. They went out into the park, intending to return in time +for luncheon. + +The morning was bright and calm. Something of the warmth and +beauty of the summer lingered still, although the ground was +strewn with fallen leaves. + +Lord Airlie and Beatrice sat at the foot of the grand old cedar +tree whence they would see the distant glimmer of the deep, still +lake. The birds sang around them, and the sun shone brightly. +On the beautiful face of Beatrice Earle her lover read nothing +but happiness and love. + +"I have something here for you, Beatrice," said Lord Airlie, +showing her a little packet--"a surprise. You must thank me by +saying that what it contains will be more precious to you than +anything else on earth." + +She opened the pretty case; within it there lay a fine gold chain +of exquisite fashion and a locket of marvelous beauty. + +She uttered a little cry of surprise, and raised the present in +her hands. + +"Now, thank me," said Lord Airlie, "in the way I asked." + +"What it contains is more precious to me than anything on earth," +she said. "You know that, Hubert; why do you make me repeat it?" + +"Because I like to hear it," he answered. "I like to see my proud +love looking humble for a few minutes; I like to know that I have +caged a bright, wild bird that no one else could tame." + +"I am not caged yet," she objected. + +"Beatrice," said Lord Airlie, "make me a promise. Let me fasten +this locket around your neck, and tell me that you will not part +with it night or day for one moment until our wedding day." + +"I can easily promise that," she said. She bent her beautiful +head, and Lord Airlie fastened the chain round her throat. + +He little knew what he had done. When Lord Airlie fastened the +chain round the neck of the girl he loved, he bound her to him in +life and in death. + +"It looks charming," he said. "How everything beautiful becomes +you, Beatrice! You were born to be a queen--who am I that I +should have won you? Tell me over again--I never grow tired of +hearing it--do you love me?" + +She told him again, her face glowing with happiness. He bent +over her and kissed the sweet face; he kissed the little white +hands and the rings of dark hair the wind blew carelessly near +him. + +"When the leaves are green, and the fair spring is come," he +said, "you will be my wife, Beatrice--Lady Airlie of Lynnton. I +love my name and title when I remember that you will share them. +And you shall be the happiest Lady Airlie that ever lived--the +happiest bride, the happiest wife the sun ever shone upon. You +will never part with my locket, Beatrice?" + +"No," she replied; "never. I will keep it always." + +They sat through the long bright hours under the shade of the old +cedar tree, while Lillian lay with head and heart aching, +wondering in her gentle way why this sorrow should have fallen +upon her. + +She did not know, as she lay like a pale broken lily, that years +ago her father, in the reckless heyday of youth, had wilfully +deceived his father, and married against his wish and commands; +she did not know how that unhappy marriage had ended in pride, +passion, and sullen, jealous temper--while those who should have +foreborne went each their own road--the proud, irritated husband +abroad, away from every tie of home and duty, the jealous, angry +wife secluding herself in the bitterness of her heart--both +neglecting the children intrusted to them. She knew how one of +those children had gone wrong; she knew the deceit, the misery, +the sorrow that wrong had entailed. She was the chief victim, +yet the sin had not been hers. + +There were no fierce, rebellious feelings in her gentle heart, no +angry warring with the mighty Hand that sends crosses and +blessings alike. The flower bent by the wind was not more +pliant. Where her sorrow and love had cast her she lay, silently +enduring her suffering, while Lionel traveled without +intermission, wishing only to find himself far away from the +young girl he declared he had ceased to love yet could not +forget. + + +Chapter XXXIX + +Thursday evening, and the hand of the ormolu clock pointed to a +quarter to ten. Lord Earle sat reading, Lady Helena had left +Lillian asleep, and had taken up a book near him. Lord Airlie +had been sketching for Beatrice a plan of a new wing at Lynnton. +Looking up suddenly she saw the time. At ten Hugh Fernely would +be at the shrubbery gate. She had not a moment to lose. Saying +she was feeling tired, she rose and went to bid Lord Earle +goodnight. + +He remembered afterward how he had raised the beautiful face in +his hands and gazed at it in loving admiration, whispering +something the while about "Lady Airlie of Lynnton." He +remembered how she, so little given to caressing, had laid her +hand upon his shoulder, clasping her arms around his neck, +kissing his face, and calling him, "her own dear papa." He +remembered the soft, wistful light in her beautiful eyes, the +sweet voice that lingered in his ears. Yet no warning came to +him, nothing told him the fair child he loved so dearly stood in +the shadow of deadly peril. + +If he had known, how those strong arms would have been raised to +shield her--how the stout, brave heart would have sheltered her! +As it was, she left him with jesting words on his lips, and he +did not even gaze after her as she quitted the room. If he had +only known where and how he should see that face again! + +Beatrice went up to Lady Helena, who smiled without raising her +eyes from her book. Beatrice bent down and touched the kind, +stately face with her lips. + +"Good night, grandmamma," she said. "How studious you are!" + +"Good night--bless you, my child," returned Lady Helena; and the +fair face turned from her with a smile. + +"You have left me until last," said Lord Airlie; "goodnight, my +Beatrice. Never mind papa--he is not looking at us, give me one +kiss." + +She raised her face to his, and he kissed the proud, sweet lips. + +He touched the golden locket. + +"You will never part with it," he said; and he smiled as she +answered: + +"No, never!" + +Then she passed out of his sight, and he who would have laid down +his life for her saw her leave him without the faintest suspicion +of the shadow that hung over her. + +The smile still lingered on her as she stood in her own room. A +few hours more--one more trial--she said to herself; then she +would be free, and might enjoy her happiness to its full extent. +How dearly Hubert loved her--how unutterably happy she would be +when Hugh released her! And he would--she never doubted it. + +"I shall not want you again," she said to her maid. "And do not +call me in the morning. I am tired." + +The door of Lillian's room was not closed; she went in. The +night lamp was shaded, and the blinds closely drawn, so that the +bright moonlight could not intrude. She went gently to the side +of the bed where her sister lay. Poor, gentle, loving Lillian! +The pale, sad face, with its wistful wearied expression, was +turned to the wall. There were some traces of tears, and even in +sleep deep sighs passed the quivering lips. Sorrow and woe were +impressed on the fair face. Yet, as Beatrice kissed the clear, +calm brow, she would gladly have changed places with her. + +"I will soon make it up to her," she said, gazing long and +earnestly on the sleeping face. "In a few weeks she shall be +happier than she has ever been. I will make Master Lionel go on +his knees to her." + +She left the room, and Lillian never knew who had bent so +lovingly over her. + +Beatrice took from her wardrobe, a thick, warm shawl. She drew +it over her head, and so half hid her face. Then she went +noiselessly down the staircase that led from her suite of rooms +to the garden. + +How fair and beautiful the night was--not cold, although it was +September, and the moon shining as she had rarely seen it shine +before. + +It seemed to sail triumphantly in the dark-blue sky. It poured a +flood of silvery light on the sleeping flowers and trees. + +She had not lingered to look round the pretty dressing room as +she left it. Her eyes had not dwelt on the luxurious chamber and +the white bed, wherein she ought to have been sleeping, but, now +that she stood outside the Hall, she looked up at the windows +with a sense of loneliness and fear. There was a light in Lady +Helena's room and one in Lord Airlie's. She shrank back. What +would he think if he saw her now? + +Deeply she felt the humiliation of leaving her father's house at +that hour of the night; she felt the whole shame of what she was +going to do; but the thought of Lord Airlie nerved her. Let this +one night pass, and a life time of happiness lay before her. + +The night wind moaned fitfully among the trees; the branches of +the tall lime trees swayed over her head; the fallen leaves +twirled round her feet. She crossed the gardens; the moon cast +strange shadows upon the broad paths. At length she saw the +shrubbery gate, and, by it, erect and motionless, gazing on the +bending trees in the park, was Hugh Fernely. He did not hear her +light footsteps--the wind among the lime trees drowned them. +She went up to him and touched his arm gently. + +"Hugh," she said, "I am here." + +Before she could prevent him, he was kneeling at her feet. He +had clasped her hands in his own, and was covering them with hot +kisses and burning tears. + +"My darling," he said, "my own Beatrice, I knew you would come!" + +He rose then, and, before she could stop him, he took the shawl +from her head and raised the beautiful face so that the moonlight +fell clearly upon it. + +"I have hungered and thirsted," he said, "for another look at +that face. I shall see it always now--its light will ever leave +me more. Look at me, Beatrice," he cried, "let me see those dark +eyes again." + +But the glance she gave him had nothing in it but coldness and +dread. In the excitement of his joy he did not notice it. + +"Words are so weak," he said, "I can not tell you how I have +longed for this hour. I have gone over it in fancy a thousand +times; yet no dream was ever so bright and sweet as this reality. +No man in the wide world ever loved any one as I love you, +Beatrice." + +She could not resist the passionate torrent of words--they must +have touched the heart of one less proud. She stood perfectly +still, while the calm night seemed to thrill with the eloquent +voice of the speaker. + +"Speak to me," he said, at length. "How coldly you listen! +Beatrice, there is no love, no joy in your face. Tell me you are +pleased to see me--tell me you have remembered me. Say anything +let me hear your voice." + +"Hugh," she answered, gently, drawing her hands from his strong +grasp, "this is all a mistake. You have not given me time to +speak. I am pleased to see you well and safe. I am pleased that +you have escaped the dangers of the deep; but I can not say more. +I--I do not love you as you love me." + +His hands dropped nervously, and he turned his despairing face +from her. + +"You must be reasonable," she continued, in her musical, pitiless +voice. "Hugh, I was only a dreaming, innocent, ignorant child +when I first met you. It was not love I thought of. You talked +to me as no one else ever had--it was like reading a strange, +wonderful story; my head was filled with romance, my heart was +not filled with love." + +"But," he said, hoarsely, "you promised to be my wife." + +"I remember," she acknowledged. "I do not deny it; but, Hugh, I +did not know what I was saying. I spoke without thought. I no +more realized what the words meant than I can understand now what +the wind is saying." + +A long, low moan came from his lips; the awful despair in his +face startled her. + +"So I have returned for this!" he cried. "I have braved untold +perils; I have escaped the dangers of the seas, the death that +lurks in heaving waters, to be slain by cruel words from the girl +I loved and trusted." + +He turned from her, unable to check the bitter sob that rose to +his lips. + +"Hush, Hugh," she said, gently, "you grieve me." + +"Do you think of my grief?" he cried. "I came here tonight, with +my heart on fire with love, my brain dizzy with happiness. You +have killed me, Beatrice Earle, as surely as ever man was slain." + +Far off, among the trees, she saw the glimmer of the light in +Lord Airlie's room. It struck her with a sensation of fear, as +though he were watching her. + +"Let us walk on," she said; "I do not like standing here." + +They went through the shrubbery, through the broad, green glades +of the park, where the dew drops shone upon fern leaves and thick +grass, past the long avenue of chestnut trees, where the wind +moaned like a human being in deadly pain; on to the shore of the +deep, calm lake, where the green reeds bent and swayed and the +moonlight shone on the rippling waters. All this while Hugh had +not spoken a word, but had walked in silence by her side. He +turned to her at length, and she heard the rising passion in his +voice. + +"You promised me," he said, "and you must keep your promise. You +said you would be my wife. No other man must dare to speak to +you of love," he cried, grasping her arm. "In the sight of +Heaven you are mine, Beatrice Earle." + +"I am not," she answered proudly; "and I never will be; no man +would, or could take advantage of a promise obtained from a +willful, foolish child." + +"I will appeal to Lord Earle," he said; I will lay my claim +before him." + +"You may do so," she replied; "and, although he will never look +upon me again, he will protect me from you." + +She saw the angry light flame in his eyes; she heard his breath +come in quick, short gasps, and the danger of quarreling with him +struck her. She laid her hand upon his arm, and he trembled at +the gentle touch. + +"Hugh," she said, "do not be angry. You are a brave man; I know +that in all your life you never shrank from danger or feared +peril. The brave are always generous, always noble; think of +what I am going to say. Suppose that, by the exercise of any +power, you could really compel me to be your wife, what would it +benefit you? I should not love you, I tell you candidly. I +should detest you for spoiling my life--I would never see you. +What would you gain by forcing me to keep my promise?" + +He made no reply. The wind bent the reeds, and the water came up +the bank with a long, low wash. + +"I appeal to your generosity," she said--"your nobility of +character. Release me from a promise I made in ignorance; I +appeal to your very love for me--release me, that I may be +happy. Those who love truly," she continued, receiving no reply, +"never love selfishly. If I cared for any one as you do for me, +I should consider my own happiness last or all. If you love me, +release me, Hugh. I can never be happy with you." + +"Why not?" he asked, tightening his grasp upon her arm. + +"Not from mercenary motives," she replied, earnestly; "not +because my father is wealthy, my home magnificent, and you belong +to another grade of society--not for that, but because I do not +love you. I never did love you as a girl should love the man she +means to marry." + +"You are very candid," said he, bitterly; "pray, is there any one +else you love in this way?" + +"That is beside the question," she replied, haughtily; "I am +speaking of you and myself. Hugh, if you will give me my freedom +if you will agree to forget the foolish promise of a foolish +child--I will respect and esteem you while I live; I shall bless +you every day; your name will be a sacred one enshrined in my +heart, your memory will be a source of pleasure to me. You shall +be my friend, Hugh, and I will be a true friend to you." + +"Beatrice," he cried, "do not tempt me!" + +"Yes, be tempted," she said; "let me urge you to be generous, to +be noble! See, Hugh, I have never prayed to any man--I pray to +you; I would kneel here at your feet and beseech you to release +me from a promise I never meant to give." + +Her words touched him. She saw the softened look upon his face, +the flaming anger die out of his eyes. + +"Hugh," she said, softly, "I, Beatrice Earle, pray you, by the +love you bear me, to release me from all claim, and leave me in +peace. + +"Let me think," he replied; "give me a few minutes; no man could +part so hastily with the dearest treasure he has. Let me think +what I lose in giving you up." + + +Chapter XL + +They stood for some time in perfect silence; they had wandered +down to the very edge of the lake. The water rippled in the +moonlight, and while Hugh Fernely thought, Beatrice looked into +the clear depths. How near she was to her triumph! A few +minutes more and he would turn to her and tell her she was free. +His face was growing calm and gentle. She would dismiss him with +grateful thanks; she would hasten home. How calm would be that +night's sleep! When she saw Lord Airlie in the morning, all her +sorrow and shame would have passed by. Her heart beat high as +she thought of this. + +"I think it must be so," said Hugh Fernely, at last; "I think I +must give you up, Beatrice. I could not bear to make you +miserable. Look up, my darling; let me see your face once more +before I say goodbye." + +She stood before him, and the thick dark shawl fell from her +shoulders upon the grass; she did not miss it in the blinding joy +that had fallen upon her. Hugh Fernely's gaze lingered upon the +peerless features. + +"I can give you up," he said, gently; "for your own happiness, +but not to another, Beatrice. Tell me that you have not learned +to love another since I left you." + +She made no reply--not to have saved her life a thousand times +would she have denied her love for Lord Airlie. His kiss was +still warm on her lips--those same lips should never deny him. + +"You do not speak," he added, gloomily. "By Heaven, Beatrice, if +I thought you had learned to love another man--if I thought you +wanted to be free from me to marry another--I should go mad +mad with jealous rage! Is it so? Answer me." + +She saw a lurid light in his eyes, and shrank from him. He +tightened his grasp upon her arm. + +"Answer me!" he cried, hoarsely. "I will know." + +Not far from her slept the lover who would have shielded her with +his strong arm--the lover to whom every hair upon her dear head +was more precious than gold or jewels. Not far from her slept +the kind, loving father, who was prouder and fonder of her than +of any one on earth. Gaspar Laurence, who would have died for +her, lay at that moment not far away, awake and thinking of her. +Yet in the hour of her deadly peril, when she stood on the shore +of the deep lake, in the fierce grasp of a half-maddened man, +there was no one near to help her or raise a hand in her defense. +But she was no coward, and all the high spirit of her race rose +within her. + +"Loosen your grasp, Hugh," she said, calmly; "you pain me." + +"Answer me!" he cried. "Where is the ring I gave you?" + +He seized both her hands and looked at them; they were firm and +cool--they did not tremble. As his fierce, angry eyes glanced +over them, not a feature of her beautiful face quivered. + +"Where is my ring?" he asked. "Answer me, Beatrice." + +"I have not worn it lately," she replied. "Hugh, you forget +yourself. Gentlemen do not speak and act in this way." + +"I believe I am going mad," he said, gloomily. "I could +relinquish my claim to you, Beatrice for your own sake, but I +will never give you up to be the wife of any other man. Tell me +it is not so. Tell me you have not been so doubly false as to +love another, and I will try to do all you wish." + +"Am I to live all my life unloved and unmarried?" she answered, +controlling her angry indignation by a strong effort, "because +when I was a lonely and neglected girl, I fell into your power? +I do not ask such a sacrifice from you. I hope you will love and +marry, and be happy." + +"I shall not care," he said, "what happens after I am gone--it +will not hurt my jealous, angry heart then, Beatrice; but I +should not like to think that while you were my promised wife and +I was giving you my every thought, you were loving some one else. +I should like to believe you were true to me while you were my +own." + +She made no answer, fearing to irritate him if she told the +truth, and scorning to deny the love that was the crowning +blessing of her life. His anger grew in her silence. Again the +dark flush arose in his face, and his eyes flamed with fierce +light. + +Suddenly he caught sight of the gold locket she wore round her +neck, fastened by the slender chain. + +"What is this thing you wear?" he asked, quickly. "You threw +aside my ring. What is this? Whose portrait have you there? +Let me see it." + +"You forget yourself again," she said, drawing herself haughtily +away. "I have no account to render to you of my friends." + +"I will see who is there!" he cried, beside himself with angry +rage. "Perhaps I shall know then why you wish to be freed from +me. Whose face is lying near your heart? Let me see. If it is +that of any one who has outwitted me, I will throw it into the +depths of the lake." + +"You shall not see it," she said, raising her hand, and clasping +the little locket tightly. "I am not afraid, Hugh Fernely. You +will never use violence to me." + +But the hot anger leaped up in his heart; he was mad with cruel +jealousy and rage, and tried to snatch the locket from her. She +defended it, holding it tightly clasped in one hand, while with +the other she tried to free herself from his grasp. + +It will never be know how that fatal accident happened. Men will +never know whether the hapless girl fell, or whether Hugh +Fernely, in his mad rage, flung her into the lake. There was a +startled scream that rang through the clear air, a heavy fall, a +splash amid the waters of the lake! There was one awful, +despairing glance from a pale, horror-stricken face, and then the +waters closed, the ripples spread over the broad surface, and the +sleeping lilies trembled for a few minutes, and then lay still +again! Once, and once only, a woman's white hand, thrown up, as +it were, in agonizing supplication, cleft the dark water, and +then all was over; the wind blew the ripples more strongly; they +washed upon the grass, and the stir of the deep waters subsided! + +Hugh Fernely did not plunge into the lake after Beatrice--it was +too late to save her; still, he might have tried. The cry that +rang through the sleeping woods, seemed to paralyze him--he +stood like one bereft of reason, sense and life. Perhaps the +very suddenness of the event overpowered him. Heaven only knows +what passed in his dull, crazed mind while the girl he loved sank +without help. Was it that he would not save her for another +that in his cruel love he preferred to know her dead, beneath the +cold waters, rather than the living, happy wife of another man? +Or was it that in the sudden shock and terror he never thought of +trying to save her? + +He stood for hours--it seemed to him as years--watching the +spot where the pale, agonized face had vanished--watching the +eddying ripples and the green reeds. Yet he never sought to save +her--never plunged into the deep waters whence he might have +rescued her had he wished. He never moved. He felt no fatigue. +The first thing that roused him was a gleam of gray light in the +eastern sky, and the sweet, faint song of a little bird. + +Then he saw that the day had broken. He said to himself, with a +wild horrible laugh, that he had watched all night by her grave. + +He turned and fled. One meeting him, with fierce, wild eyes full +of the fire of madness, with pale, haggard face full of despair, +would have shunned him. He fled through the green park, out on +the high-road, away through the deep woods--he knew not whither +never looking back; crying out at times, with a hollow, awful +voice that he had been all night by her grave; falling at times +on his face with wild, woeful weeping, praying the heavens to +fall upon him and hide him forever from his fellow men. + +He crept into a field where the hedge-rows were bright with +autumn's tints. He threw himself down, and tried to close his +hot, dazed eyes, but the sky above him looked blood-red, the air +seemed filled with flames. Turn where he would, the pale, +despairing face that had looked up to him as the waters opened +was before him. He arose with a great cry, and wandered on. He +came to a little cottage, where rosy children were at play, +talking and laughing in the bright sunshine. + +Great Heaven! How long was it since the dead girl, now sleeping +under the deep waters, was happy and bright as they? + +He fled again. This time the piercing cry filled his ears; it +seemed to deaden his brain. He fell in the field near the +cottage. Hours afterward the children out at play found him +lying in the dank grass that fringed the pond under the alder +trees. + + * * * * * * * * * * * * + +The first faint flush of dawn, a rosy light, broke in the eastern +sky, a tremulous, golden shimmer was on the lake as the sunbeams +touched it. The forest birds awoke and began to sing; they flew +from branch to branch; the flowers began to open their "dewy +eyes," the stately swans came out upon the lake, bending their +arched necks, sailing round the water lilies and the green +sedges. + +The sun shone out at length in his majesty, warming and +brightening the fair face of nature--it was full and perfect +day. The gardeners came through the park to commence their work; +the cows out in the pasture land stood to be milked, the busy +world began to rouse itself; but the fatal secret hidden beneath +the cold, dark water remained still untold. + + +Chapter XLI + +The sun shone bright and warm in the breakfast room at +Earlescourt. The rays fell upon the calm, stately face of Lady +Helena, upon the grave countenance of her son, upon the bright, +handsome features of Lord Airlie. They sparkled on the delicate +silver, and showed off the pretty china to perfection. The +breakfast was upon the table, but the three occupants of the room +had been waiting. Lady Helena took her seat. + +"It seems strange," she said to Lord Earle, "to breakfast without +either of the girls. I would not allow Lillian to rise; and from +some caprice Beatrice forbade her maid to call her, saying she +was tired." + +Lord Earle made some laughing reply, but Lady Helena was not +quite pleased. Punctuality with her had always been a favorite +virtue. In case of real illness, allowance was of course to be +made; but she herself had never considered a little extra fatigue +as sufficient reason for absenting herself from table. + +The two gentlemen talked gayly during breakfast. Lord Earle +asked Hubert if he would go with him to Holte, and Lord Airlie +said he had promised to drive Beatrice to Langton Priory. + +Hearing that, Lady Helena thought it time to send some little +warning to her grandchild. She rang for Suzette, the maid who +waited upon Beatrice, and told her to call her young mistress. + +She stood at her writing table, arranging some letters, when the +maid returned. Lady Helena looked at her in utter wonder--the +girl's face was pale and scared. + +"My lady," she said, "will you please come here? You are wanted +very particularly." + +Lady Helena, without speaking to either of the gentlemen, went to +the door where the girl stood. + +"What is it, Suzette?" she asked. "What is the matter?" + +"For mercy's sake, my lady," replied the maid, "come upstairs. I +I can not find Miss Beatrice--she is not in her room;" and the +girl trembled violently or Lady Helena would have smiled at her +terror. + +"She is probably with Miss Lillian," she said. "Why make such a +mystery, Suzette?" + +"She is not there, my lady; I can not find her," was the answer. + +"She may have gone out into the garden or the grounds," said Lady +Helena. + +"My lady," Suzette whispered, and her frightened face grew +deathly pale, "her bed has not been slept in; nothing is touched +in her room; she has not been in it all night." + +A shock of unutterable dread seized Lady Earle; a sharp spasm +seemed to dart through her heart. + +"There must be some mistake," she said, gently; "I will go +upstairs with you." + +The rooms were without occupant; no disarray of jewels, flowers, +or dresses, no little slippers; no single trace of Beatrice's +presence was there. + +The pretty white bed was untouched--no one had slept in it; the +blinds were drawn, and the sunlight struggled to enter the room. +Lady Helena walked mechanically to the window, and drew aside the +lace curtains; then she looked round. + +"She has not slept here," she said; "she must have slept with +Miss Lillian. You have frightened me, Suzette; I will go and see +myself." + +Lady Helena went through the pretty sitting room where the books +Beatrice had been reading lay upon the table, on to Lillian's +chamber. + +The young girl was awake, looking pale and languid, yet better +than she had looked the night before. Lady Earle controlled all +emotion, and went quietly to her. + +"Have you seen Beatrice this morning?" she asked. "I want her." + +"No," replied Lillian; "I have not seen her since just before +dinner last evening." + +"She did not sleep with you, then?" said Lady Earle. + +"No, she did not sleep here," responded the young girl. + +Lady Helena kissed Lillian's face, and quitted the room; a +deadly, horrible fear was turning her faint and cold. From the +suite of rooms Lord Earle had prepared and arranged for his +daughters a staircase ran which led into the garden. He had +thought at the time how pleasant it would be for them. As Lady +Helena entered, Suzette stood upon the stairs with a bow of pink +ribbon in her hand. + +"My lady," she said, "I fastened the outer door of the staircase +last night myself. I locked it, and shot the bolts. It is +unfastened now, and I have found this lying by it. Miss Earle +wore it last evening on her dress." + +"Something terrible must have happened," exclaimed Lady Helena. +"Suzette, ask Lord Earle to come to me. Do not say a word to any +one." + +He stood by her side in a few minutes, looking in mute wonder at +her pale, scared face. + +"Ronald," she said, "Beatrice has not slept in her room all +night. We can not find her." + +He smiled at first, thinking, as she had done, that there must be +some mistake, and that his mother was fanciful and nervous; but, +when Lady Helena, in quick, hurried words, told him of the +unfastened door and the ribbon, his face grew serious. He took +the ribbon from the maid's hand--it seemed a living part of his +daughter. He remembered that he had seen it the night before on +her dress, when he had held up the beautiful face to kiss it. He +had touched that same ribbon with his face. + +"She may have gone out into the grounds, and have been taken +ill," he said. "Do not frighten Airlie, mother; I will look +round myself." + +He went through every room of the house one by one, but there was +no trace of her. Still Lord Earle had no fear; it seemed so +utterly impossible that any harm could have happened to her. + +Then he went out into the grounds, half expecting the beautiful +face to smile upon him from under the shade of her favorite +trees. He called aloud, "Beatrice!" The wind rustled through +the trees, the birds sang, but there came no answer to his cry. +Neither in the grounds nor in the garden could he discover any +trace of her. He returned to Lady Helena, a vague fear coming +over him. + +"I can not find her," he said. "Mother, I do not understand +this. She can not have left us. She was not unhappy--my +beautiful child." + +There was no slip of paper, no letter, no clew to her absence. +Mother and son looked blankly at each other. + +"Ronald," she cried, "where is she? Where is the poor child?" + +He tried to comfort her, but fear was rapidly mastering him. + +"Let me see if Airlie can suggest anything," he said. + +They went down to the breakfast room where Lord Airlie still +waited for the young girl he was never more to meet alive. He +turned round with a smile, and asked if Beatrice were coming. +The smile died from his lips when he saw the pale, anxious faces +of mother and son. + +"Hubert," said Lord Earle, "we are alarmed--let us hope without +cause. Beatrice can not be found. My mother is frightened." +Lady Helena had sunk, pale and trembling, upon a couch. Lord +Airlie looked bewildered. Lord Earle told him briefly how they +had missed her, and what had been done. + +"She must be trying to frighten us," he said; "she must have +hidden herself. There can not be anything wrong." Even as he +spoke he felt how impossible it was that his dignified Beatrice +should have done anything wrong. + +He could throw no light upon the subject. He had not seen her +since he had kissed her when bidding her goodnight. Her maid was +the last person to whom she had spoken. Suzette had left her in +her own room, and since then nothing had been seen or heard of +Beatrice Earle. + +Father and lover went out together. Lord Airlie suggested that +she had perhaps gone out into the gardens and had met with some +accident there. They went carefully over every part--there was +no trace of Beatrice. They went through the shrubbery out into +the park, where the quiet lake shone amid the green trees. + +Suddenly, like the thrust of a sharp sword, the remembrance of +the morning spent upon the water came to Lord Airlie. He called +to mind Beatrice's fear--the cold shudder that seized her when +she declared that her own face with a mocking smile was looking +up at her from the depths of the water. + +He walked hurriedly toward the lake. It was calm and clear--the +tall trees and green sedges swaying in the wind, the white lilies +rising and falling with the ripples. The blue sky and green +trees were reflected in the water, the pleasure boat was fastened +to the boat house. How was he to know the horrible secret of the +lake? + +"Come away, Airlie!" cried Lord Earle. "I shall go mad! I will +call all the servants, and have a regular search." + +In a few minutes the wildest confusion and dismay reigned in the +Hall; women wept aloud, and men's faces grew pale with fear. +Their beautiful, brilliant young mistress had disappeared, and +none knew her fate. They searched garden, park, and grounds; men +in hot haste went hither and thither; while Lady Earle lay half +dead with fear, and Lillian rested calmly, knowing nothing of +what had happened. + +It was Lord Airlie who first suggested that the lake should be +dragged. The sun rode high in the heavens then, and shone +gloriously over water and land. + +They found the drags, and Hewson, the butler, with Lee and +Patson, two gardeners, got into the boat. Father and lover stood +side by side on the bank. The boat glided softly over the water; +the men had been once round the lake, but without any result. +Hope was rising again in Lord Airlie's heart, when he saw those +in the boat look at each other, then at him. + +"My lord," said Cowden, Lord Earle's valet, coming up to Hubert, +"pray take my master home; they have found something at the +bottom of the lake. Take him home; and please keep Lady Earle +and the women all out of the way." + +"What is it?" cried Lord Earle. "Speak to me, Airlie. What is +it?" + +"Come away," said Lord Airlie. "The men will not work while we +are here." + +They had found something beneath the water; the drags had caught +in a woman's dress; and the men in the boat stood motionless +until Lord Earle was out of sight. + +Through the depths of water they saw the gleam of a white, dead +face, and a floating mass of dark hair. They raised the body +with reverent hands. Strong men wept aloud as they did so. One +covered the quiet face, and another wrung the dripping water from +the long hair. The sun shone on, as though in mockery, while +they carried the drowned girl home. + +Slowly and with halting steps they carried her through the warm, +sunny park where she was never more to tread, through the bright, +sunlit gardens, through the hall and up the broad staircase, the +water dripping from her hair and falling in large drops, into the +pretty chamber she had so lately quitted full of life and hope. +They laid her on the white bed wherefrom her eyes would never +more open to the morning light, and went away. + +"Drowned, drowned! Drowned and dead!" was the cry that went from +lip to lip, till it reached Lord Earle where he sat, trying to +soothe his weeping mother. "Drowned! Quite dead!" was the cry +that reached Lillian, in her sick room, and brought her down pale +and trembling. "Drowned and dead hours ago," were the words that +drove Lord Airlie mad with the bitterness of his woe. + +They could not realize it. How had it happened? What had taken +her in the dead of the night to the lake? + +They sent messengers right and left to summon doctors in hot +haste, as though human skill could avail her now. + +"I must see her," said Lord Airlie. "If you do not wish to kill +me, let me see her." + +They allowed him to enter, and Lord Earle and his mother went +with him. None in that room ever forgot his cry--the piercing +cry of the strong man in his agony--as he threw himself by the +dead girl's side. + +"Beatrice, my love, my darling, why could I not have died for +you?" + +And then with tears of sympathy they showed him how even in death +the white cold hand grasped his locket, holding it so tightly +that no ordinary foe could remove it. + +"In life and in death!" she had said, and she had kept her word. + + +Chapter XLII + +While the weeping group still stood there, doctors came; they +looked at the quiet face, so beautiful in death, and said she had +been dead for hours. The words struck those who heard them with +unutterable horror. Dead, while those who loved her so dearly, +who would have given their lives for her, had lain sleeping near +her, unconscious of her doom--dead, while her lover had waited +for her, and her father had been intently thinking of her +approaching wedding. + +What had she suffered during the night? What awful storm of +agony had driven her to the lake? Had she gone thither +purposely? Had she wandered to the edge and fallen in, or was +there a deeper mystery? Had foul wrong been done to Lord Earle's +daughter while he was so near her, and yet knew nothing of it? + +She still wore her pretty pink evening dress. What a mockery it +looked! The delicate laces were wet and spoiled; the pink +blossoms she had twined in her hair clung to it still; the +diamond arrow Lord Airlie had given her fastened them, a diamond +brooch was in the bodice of her dress, and a costly bracelet +encircled the white, cold arm. She had not, then, removed her +jewels or changed her dress. What could have taken her down to +the lake? Why was Lord Airlie's locket so tightly clinched in +her hand? + +Lord Airlie, when he was calm enough to speak, suggested that she +might have fallen asleep, tired, before undressing--that in her +sleep she might have walked out, gone to the edge of the lake, +and fallen in. + +That version spread among the servants. From them it spread like +wildfire around the whole country-side; the country papers were +filled with it, and the London papers afterward told how "the +beautiful Miss Earle" had been drowned while walking in her +sleep. + +But Lord Airlie's suggestion did not satisfy Ronald Earle; he +would not leave the darkened chamber. Women's gentle hands +removed the bright jewels and the evening dress. Lady Helena, +with tears that fell like rain, dried the long, waving hair, and +drew it back from the placid brow. She closed the eyes, but she +could not cross the white hands on the cold breast. One held the +locket in the firm, tight clasp of death, and it could not be +moved. + +Ronald would not leave the room. Gentle hands finished their +task. Beatrice lay in the awful beauty of death--no pain, no +sorrow moving the serene loveliness of her placid brow. He knelt +by her side. It was his little Beatrice, this strange, cold, +marble statue--his little baby Beatrice, who had leaped in his +arms years ago, who had cried and laughed, who had learned in +pretty accents to lisp his name--his beautiful child, his proud, +bright daughter, who had kissed him the previous night while he +spoke jesting words to her about her lover. And he had never +heard her voice since--never would hear it again. Had she +called him when the dark waters closed over her bright head? + +Cold, motionless, no gleam of life or light--and this was Dora's +little child! He uttered a great cry as the thought struck him: +"What would Dora say?" He loved Beatrice; yet for all the long +years of her childhood he had been absent from her. How must +Dora love the child who had slept on her bosom, and who was now +parted from her forever. + +And then his thoughts went back to the old subject: "How had it +happened? What had taken her to the lake?" + +One knelt near who might have told him, but a numb, awful dread +had seized upon Lillian. Already weak and ill, she was unable to +think, unable to shape her ideas, unable to tell right from +wrong. + +She alone held the clew to the mystery, and she knelt by that +death bed with pale, parted lips and eyes full of terror. Her +face startled those who saw it. Her sorrow found no vent in +tears; the gentle eyes seemed changed into balls of fire; she +could not realize that it was Beatrice who lay there, so calm and +still--Beatrice, who had knelt at her feet and prayed that she +would save her--Beatrice, who had believed herself so near the +climax of her happiness. + +Could she have met Hugh, and had he murdered her? Look where she +would, Lillian saw that question written in fiery letters. What +ought she to do? Must she tell Lord Earle, or did the promise +she had made bind her in death as well as in life. Nothing could +restore her sister. Ought she to tell all she knew, and to stain +in death the name that was honored and loved? + +One of the doctors called in saw the face of Lillian Earle. He +went at once to Lady Helena, and told her that if the young lady +was not removed from that room, and kept quiet she would be in +danger of her life. + +"If ever I saw a face denoting that the brain was disturbed," he +said, "that is one." + +Lillian was taken back to her room, and left with careful nurses. +But the doctor's warning proved true. While Lord Earle wept over +the dead child, Lady Helena mourned over the living one, whose +life hung by a thread. + +The day wore on; the gloom of sorrow and mourning had settled on +the Hall. Servants spoke with hushed voices and moved with +gentle tread. Lady Helena sat in the darkened room where Lillian +lay. Lord Airlie had shut himself up alone, and Ronald Earle +knelt all day by his dead child. In vain they entreated him to +move, to take food or wine, to go to his own room. He remained +by her, trying to glean from that silent face the secret of her +death. + +And when night fell again, he sunk exhausted. Feverish slumbers +came to him, filled with a haunted dream of Beatrice sinking in +the dark water and calling upon him for help. Kindly faces +watched over him, kindly hands tended him. The morning sun found +him still there. + +Lady Helena brought him some tea and besought him to drink it. +The parched, dried lips almost refused their office. It was an +hour afterward that Hewson entered the room, bearing a letter in +his hand. It was brought, he said by Thomas Ginns, who lived at +the cottage past Fair Glenn hills. It had been written by a man +who lay dying there, and who had prayed him to take it at once +without delay. + +"I ventured to bring it to you, my lord," said the butler; "the +man seemed to think it a matter of life or death." + +Lord Earle took the letter from his hands--he tried to open it, +but the trembling fingers seemed powerless. He signed to Hewson +to leave the room, and, placing the letter upon the table, +resumed his melancholy watch. But in some strange way his +thoughts wandered to the missive. What might it not contain, +brought to him, too, in the solemn death chamber? He opened it, +and found many sheets of closely covered paper. On the first was +written "The Confession of Hugh Fernely." + +The name told him nothing. Suddenly an idea came to him--could +this confession have anything to do with the fate of the beloved +child who lay before him? Kneeling by the dead child's side, he +turned over the leaf and read as follows: + +"Lord Earle, I am dying--the hand tracing this will soon be +cold. Before I die I must confess my crime. Even now, perhaps, +you are kneeling by the side of the child lost to you for all +time. My lord, I killed her. + +"I met her first nearly three years ago, at Knutsford; she was +out alone, and I saw her. I loved her then as I love her now. +By mere accident I heard her deplore the lonely, isolated life +she led, and that in such terms that I pitied her. She was +young, beautiful, full of life and spirits; she was pining away +in that remote home, shut out from the living world she longed +for with a longing I can not put into words. I spoke to her--do +not blame her, she was a beautiful, ignorant child--I spoke to +her, asking some questions about the road, and she replied. +Looking at her face, I swore that I would release her from the +life she hated, and take her where she would be happy. + +"I met her again and again. Heaven pardon me if I did my best to +awake an interest in her girlish heart! I told her stories of +travel and adventure that stirred all the romance in her nature. +With the keen instinct of love I understood her character, and +played upon its weakness while I worshiped its strength. + +"She told me of a sad, patient young mother who never smiled, of +a father who was abroad and would not return for many years. +Pardon me, my lord, if, in common with many others, I believed +this story to be one to appease her. Pardon me, if I doubted +as many others did--whether the sad young mother was your wife. + +"I imagined that I was going to rescue her from a false position +when I asked her to be my wife. She said her mother dreaded all +mention of love and lovers, and I prayed her to keep my love a +secret from all the world. + +"I make no excuses for myself; she was young and innocent as a +dreaming child. I ought to have looked on her beautiful face and +left her. My lord, am I altogether to blame? The lonely young +girl at Knutsford pined for what I could give her--happiness and +pleasure did not seem so far removed from me. Had she been in +her proper place I could never have addressed her. + +"Not to you can I tell the details of my love story--how I +worshiped with passionate love the beautiful, innocent child who +smiled into my face and drank in my words. I asked her to be my +wife, and she promised. My lord, I never for a moment dreamed +that she would ever have a home with you--it did not seem to me +possible. I intended to return and marry her, firmly believing +that in some respects my rank and condition in life were better +than her own. She promised to be true to me, to love no one +else, to wait for me, and to marry me when I returned. + +"I believe now that she never loved me. My love and devotion +were but a pleasant interruption in the monotony of her life. +They were to blame also who allowed her no pleasures--who +forced her to resort to this stolen one. + +"My lord, I placed a ring upon your daughter's finger, and +pledged my faith to her. I can not tell you what my love was +like; it was a fierce fire that consumed me night and day. + +"I was to return and claim her in two years. Absence made me +love her more. I came back, rich in gold, my heart full of +happiness, hope making everything bright and beautiful. I went +straight to Knutsford--alas! she was no longer there! And then +I heard that the girl I loved so deeply and so dearly was Lord +Earle's daughter. + +"I did not dream of losing her; birth, title, and position seemed +as nothing beside my mighty, passionate love. I thought nothing +of your consent, but only of her; and I went to Earlescourt. My +lord, I wrote to her, and my heart was in every line. She sent +me a cold reply. I wrote again; I swore I would see her. She +sent her sister to me with the reply. Then I grew desperate, and +vowed I would lay my claim before you. I asked her to meet me +out in the grounds, at night, unseen and unknown. She consented, +and on Thursday night I met her near the shrubbery. + +"How I remember her pretty pleading words, her beautiful proud +face! She asked me to release her. She said that it had all +been child's play--a foolish mistake--and that if I would give +her her freedom from a foolish promise she would always be my +friend. At first I would not hear of it; but who could have +refused her? If she had told me to lie down at her feet and let +her trample the life out of me, I should have submitted. + +"I promised to think of her request, and we walked on to the +border of the lake. Every hair upon her head was sacred to me; +the pretty, proud ways that tormented me delighted me, too. I +promised I would release her, and give her the freedom she asked, +if she told me I was not giving her up to another. She would +not. Some few words drove me mad with jealous rage--yes, mad; +the blood seemed to boil in my veins. Suddenly I caught sight of +a golden locket on her neck, and I asked her whose portrait it +contained. She refused to tell me. In the madness of my rage I +tried to snatch it from her. She caught it in her hands, and, +shrinking back from me, fell into the lake. + +"I swear it was a sheer accident--I would not have hurt a hair +of her head; but, oh! My lord, pardon me--pardon me, for +Heaven's sake--I might have saved her and I did not; I might +have plunged in after her and brought her back, but jealousy +whispered to me, 'Do not save her for another--let her die.' I +stood upon the bank, and saw the water close over her head. I +saw the white hand thrown up in wild appeal, and never moved or +stirred. I stood by the lake-side all night, and fled when the +morning dawned in the sky. + +"I killed her. I might have saved her, but did not. Anger of +yours can add nothing to my torture; think what it has been. I +was a strong man two days since; when the sun sets I shall be +numbered with the dead. I do not wish to screen myself from +justice. I have to meet the wrath of Heaven, and that appalls me +as the anger of man never could. Send the officers of the law +for me. If I am not dead, let them take me; if I am, let them +bury me as they would a dog. I ask no mercy, no compassion nor +forgiveness; I do not merit it. + +"If by any torture, any death, I could undo what I have done, and +save her, I would suffer the extremity of pain; but I can not. +My deed will be judged in eternity. + +"My lord, I write this confession partly to ease my own +conscience, party to shield others from unjust blame. Do not +curse me because, through my mad jealousy, my miserable revenge, +as fair and pure a child as father ever loved has gone to her +rest." + +So the strange letter concluded. Lord Earle read every word, +looking over and anon at the quiet, dead face that had kept the +secret hidden. Every word seemed burned in upon his brain; every +word seemed to rise before him like an accusing spirit. + +He stood face to face at last with the sin of his youth; it had +found him out. The willful, wanton disobedience, the marriage +that had broken his father's heart, and struck Ronald himself +from the roll of useful men; the willful, cruel neglect of duty; +the throwing off of all ties; the indulgence in proud, +unforgiving temper, the abandonment of wife and children--all +ended there. But for his sins and errors, that white, still +figure might now have been radiant with life and beauty. + +The thought stung him with cruel pain. It was his own fault. +Beatrice might have erred in meeting Hugh Fernely; Fernely had +done wrong in trying to win that young child-like heart for his +own; but he who left his children to strange hands, who neglected +all duties of parentage, had surely done the greatest wrong. + +For the first time his utter neglect of duty came home to him. +He had thought himself rather a modern hero, but now he caught a +glimpse of himself as he was in reality. He saw that he was not +even a brave man; for a brave man neglects no duty. It was +pitiful to see how sorrow bent his stately figure and lined his +proud face. He leaned over his dead child, and cried to her to +pardon him, for it was all his fault. Lady Helena, seeking him +in the gloom of that solemn death chamber, found him weeping as +strong men seldom weep. + +He did not give her the letter, nor tell her aught of Hugh +Fernely's confession. He turned to her with as sad a face as man +ever wore. + +"Mother," he said, "I want my kinsman, Lionel Dacre. Let him be +sent for, and ask him to come without delay." + +In this, the crowning sorrow of his life, he could not stand +alone. He must have some one to think and to plan for him, some +one to help him bear the burden that seemed too heavy for him to +carry. Some one must see the unhappy man who had written that +letter, and it should be a kinsman of his own. + +Not the brave, sad young lover, fighting alone with his sorrow +he must never know the tragedy of that brief life, to him her +memory must be sacred and untarnished, unmarred by the knowledge +of her folly. + +Lady Helena was not long in discovering Lionel Dacre's +whereabouts. One of the footmen who had attended him to the +station remembered the name of the place for which he had taken a +ticket. Lady Helena knew that Sir William Greston lived close +by, and she sent at once to his house. + +Fortunately the messenger found him. Startled and horrified by +the news, Lionel lost no time in returning. He could not realize +that his beautiful young cousin was really dead. Her face, in +its smiling brightness, haunted him. Her voice seemed to mingle +with the wild clang of the iron wheels. She was dead, and he was +going to console her father. + +No particulars of her death had reached him; he now only knew +that she had walked out in her sleep, and had fallen into the +lake. + +Twenty-four hours had not elapsed since Lord Earle cried out in +grief for his young kinsman, yet already he stood by his side. + +"Persuade him to leave that room," said Lady Helena. "Since our +darling was carried there he has never left her side." + +Lionel did as requested. He went straight to the library, and +sent for Lord Earle, saying that he could not at present look +upon the sad sight in the gloomy death chamber. + +While waiting there, he heard of Lillian's dangerous illness. +Lady Helena told him how she had changed before her sister's +death; and, despite the young man's anger, his heart was sore and +heavy. + +He hardly recognized Lord Earle in the aged, altered man who soon +stood before him. The long watch, the bitter remorse, the +miserable consciousness of his own folly and errors had written +strange lines upon his face. + +"I sent for you, Lionel," he said, "because I am in trouble--so +great that I can no longer bear it alone. You must think and +work for me; I can do neither for myself." + +Looking into his kinsman's face, Lionel felt that more than the +death of his child weighed upon the heart and mind of Ronald +Earle. + +"There are secrets in every family," said Ronald; "henceforth +there will be one in mine--and it will be the true story of my +daughter's death. While I knelt yesterday by her side, this +letter was brought to me. Read it, Lionel; then act for me." + +He read it slowly, tears gathering fast in his eyes, his lips +quivering, and his hands tightly clinched. + +"My poor Beatrice!" he exclaimed; and then the strength of his +young manhood gave way, and Lionel Dacre wept as he had never +wept before. "The mean, pitiful scoundrel!" he cried, angry +indignation rising as he thought of her cruel death. "The +wretched villain--to stand by while she died!" + +"Hush!" said Lord Earle. "He has gone to his account. What have +you to say to me, Lionel? Because I had a miserable quarrel with +my wife I abandoned my children. I never cared to see them from +the time they were babes until they were women grown. How guilty +am I? That man believed he was about to raise Beatrice in the +social scale when he asked her to be his wife, or as he says, he +would never have dreamed of proposing to marry my daughter. If +he merits blame, what do I deserve?" + +"It was a false position, certainly," replied Lionel Dacre. + +"This secret must be kept inviolate," said Lord Earle. "Lord +Airlie must never know it--it would kill Lady Helena, I believe. +One thing puzzles me, Lionel--Fernely says Lillian met him. I +do not think that is true." + +"It is!" cried Lionel, a sudden light breaking in upon him. "I +saw her with him. Oh, Lord Earle, you may be proud of Lillian! +She is the noblest, truest girl that ever lived. Why, she +sacrificed her own love, her own happiness, for her sister! She +loved me; and when this wedding, which will never now take place, +was over, I intended to ask you to give me Lillian. One night, +quite accidentally, while I was wandering in the grounds with a +cigar, I saw her speaking to a stranger, her fair sweet face full +of pity and compassion, which I mistook for love. Shame to me +that I was base enough to doubt her--that I spoke to her the +words I uttered! I demanded to know who it was she had met, and +why she had met him. She asked me to trust her, saying she could +not tell me. I stabbed her with cruel words, and left her vowing +that I would never see her again. Her sister must have trusted +her with her secret, and she would not divulge it." + +"We can not ask her now," said Lord Earle; "my mother tells me +she is very ill." + +"I must see her," cried Lionel, "and ask her to pardon me if she +can. What am I to do for you, Lord Earle? Command me as though +I were your own son." + +"I want you to go to the cottage," said Ronald, "and see if the +man is living or dead. You will know how to act. I need not ask +a kinsman and a gentleman to keep my secret." + +In a few minutes Lionel Dacre was on his way to the cottage, +riding as though it were for dear life. Death had been still +more swift. Hugh Fernely lay dead. + +The cottager's wife told Lionel how the children out at play had +found a man lying in the dank grass near the pond, and how her +husband, in his own strong arms, had brought him to their abode. +He lay still for many hours, and then asked for pen and ink. He +was writing, she said, nearly all night, and afterward prayed her +husband to take the letter to Lord Earle. The man refused any +nourishment. Two hours later they went in to persuade him to +take some food, and found him lying dead, his face turned to the +morning sky. + +Lionel Dacre entered the room. The hot anger died out of his +heart as he saw the anguish death had marked upon the white +countenance. What torture must the man have suffered, what hours +of untold agony, to have destroyed him in so short a time! The +dark, handsome face appeared to indicate that the man had been +dying for years. + +Lionel turned reverently away. Man is weak and powerless before +death. In a few words he told the woman that she should be amply +rewarded for her kindness, and that he himself would defray all +expenses. + +"He was perhaps an old servant of my lord's?" she said. + +"No," was the reply; "Lord Earle did not know him--had never +seen him; but the poor man was well known to one of Lord Earle's +friends." + +Thanks to Lionel's words, the faintest shadow of suspicion was +never raised. Of the two deaths, that of Miss Earle excited all +attention and aroused all sympathy. No one spoke of Hugh +Fernely, or connected him with the occurrence at the Hall. + +There was an inquest, and men decided that he had "died by the +visitation of God." No one knew the agony that had cast him +prostrate in the thick, dank grass, no one knew the unendurable +anguish that had shortened his life. + + * * * * * * * * * * * * + +When Lionel returned to the Hall, he went straight to Lord Earle. + +"I was too late," he said; "the man had been dead some hours." + +His name was not mentioned between them again. Lord Earle never +inquired where he was buried--he never knew. + +The gloom had deepened at the Hall. Lillian Earle lay nigh unto +death. Many believed that the master of Earlescourt would soon +be a childless man. He could not realize it. They told him how +she lay with the cruel raging fever sapping her life, but he +seemed to forget the living child in mourning for the one that +lay dead. + +In compliance with Lionel's prayer, Lady Helena took him into the +sick room where Lillian lay. She did not know him; the gentle, +tender eyes were full of dread and fear; the fair, pure face was +burning with the flush of fever; the hot, dry lips were never +still. She talked incessantly--at times of Knutsford and +Beatrice--then prayed in her sweet, sad voice that Lionel would +trust her--only trust her; when Beatrice was married she would +tell him all. + +He turned away; her eyes had lingered on his face, but no gleam +of recognition came into them. + +"You do not think she will die?" he asked of Lady Helena; and she +never forgot his voice or his manner. + +"We hope not," she said; "life and death are in higher hands than +ours. If you wish to help her, pray for her." + +In after years Lionel Dacre like to remember that the best and +most fervent prayers of his life had been offered for gentle, +innocent Lillian Earle. + +As he turned to quit the chamber he heard her crying for her +mother. She wanted her mother--why was she not there? He +looked at Lady Helena; she understood him. + +"I have written," she said. "I sent for Dora yesterday; she will +be here soon." + + +Chapter XLIII + +On the second day succeeding that on which Dora had been sent +for, Beatrice Earle was to be laid in her grave. The servants of +the household, who had dearly loved their beautiful young +mistress, had taken their last look at her face. Lady Helena had +shed her last tears over it. Lord Airlie had asked to be alone +for a time with his dead love. They had humored him, and for +three long hours he had knelt by her, bidding her a sorrowful +farewell, taking his last look at the face that would never again +smile on earth for him. + +They respected the bitterness of his uncontrollable sorrow; no +idle words of sympathy were offered to him; men passed him by +with an averted face--women with tearful eyes. + +Lord Earle was alone with his dead child. In a little while +nothing would remain of his beautiful, brilliant daughter but a +memory and a name. He did not weep; his sorrow lay too deep for +tears. In his heart he was asking pardon for the sins and +follies of his youth; his face was buried in his hands, his head +bowed over the silent form of his loved child; and when the door +opened gently, he never raised his eyes--he was only conscious +that some one entered the room, and walked swiftly up the gloomy, +darkened chamber to the bedside. Then a passionate wailing that +chilled his very blood filled the rooms. + +"My Beatrice, my darling! Why could I not have died for you?" + +Some one bent over the quiet figure, clasping it in tender arms, +calling with a thousand loving words upon the dear one who lay +there--some one whose voice fell like a strain of long-forgotten +music upon his ears. Who but a mother could weep as she did? +Who but a mother forget everything else in the abandonment of +her sorrow, and remember only the dead? + +Before he looked up, he knew it was Dora--the mother bereft of +her child--the mother clasping in her loving arms the child she +had nursed, watched, and loved for so many years. She gazed at +him, and he never forgot the woeful, weeping face. + +"Ronald," she cried, "I trusted my darling to you; what has +happened to her?" + +The first words for many long years--the first since he had +turned round upon her in his contempt, hoping he might be +forgiven for having made her his wife. + +She seemed to forget him then, and laid her head down upon the +quiet heart; but Ronald went round to her. He raised her in his +arms, he laid the weeping face on his breast, he kissed away the +blinding tears, and she cried to him: + +"Forgive me, Ronald--forgive me! You can not refuse in the hour +of death." + +How the words smote him. They were his own recoiling upon him. +How often he had refused his mother's pleading--hardened his own +heart, saying to himself and to her that he could not pardon her +yet--he would forgive her in the hour of death, when either he +or she stood on the threshold of eternity! + +Heaven had not willed it so. The pardon he had refused was wrung +from him now; and, looking at his child, he felt that she was +sacrificed to his blind, willful pride. + +"You will forgive me, Ronald," pleaded the gentle voice, "for the +love of my dead child? Do not send me from you again. I have +been very unhappy all these long years; let me stay with you now. +Dear, I was beside myself with jealousy when I acted as I did." + +"I forgive you," he said, gently, "can you pardon me as easily, +Dora? I have spoiled your life--I have done you cruel wrong; +can you forget all, and love me as you did years ago?" + +All pride, restraint, and anger were dead. He whispered loving +words to his weeping wife, such as she had not heard for years; +and he could have fancied, as he did so, that a happy smile +lingered on the fair face of the dead. + +No, it was but the light of a wax taper flickering over it; the +strange, solemn beauty of that serene brow and those quiet lips +were unstirred. + +Half an hour afterward Lady Helena, trembling from the result of +her experiment, entered the room. She saw Ronald's arms clasped +round Dora, while they knelt side by side. + +"Mother," said Lord Earle, "my wife has pardoned me. She is my +own again--my comfort in sorrow." + +Lady Earle touched Dora's face with her lips, and told what her +errand was. They must leave the room now--the beautiful face of +Beatrice Earle was to be hidden forever from the sight of men. + + * * * * * * * * * * * * + +That evening was long remembered at Earlescourt; for Lady Dora +thenceforward took her rightful position. She fell at once into +the spirit of the place, attending to every one and thinking of +every one's comfort. + +Lillian was fighting hard for her young life. She seemed in some +vague way to understand that her mother was near. Lady Dora's +hand soothed and calmed her, her gentle motherly ways brought +comfort and rest; but many long days passed before Lillian knew +those around her, or woke from her troubled, feverish dream. +When she did so, her sister had been laid to rest in her long, +last home. + + * * * * * * * * * * * * + +People said afterward that no fairer day had ever been than that +on which Beatrice Earle was buried. The sun shone bright and +warm, the birds were singing, the autumn flowers were in bloom, +as the long procession wound its way through the trees in the +park; the leaves fell from the trees, while the long grass +rustled under the tread of many feet. + +Lord Earle and Hubert Airlie were together. Kindly hearts knew +not which to pity the more--the father whose heart seemed broken +by his sorrow, or the young lover so suddenly bereft of all he +loved best. From far and near friends and strangers gathered to +that mournful ceremony; from one to another the story flew how +beautiful she was, and how dearly the young lord had loved her, +how she had wandered out of the house in her sleep and fallen +into the lake. + +They laid her to rest in the green church-yard at the foot of the +hill--the burial place of the Earles. + + * * * * * * * * * * * * + +The death bell had ceased ringing; the long white blinds of the +Hall windows were drawn up; the sunshine played once more in the +rooms; the carriages of sorrowing friends were gone; the funeral +was over. Of the beautiful, brilliant Beatrice Earle there +remained but a memory. + +They told afterward how Gaspar Laurence watched the funeral +procession, and how he had lingered last of all in the little +church-yard. He never forgot Beatrice; he never looked into the +face of another woman with love on his own. + +It was all over, and on the evening of that same day a quiet, +deep sleep came to Lillian Earle. It saved her life; the wearied +brain found rest. When she awoke, the lurid light of fever died +out of her eyes, and they looked in gratified amazement upon Lady +Dora who sat by her side. + +"Mamma," she whispered, "am I at home at Knutsford?" + +Dora soothed her, almost dreading the time when memory should +awaken in full force. It seemed partly to return then, for +Lillian gave vent to a wearied sigh, and closed her eyes. + +Then Dora saw a little of wild alarm cross her face. She sprang +up crying: + +"Mamma, is it true? Is Beatrice dead?" + +"It is true, my darling," whispered her mother, gently. "Dead, +but not lost to us--only gone before." + +The young girl recovered very slowly. The skillful doctor in +attendance upon her sad that, as soon as it was possible to +remove her, she should be carried direct from her room to a +traveling carriage, taken from home, and not allowed to return to +the Hall until she was stronger and better. + +They waited until that day came, and meanwhile Lady Dora Earle +learned to esteem Lord Airlie very dearly. He seemed to find +more comfort with her than with any one else. They spoke but of +one subject--the loved, lost Beatrice. + +Her secret was never known. Lord Earle and Lionel Dacre kept it +faithfully. No allusion to it ever crossed their lips. To Lord +Airlie, while he lived, the memory of the girl he had loved so +well was pure and untarnished as the falling snow. Not even to +her mother was the story told. Dora believed, as did every one +else, that Beatrice had fallen accidentally into the lake. + +When Lillian grew stronger--better able to bear the mention of +her sister's name--Lord Earle went to her room one day, and, +gently enough, tried to win her to speak to him of what she knew. + +She told him all--of her sister's sorrow, remorse, and tears; +her longing to be free from the wretched snare in which she was +caught; how she pleaded with her to interfere. She told him of +her short interview with the unhappy man, and its sad +consequences for her. + +Then the subject dropped forever. Lord Earle said nothing to her +of Lionel, thinking it would be better for the young lover to +plead his own cause. + +One morning, when she was able to rise and sit up for a time, +Lionel asked permission to see her. Lady Dora, who knew nothing +of what had passed between them, unhesitatingly consented. + +She was alarmed when, as he entered the room, she saw her +daughter's gentle face grow deathly pale. + +"I have done wrong," she said. "Lillian is not strong enough to +see visitors yet." + +"Dear Lady Dora," explained Lionel, taking her hand, "I love +Lillian; and she loved me before I was so unhappy as to offend +her. I have come to beg her pardon. Will you trust her with me +for a few minutes?" + +Lady Dora assented, and went away, leaving them together. + +"Lillian," said Lionel, "I do not know in what words to beg your +forgiveness. I am ashamed and humbled. I know your sister's +story, and all that you did to save her. When one was to be +sacrificed, you were the victim. Can you ever forgive me?" + +"I forgive you freely," she gently answered. "I have been in the +Valley of the Shadow of Death, and all human resentment and +unkindness seem as nothing to me." + +"And may I be to you as I was before?" he asked. + +"That is another question," she said. "I can not answer it now. +You did not trust me, Lionel." + +Those were the only words of reproach she ever uttered to him. +He did not annoy her with protestation; he trusted that time +would do for him what he saw just then he could not do for +himself. + +He sat down upon the couch by her side, and began to speak to her +of the tour she was about to make; of the places she should visit +carefully avoiding all reference to the troubled past. + +Three days afterward Lillian started on her journey to the south +of France insisted upon by the doctor. Lord Earle and his wife +took charge of their child; Lord Airlie, declaring he could not +yet endure Lynnton, went with them. Lady Helena and Lionel Dacre +remained at home, in charge of the Hall and the estate. + +One thing the latter had resolved upon--that, before the +travelers returned, the lake should be filled up, and green trees +planted over the spot where its waters now glistened in the sun. + +No matter how great the expense and trouble, he was resolved that +it should be done. + +"Earlescourt would be wretched," he said, "if that fatal lake +remained." + +The day after the family left Earlescourt, he had workmen +engaged. No one was sorry at his determination. Lady Helena +highly approved of it. The water was drained off, the deep basin +filled with earth, and tall saplings planted where once the water +had glistened in the sun. The boat house was pulled down, and +all vestige of the lake was done away with. + +Lionel Dacre came home one evening from the works in very low +spirits. Imbedded in the bottom of the lake they had found a +little slipper--the fellow to it was locked away in Dora's +drawer. He saved it to give it to her when she returned. + + +Chapter XLIV + +Two years passed away, and the travelers thought of returning. +Lillian had recovered health and strength, and, Lord Earle said, +longed for home. + +One bright June day they were expected back. Lionel Dacre had +driven to the station. Lady Earle had laid aside her mourning +dress, and sat anxiously awaiting her son. She wished the +homecoming were over, and that they had all settled down to the +new life. + +Her wish was soon gratified. Once again she gazed upon the face +of her only and beloved son. He was little changed--somewhat +sunburned, it was true; but there was less of the old pride and +sternness, a kindly smile playing round his lips. There was, +too, a shade of sadness that plainly would never leave him; Lord +Earle could never forget his lost child. + +Lady Helena looked anxiously at Dora, but there was no cause for +fear. The rosy, dimpled beauty of youth had passed away, but a +staid dignity had taken its place. She looked a graceful amiable +woman, with eyes of wondrous beauty thickly veiled by long +lashes, and a wealth of rippling black hair. Lady Helena thought +her far more beautiful now than when the coy smiles and dimples +had been the chief charm. She admired, too, the perfect and easy +grace with which Dora fell at once into her proper place as +mistress of that vast establishment. + +The pretty, musical voice was trained and softened; the delicate, +refined accent retained no trace of provincialism. Everything +about Dora pleased the eye and gratified the taste; the girlish +figure had grown matronly and dignified; the sweet face had in it +a tinge of sadness one may often see in the face of a mother who +has lost a child. Lady Helena, fastidious and critical, could +find no fault with her son's wife. + +She welcomed her warmly, giving up to her, in her own graceful +way, all rule and authority. Helping her if in any way she +required it, but never interfering, she made Dora respected by +the love and esteem she always evinced for her. + +But it was on Lillian's face that Lady Helena gazed most +earnestly. The pallor of sickness had given way to a rosy and +exquisite bloom. The fair, sweet face in its calm loveliness +seemed to her perfect, the violet eyes were full of light. +Looking at her, Lady Helena believed there were years of life in +store for Ronald's only child. + +There was much to talk about. Lord Earle told his mother how +Hubert Airlie had gone home to Lynnton, unable to endure the +sight of Earlescourt. He had never regained his spirits. In the +long years to come it was possible, added Ronald, that Lord +Airlie might marry, for the sake of his name; but if ever the +heart of living man lay buried in a woman's grave, his was with +the loved, lost Beatrice. + +Lionel Dacre knew he had done wisely and well to have the bed of +the lake filled up. In the morning he saw how each member of the +family shrank from going out into the grounds. He asked Lord +Earle to accompany him, and then the master of Earlescourt saw +that the deep, cruel water no longer shimmered amid the trees. + +Lionel let him bring his wife and daughter to see what had been +done; and they turned to the author of it with grateful eyes, +thanking him for the kind thought which had spared their +feelings. Green trees flourished now on the spot where the water +had glistened in the sun; birds sang in their branches, green +grass and ferns grew round their roots. + +Yet among the superstitious, strange stories were told. They +said that the wind, when it rustled among those trees, wailed +with a cry like that of one drowning, that the leaves shivered +and trembled as they did on no other branches; that the stirring +of them resembled deep-drawn sighs. They said flowers would +never grow in the thick grass, and that the antlered deer shunned +the spot. + +As much as possible the interior arrangements of Earlescourt had +been altered. Lillian had rooms prepared for her in the other +wing; those that had belonged to her hapless sister were left +undisturbed. Lady Dora kept the key; it was known when she had +been visiting them; the dark eyes bore traces of weeping. + +Beatrice had not been forgotten and never would be. Her name was +on Lillian's lips a hundred times each day. They had been twin +sisters, and it always seemed to her that part of herself lay in +the church yard at the foot of the hill. + +Gaspar Laurence had gone abroad--he could not endure the sight +or name of home. Lady Laurence hoped that time would heal a +wound that nothing else could touch. When, after some years, he +did return, it was seen that his sorrow would last for life. He +never married--he never cared for the name of any woman save +that of Beatrice Earle. + + * * * * * * * * * * * * + +A week after their return, Lillian Earle stood one evening +watching from the deep oriel window the sun's last rays upon the +flowers. Lionel joined her, and she knew from his face that he +had come to ask the question she had declined to answer before. + +"I have done penance, Lillian," he said, "if ever man has. For +two years I have devoted time, care, and thought to those you +love, for your sake; for two years I have tried night and day to +learn, for your sake, to become a better man. Do not visit my +fault too heavily upon me. I am hasty and passionate--I doubted +you who were true and pure; but, Lillian, in the loneliness and +sorrow of these two years I have suffered bitterly for my sin. I +know you are above all coquetry. Tell me, Lillian, will you be +my wife?" + +She gave him the answer he longed to hear, and Lionel Dacre went +straight to Lord Earle. He was delighted--it was the very +marriage upon which he had set his heart years before. Lady Dora +was delighted, too; she smiled more brightly over it than she had +smiled since the early days of her married life. Lady Helena +rejoiced when they told her, although it was not unexpected news +to her, for she had been Lionel's confidante during Lillian's +illness. + +There was no reason why the marriage should be delayed; the June +roses were blooming then, and it was arranged that it should take +place in the month of August. + +There were to be no grand festivities--no one had heart for +them; the wedding was to be quiet, attended only by a few +friends; and Lord Earle succeeded in obtaining a promise from +Lionel which completely set his heart at rest. It was that he +would never seek another home--that he and Lillian would consent +to live at Earlescourt. Her father could not endure the thought +of parting with her. + +"It will be your home, Lionel," he said, "in the course of after- +years. Make it so now. We shall be one family, and I think a +happy one." + +So it was arranged, much to everybody's delight. A few days +before the wedding took place, a letter came which seemed to +puzzle Lord Earle very much. He folded it without speaking, but, +when breakfast was over, he drew his wife's hand within his own. + +"Dora," he said, "there will never be any secrets between us for +the future. I want you to read this letter--it is from +Valentine Charteris that was, Princess Borgezi that is. She is +in England, at Greenoke, and asks permission to come to Lillian's +wedding; the answer must rest with you, dear." + +She took the letter from him and read it through; the noble heart +of the woman spoke in every line, yet in some vague way Dora +dreaded to look again upon the calm, grand beauty of Valentine's +face. + +"Have no fear, Dora, in saying just what you think," said her +husband; "I would not have our present happiness clouded for the +world. One word will suffice--if you do not quite like the +thought, I will write to her and ask her to defer the visit." + +But Dora would not be outdone in magnanimity. With resolute +force, she cast from her every unworthy thought. + +"Let her come, Ronald," she said, raising her clear, dark eyes to +his. "I shall be pleased to see her. I owe her some amends." + +He was unfeignedly pleased, and so was every one else. Lady +Helena alone felt some little doubts as to Dora's capability of +controlling herself. + +The Princess Borgezi was to come alone; she had not said at what +hour they might expect her. + +Lady Dora had hardly understood why her thoughts went back so +constantly to her lost child. Beatrice had loved the beautiful, +gracious woman who was coming to visit them. It may have been +that which prompted her, on the day before Lillian's marriage, +when the house was alive with the bustle and turmoil of +preparation, to go to the silent, solitary rooms where her +daughter's voice had once made sweetest music. + +She was there alone for some time; it was Lord Earle who found +her, and tried to still her bitter weeping. + +"It is useless, Ronald," she cried; "I can not help asking why my +bright, beautiful darling should be lying there. It is only two +years since a wedding wreath was made for her." + +Nothing would comfort her but a visit to her daughter's grave. +It was a long walk, but she preferred taking it alone. She said +she should feel better after it. They yielded to her wish. +Before she had quitted the house many minutes, the Princess +Borgezi arrived. + +There was no restraint in Ronald's greeting. He was heartily +glad to see her--glad to look once more on the lovely Grecian +face that had seemed to him, years ago, the only model for Queen +Guinivere. They talked for a few minutes; then Valentine, +turning to him, said: + +"Now let me see Lady Dora. My visit is really to her." + +They told her whither she had gone; and Lady Helena whispered +something to her with brought tears to Valentine's eyes. + +"Yes," she said; "I will follow her. I will ask her to kiss me +over her daughter's grave." + +Some one went with her to point out the way, but Valentine +entered the church yard alone. + +Through the thick green foliage she saw the shining of the white +marble cross, and the dark dress of Dora, who knelt by the grave. + +She went up to her. Her footsteps, falling noiselessly on the +soft grass, were unheard by the weeping mother. + +Valentine knelt by her side. Dora, looking up, saw the calm face +beaming down upon her, ineffable tenderness in the clear eyes. +She felt the clasp of Valentine's arms, and heard a sweet voice +whisper: + +"Dora, I have followed you here to ask you to try to love me, and +to pardon me for my share in your unhappy past. For the love of +your dead, who loved me, bury here all difference and dislike." + +She could not refuse. For the first time, Lord Earle's wife laid +her head upon that noble woman's shoulder and wept away her +sorrow, while Valentine soothed her with loving words. + +Over the grave of a child the two women were reconciled--all +dislike, jealousy, and envy died away forever. Peace and love +took their place. + +In the after-time there was something remarkable in Dora's +reverential love for Valentine. Lord Earle often said that in +his turn he was jealous of her. His wife had no higher ideal, no +truer friend than the Princess Borgezi. + +The wedding day dawned at last; and for a time all trace of +sadness was hidden away. Lord Earle would have it so. He said +that that which should be the happiest day of Lillian's life must +not be clouded. Such sad thoughts of the lost Beatrice as came +into the minds of those who had loved her remained unspoken. + +The summer sun never shone upon a more lovely bride, nor upon a +fairer scene than that wedding. The pretty country church was +decorated with flowers and crowded with spectators. + +Side by side at the altar stood Lady Dora Earle and Valentine. +People said afterward they could not decide whom they admired +most--Lady Helena's stately magnificence, Dora's sweet, simple +elegance, or the Princess Borgezi's statuesque Grecian beauty. + +Lord Earle had prepared a surprise for Dora. When the little +wedding party returned from the church, the first to greet them +was Stephen Thorne, now a white-headed old man, and his wife. +The first to show them all honor and respect were Lord Earle and +his mother. Valentine was charmed with their homely simplicity. + +For months after they returned to Knutsford the old people talked +of "the lady with the beautiful face, who had been so kind and +gracious to them." + +Lord Airlie did not attend the wedding, but he had urged Lionel +to spend his honeymoon at Lynnton Hall, and Lillian had willingly +consented. + +So they drove away when the wedding breakfast was over. A hundred +wishes for their happiness following them, loving words ringing +after them. Relatives, friends, and servants had crowded round +them; and Lillian's courage gave way at last. She turned to +Lionel, as though praying him to shorten their time of parting. + +"Heaven bless you, my darling!" whispered Dora to her child. +"And mind, never--come what may--never be jealous of your +husband." + +"Goodbye, Lionel," said Lord Earle, clasping the true, honest +hand in his; "and, if ever my little darling here tries you, be +patient with her." + +The story of a life time was told in these two behests. + + +Chapter XLV + +Ten years had passed since the wedding bells chimed for the +marriage of Lillian Earle. New life had come to Earlescourt. +Children's happy voices made music there; the pattering of little +feet sounded in the large, stately rooms, pretty, rosy faces made +light and sunshine. + +The years had passed as swiftly and peacefully as a happy dream. +One event had happened which had saddened Lord Earle for a few +days--the death of the pretty, coquettish Countess Rosali. She +had nor forgotten him; there came to him from her sorrowing +husband a ring which she had asked might be given to him. + +Gaspar Laurence was still abroad, and there was apparently no +likelihood of his return. The Princess Borgezi with her husband +and children, had paid several visits to the Hall. Valentine had +one pretty little daughter, upon whom Lionel's son was supposed +to look with most affection. She had other daughters--the +eldest, a tall, graceful girl, inherited her father's Italian +face and dark, dreamy eyes. Strange to say, she was not unlike +Beatrice. It may have been that circumstance which first +directed Lord Airlie's attention to her. He met her at +Earlescourt, and paid her more attention than he had paid to any +one since he had loved so unhappily years before. + +No one was much surprised when he married her. And Helena +Borgezi made a good wife. She knew his story, and how much of +his heart lay in the grave of his lost love. He was kind, +gentle, and affectionate to her, and Helena valued his +thoughtful, faithful attachment more than she would have valued +the deepest and most passionate love of another man. + +One room at Lynnton was never unlocked; strange feet never +entered it; curious eyes never looked round it. It was the +pretty boudoir built, but never furnished, for Hubert Airlie's +first love. + +Time softened his sorrow; his fair, gentle wife was devoted to +him, blooming children smiled around him; but he never forgot +Beatrice. In his dreams, at times, Helena heard her name on his +lips; but she was not jealous of the dead. No year passed in +which she did not visit the grave where Beatrice Earle slept her +last long sleep. + + * * * * * * * * * * * * + +Dora seemed to grow young again with Lillian's children. She +nursed and tended them. Lady Helena, with zealous eyes, looked +after Bertrand, the future lord of Earlescourt, a brave, noble +boy, his father's pride and Lillian's torment and delight, who +often said he was richer than any other lad in the country, for +he had three mothers, while others had but one. + + * * * * * * * * * * * * + +The sun was setting over the fair broad lands of Earlescourt, the +western sky was all aflame; the flowers were thirsting for the +soft dew which had just begun to fall. + +Out in the rose garden, where long ago a love story had been +told, were standing a group that an artist would have been +delighted to sketch. + +Lionel had some choice roses in bloom, and after dinner the whole +party had gone out to see them. Lady Helena Earle was seated on +the garden chair whereon Beatrice had once sat listening to the +words which had gladdened her brief life. A number of fair +children played around her. + +Looking on them with pleased eyes was a gentle, graceful lady. +Her calm, sweet face had a story in it, the wondrous dark eyes +had in them a shadow as of some sorrow not yet lived down. Lady +Dora Earle was happy; the black clouds had passed away. She was +her husband's best friend, his truest counselor; and Ronald had +forgotten that she was ever spoken of as "lowly born." The +dignity of her character, acquired by long years of stern +discipline, asserted itself; no one in the whole country side was +more loved or respected than Lady Dora Earle. + +Ronald, Lord Earle, was lying on the grass at his wife's feet. +He looked older, and the luxuriant hair was threaded with silver; +but there was peace and calm in his face. + +He laughed at Lillian and her husband conversing so anxiously +over the roses. + +"They are lovers yet," he said to Dora; and she glanced smilingly +at them. + +The words were true. Ten years married, they were lovers yet. +There was gentle forbearance on one side, an earnest wish to do +right on the other. Lillian Dacre never troubled her head about +"woman's rights;" she had no idea of trying to fill her husband's +place; if her opinion on voting was asked, the chances were that +she would smile and say, "Lionel manages all those matters." Yet +in her own kingdom she reigned supreme; her actions were full of +wisdom, he words were full of kindly thought. The quiet, serene +beauty of her youth had developed into that of magnificent +womanhood. The fair, spirituelle face was peerless in her +husband's eyes. There was no night or day during which Lionel +Dacre did not thank Heaven for that crown of all great gifts, a +good and gentle wife. + +There was a stir among the children; a tall, dark gentleman was +seen crossing the lawn, and Lionel cried: "Here is Gaspar +Laurence with his arms full of toys--those children will be +completely spoiled!" + +The little ones rushed forward, and Bertrand, in his hurry, fell +over a pretty child with large dark eyes and dark hair. Lord +Earle jumped up and caught her in his arms. + +"Bertie, my boy," he said, "always be kind to little Beatrice!" +The child clasped her arms round his neck. He kissed the dark +eyes and murmured to himself, "Poor little Beatrice!" + +The summer wind that played among the roses, lifting the golden, +rippling hair from Lillian's forehead and tossing her little +girl's curls into Lord Earle's face, was singing a sweet, low +requiem among the trees that shaded the grave of Beatrice Earle. + + + + + +End of The Project Gutenberg Etext Dora Thorne, by Charlotte M. Braeme + diff --git a/old/dorat10.zip b/old/dorat10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..892feef --- /dev/null +++ b/old/dorat10.zip |