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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/36364-h.zip b/36364-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..85f6b98 --- /dev/null +++ b/36364-h.zip diff --git a/36364-h/36364-h.htm b/36364-h/36364-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6de88dd --- /dev/null +++ b/36364-h/36364-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5104 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Zoe; Or, Some Day, by May Leonard. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} + +hr { + width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; +} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 92%; + font-size: smaller; + text-align: right; +} /* page numbers */ + +.linenum { + position: absolute; + top: auto; + left: 4%; +} /* poetry number */ + +.blockquot { + margin-left: 5%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + +.sidenote { + width: 20%; + padding-bottom: .5em; + padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; + padding-right: .5em; + margin-left: 1em; + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-top: 1em; + font-size: smaller; + color: black; + background: #eeeeee; + border: dashed 1px; +} + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + +.bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + +.bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + +.br {border-right: solid 2px;} + +.bbox {border: solid 2px;} + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + +.u {text-decoration: underline;} + +.caption {font-weight: bold;} + +/* Images */ +.figcenter { + margin: auto; + text-align: center; +} + +.figleft { + float: left; + clear: left; + margin-left: 0; + margin-bottom: 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 1em; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +.figright { + float: right; + clear: right; + margin-left: 1em; + margin-bottom: + 1em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-right: 0; + padding: 0; + text-align: center; +} + +/* Footnotes */ +.footnotes {border: dashed 1px;} + +.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} + +.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} + +.fnanchor { + vertical-align: super; + font-size: .8em; + text-decoration: + none; +} + +/* Poetry */ +.poem { + margin-left:10%; + margin-right:10%; + text-align: left; +} + +.poem br {display: none;} + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Zoe; Or, Some Day, by May Leonard + +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: Zoe; Or, Some Day + A Novel + +Author: May Leonard + +Release Date: June 9, 2011 [EBook #36364] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ZOE; OR, SOME DAY *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions +(www.canadiana.org)) + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + + +<h1>ZOE; Or, SOME DAY.</h1> + +<h3>A NOVEL.</h3> + +<h2>BY MAY LEONARD.</h2> + +<h3><span class="smcap">Authoress of "Trixie's Inheritance; or, Which Shall Win."</span></h3> + + +<h3>SAINT JOHN, N. B.:<br /> +PRINTED BY GEO. W. DAY, COR. PRINCESS AND PRINCE WM. STS.<br /> +1888.</h3> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<!-- Autogenerated TOC. Modify or delete as required. --> +<p> +<a href="#PREFACE">PREFACE.</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.—<span class="smcap">An Invitation</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.—"<span class="smcap">I shall snub her</span>"</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.—<span class="smcap">A Yachting Party</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.—<span class="smcap">A Stranger</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.—<span class="smcap">Fortune Telling</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.—"<span class="smcap">Your Sister, Dolores</span>"</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.—<span class="smcap">At Nice</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.—<span class="smcap">You never can tell</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.—"<span class="smcap">Shall we not be friends?</span>"</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X.—"<span class="smcap">I wonder who she can be?</span>"</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.—<span class="smcap">Trouble overtakes the best of men</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.—<span class="smcap">Too confiding. "Yes, it is my husband"</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.—<span class="smcap">The Convent of St. Marguerite</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.—<span class="smcap">Trying to be economical</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.—<span class="smcap">An accident. A wild hope</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.—"<span class="smcap">Truly, vengeance is mine</span>"</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.—<span class="smcap">Blondine gains the victory</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.—"<span class="smcap">A woman one does not meet every day</span>"</a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.—<span class="smcap">A revelation</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.—<span class="smcap">Rea's atonement. The new Mother Superior</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.—<span class="smcap">Ned Crane. "The one and the same,"</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.—<span class="smcap">Lord Streathmere's sit. Sir Barry's heart's desire</span></a><br /> +<a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII.—<span class="smcap">Zoe's some day</span></a><br /> +</p> +<!-- End Autogenerated TOC. --> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE.</h2> + + +<p>Just a few words to my readers, with regard to the book before them. The +story of a girl's ambition; a novel certainly, but containing many +incidents that have lately happened. It is most certainly very difficult +to attempt to please every one, when there are so many different tastes +to please. The many readers of my first novel, "Trixie's Inheritance; +or, Which shall Win?" were kind enough to remember that the story had +not come from the pen of a woman who had lived to realize the many +changes that happen during years of personal experience, but that it had +all been composed and written by a girl sixteen years old. They +pardoned, overlooked the many flaws and mistakes, and remembered that we +are not to be condemned for our first efforts. It was a very pleasant +remembrance for me of my first book, that Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, +on receipt of a copy, sent me the following recognition for my letter +and book:</p> + +<blockquote><p>"General Sir Henry T. Ponsonby is commanded by the Queen to +thank Miss May Leonard for her letter of the 20th March, and +for the book she sends."</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0"><span class="smcap">Buckingham Palace.</span><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">18th May, 1887.<br /></span> +</div></div> +</blockquote> + +<p>A copy was sent to Lord Lansdowne, Governor General of Canada, who also +sent a pleasant note of thanks.</p> + +<p>In conclusion, I wish to thank the many ladies and gentlemen who so +heartily, willingly and kindly have assisted me in making this, my +second book, so successful.</p> + +<p>MAY LEONARD.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>ZOE; Or, SOME DAY.</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.</h2> + +<h3>AN INVITATION.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Dark is her hair, her hand is white,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Her voice is exquisitely tender;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her eyes are full of a liquid light,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I never saw a waist so slender."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—<span class="smcap">Praed.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>"Dolores, will he ever come?"</p> + +<p>The hammock, slung between the two sturdy old apple trees, swings gently +to and fro, the scorching rays of an August sun beat fiercely down, the +bees hum lazily in the dense heat, the flowers droop their pretty heads, +as if inviting a refreshing shower to brighten their fainting spirits.</p> + +<p>"Dolores, I believe you are asleep. Do you think he will soon be here?"</p> + +<p>"Who?" comes the lazy enquiry from the young lady of the hammock.</p> + +<p>"Why, the postman, of course. How stupid of you not to remember. I never +saw any one so indifferent in my life."</p> + +<p>Zoe's red lips form themselves into as near a pout as her ever ready +smiling mouth will allow.</p> + +<p>"Who could be anything else than indifferent on a day such as this?" is +the half sleepy reply.</p> + +<p>"Dolores, like my own sweet sister, sit up and talk to me."</p> + +<p>The bees hum on, the butterflies light here and there, now on this +flower, now on that. Then sweet, gentle, pretty Dolores Litchfield +stretches her white arms over her pretty head, yawns, and slips from the +hammock.</p> + +<p>"Now Zoe, you little worry, what is the trouble?"</p> + +<p>Dropping into a garden chair, Dolores folds her white hands, to await +further developments from her wilful, impulsive, harum-scarum sister +Zoe.</p> + +<p>"How handsome you are, Dolores. Do you think I shall ever be as +beautiful as you, do you, Dolores?" the girl cries eagerly.</p> + +<p>Dolores brushes a fly off her white dress and laughs softly.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Zoe, what a little flatterer. One of those days I will be no +comparison to my little sister; you will eclipse me in every respect." +And Miss Litchfield smiles fondly at the troubled, eager face before +her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I could never be like you, Dolores. I have a wicked temper, and a +quick tongue; were I not to speak out what I think, why I should choke +to death. I may have a pretty face and nice figure, but I can never be +good, unselfish, forgiving, like you, never."</p> + +<p>The girl shakes her head; she feels herself far from perfect. Since +Dolores has come home from her foreign tour she has been her sister's +ideal of all women.</p> + +<p>"How I do wish he would come," the youngest Miss Litchfield says +impatiently. "He is like the policemen in town, never around when they +are wanted. Well," defiantly, "I don't care a snap of my finger if he +comes or stays."</p> + +<p>Dolores smiled in her lazy fashion; she is too much accustomed to Zoe's +"ways," to say anything.</p> + +<p>"Dolores, talk to me; tell me a story, anything to put in the time, +something you saw on your visit abroad; it must be an Italian story; +dear, beautiful, sunny Italy! Oh, Dolores! what would I not give to be +there! What pictures I could paint! I did not for one moment begrudge +your going, but if I could have had the chance, I would have painted +pictures which would have made me famous. Oh, Dolores, think what it is +to be famous. Some day, it may be far off or it may be near, but the +time will surely come, when you will be proud to own me as your sister. +I want—my ambition is—to be great, grand, noble."</p> + +<p>Dolores laughs. "And good, my sister; that is better than all," she +says, smiling. "My ambitious little one, do not be too eager, you have +all your life before you yet; fame will not be caught easily; she +demands much chasing, and those who pursue her have many slips and +tumbles before they achieve their end, so be patient. And now for the +story."</p> + +<p>"Well, once upon a time there was a castle in Italy, a beautiful, +costly, grand structure. The lord of the castle was a brave, generous +gentleman, honorable and true. His lady was lovely, proud, and intensely +jealous of her very charming husband; she had a gentle serving maid, +Christina, a girl as pure in thought and deed as the lily; they had +grown up as playfellows. The Countess was very fond of her, for she was +not like her other friends. The Countess would quarrel with any and +every one, on account of her fiery temper; with Christina she never +quarreled. The maid was fond of solitude, and passed her spare time in +wandering alone among a grove of beautiful trees, her white dress could +often be seen as she paced back and forth among the dark trees, and +gained for her, among the people, the name of the White Lady. The +Countess' room was costly and elegant, the toilet table was of massive +silver, covered with a profusion of everything handsome. Her chair was +placed in front of the glass, and one day, so the legend runs, she was +sitting there, while Christina was combing her mistress's golden hair; +the Count was called away on urgent business, and as he passed through +the door she saw, as she believed, a smile, a glance at parting, given +and answered, that turned her heart almost to stone. That night, ere the +moon was up, Christina was led forth; no instrument of death was used, +not one hair of her head was harmed. In all the full glow of life and +health, fair, gentle, good Christina was walled up within the castle +walls, in a vault under the chapel. And now, every night, at the same +hour, a figure stands, with eyes uplifted, and hands clasped in prayer, +then it vanishes, and the hunter meets her on his hunting track, and the +shepherd on the heath starts and exclaims, 'It is the White Lady!'"</p> + +<p>Dolores' voice sinks to a whisper; there are tears in her dusky eyes. +Surely one would think the sad story of poor Christina awakened more +than a passing feeling of sadness for her in Dolores' kind heart. Zoe +was too much interested to notice her sister's silence.</p> + +<p>"And you really walked in the Countess' own room, saw the grove where +Christina walked and spent her lonely hours of solitude, and the vault +which she never came out of?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear, it was all very lovely, sad and beautiful," the eldest Miss +Litchfield replies. "But look! your patience is rewarded; there comes +the postman in at the gate."</p> + +<p>Zoe darts off in quest of the daily post. Before many minutes she is +back again, her face wreathed in smiles, for there actually was a letter +addressed to Miss Zoe Litchfield, from an affectionate girl friend; and +soon Zoe is deep in its contents. Dolores languidly scans the +handwriting on the large square envelope addressed to herself, then +breaks the seal, and reads; and as she reads a gleam of satisfaction, +quickly followed by one of sorrow, passes over her ever changing face.</p> + +<p>"What's in yours, Dolores?" Zoe asks, putting her own epistle in the +pocket of her white frilled apron.</p> + +<p>"There is to be a yachting party, and I have been invited to join it," +Dolores answers, absently gazing at a rose bush stirred by the breeze.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" Zoe ejaculates. "Will you go? Who asked you? Won't it be sublime?"</p> + +<p>Zoe's eyes dilate, and a wish, not altogether unnatural in a girl +fifteen years old, arises in her mind, to be Dolores. Now, however, +Dolores smiles faintly, and says slowly,</p> + +<p>"I shall think it over. The Hon. Jeremiah Hopkins sent the invitation, +and as to its being sublime, I suppose so."</p> + +<p>Then Dolores arises and goes across the lawn towards the house, with her +white dress trailing over the green grass behind her. Pretty, graceful, +sweet Dolores. What was the reason no one cared to be seen talking to +her? And in crowded parlors or assemblies, if her name happened to be +mentioned, why did virtuous mammas look at the person who spoke her name +with such a shocked expression? Surely gentle Dolores could not have +wronged any one by word or deed. A gentleman once said, speaking of Miss +Litchfield, "That if ever a true, pure woman lived, a woman on whom any +man might stake his life and honor, it was a woman like Dolores +Litchfield whom he might trust." And it is quite safe to say, that this +praise did not make Dolores any more of a favourite with the roomful of +ladies of all ages, where the remark was made.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.</h2> + +<h3>I SHALL SNUB HER.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"A favourite has no friends."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—<span class="smcap">Gray.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>"And just for that one simple reason you refuse this invitation; which +you have been craving for so long a time? Well, my dear, stranger every +day grow the works and ways of this troublesome world. Of course you +certainly know your own reasons best; it is nothing to me if you act +foolish." Mrs. St. James shrugs her pretty shoulders as she looks with +astonishment at her young visitor, charming Rea Severn, who, as she +stands before the cosy fire, tapping her small foot impatiently on the +brightly polished fender, looks the original of injured dignity.</p> + +<p>"No, but Arial, just think yourself, how more than provoking it is. What +do you think possessed Jerry to invite the girl? Oh dear, the men are so +green sometimes; there is no accounting for their tastes in some +matters."</p> + +<p>Mrs. St. James smiles, and twists the heavy gold bracelet about on her +white arm as she replies:</p> + +<p>"Be reasonable, Rea; of the two, I have more reason to dread the meeting +than you." Bitterly, "I owe her a debt, and she—I wonder if she has +forgotten what she owes me?"</p> + +<p>After a considerable pause, with some more impatient tapping of the +little high-heeled boots on the fender, Rea decided that upon second +thought, perhaps it would not do any good to any one, and beside be a +great punishment to herself, to remain away from this entertainment. It +had been so extremely nice of Jerry Hopkins, (the Honorable Jeremiah, +but dubbed "Jerry" by his intimates), to give this yachting party to his +friends. The gentlemen all declared it would be just the thing, and the +ladies, why they were charmed. Then, above all, on their trip they were +to visit one of H. M. steamships. The officers, who were all well known +to the Hon. Jerry's guests, had invited them to a dance on board the war +ship, lunch afterward, and then row by moonlight back to the yacht.</p> + +<p>Rea Severn was delighted; but when she heard that pretty Dolores, the +eldest daughter of Edward Litchfield, Esq., the genial and portly +ship-builder, was one of the invited guests, she was so angry that on +the impulse of the moment, in a burst of temper, she had flown to her +bosom friend, wealthy Arial St. James, and declares her determination to +refuse to go.</p> + +<p>"And another thing, Rea," Mrs. St. James goes on in her soft, smooth +tones, "you have surely heard of the arrival of Lady Streathmere and her +son. To be sure I remember distinctly when I went to school with him, +what a perfectly horrid little boy he was. Such a coward; beat all the +little boys and girls smaller than himself, and run when one of his own +age and size approached. But for appearance sake, and the hope that he +has improved with his years, we must be civil. Then it must be +remembered, a match like he would be, with I forget how much income a +year, is not to be picked up every day for the asking. Perhaps if you +are favored by Fate, and try hard enough, you might make an impression."</p> + +<p>Rea was prevented from a replying by the door being opened and a servant +announcing Mr. Gordon Aubrey. Mrs. St. James arises to welcome him, and +Rea's pouting lips become radiant with smiles. Mr. Aubrey was tall, +slight and fair. He had a great habit of continually looking at you +through an eye-glass, which to some of his friends proved decidedly +embarrassing. When the eye attachment proved wearisome he took to +stroking a slight moustache, of which he was extremely proud, which was +a very good thing, because no one else considered it worth noticing. +They talked about the approaching yachting cruise, last night's concert, +the theatre of last week, the people in town, the merits of the latest +novel, and the last new song. Then Rea happened to glance toward the +window, to behold the rain pouring in torrents. Mrs. St. James presses +her to remain, but she declares it is impossible, that mamma will wonder +what has happened to her. So Gordon Aubrey jumps up to offer Miss Severn +a seat in his covered carriage waiting at the door; and Rea, thinking of +her thin shoes and the probable fate of the costly suit she is wearing, +is not inclined to refuse to be driven home in Mr. Aubrey's or any one +else's carriage. She likes him quite well, and so smilingly consents to +go with nice looking but fickle Gordan Aubrey, who falls in love with +every pretty new face he meets.</p> + +<p>"And you will not refuse Jerry's invitation?" Mrs. St. James says, in a +whisper; and Rea, as she stands in the hall, draws her tall figure to +its fullest height, replies:</p> + +<p>"No; I shall not refuse Jerry. As for Dolores Litchfield, I will snub +her."</p> + +<p>"My dear child," Mrs. St. James says quickly, "as I told you before, her +going should not influence you, and why worry about imaginary evils; it +is quite time enough when they appear, so be sensible; it is not your +nature to despond."</p> + +<p>As Rea turns to say good-bye, she cries impulsively, "Oh, Arial! what +would become of me without you? I should get discouraged and give up +altogether."</p> + +<p>Gordon Aubrey calls out that he will have no more whispering, for who +can tell but what it might be something about him. Then Rea takes her +place in the large roomy carriage, while the footman climbs up in his +seat beside the coachman, where in a united way they call down devout +blessings on their master's head for his extreme thoughtlessness in +letting the horses stay out in the rain for a good half hour. Such were +the woes of Gordon Aubrey's Jehu.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.</h2> + +<h3>A YACHTING PARTY.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Broken friendship may be soldered, but never made sound."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—<span class="smcap">German Proverb.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>Out over the clear blue waters come floating sweetly the music of the +band on board of Her Majesty's flag ship, the "Keepsake." Since five +o'clock the war ship's dainty boats had been plying to and fro between +the shore and the steamer, laden with gaily attired guests, for there +was a dance being given on board by the officers. The little luxurious +yacht, belonging to the Hon. Jeremiah Hopkins, anchored not many yards +from the steamer, was left to itself, save for the crew and servants, +for the Hon. Jeremiah and his guests were all over attending the +gorgeous entertainment provided by the "Keepsake." A bright-hued awning +covered the deck where dancing was enjoyed. The whole vessel had a gay +holiday appearance; then everything was so spotlessly clean, why one +could eat one's dinner off the very decks.</p> + +<p>Mrs. St. James is here, looking superb. Her husband never accompanies +his clever wife; she was much younger than he. Another thing, he was too +much engrossed with his busy business life to care for gaieties; so he +left her to go her own way, enjoy herself after her own fashion, nor +ever complained if his dream of having a cosy home, with a bright +pleasant companion to discuss his affairs with, and be his household +fairy, had vanished. It certainly was nonsense to fancy such a life for +Arial. Why, she was a mere child when he married her; she was of the +world, worldly. So Mr. St. James kept his own counsel, his temper and +his tongue. She is now standing by the railing, watching the little +waves lapping against the ship's side. She is laughing too, in that lazy +fashion so peculiarly her own, while the pretty boyish looking fellow at +her side thinks that if ever he had a friend in the world, to whom he +would confide his secrets, that woman is Mrs. St. James. No one knew +exactly who Ned Crane was; he had no friends or relatives; at least no +one knew if he had any. He was a young bank clerk. Mrs. St. James was +very proud of him, made a pet of him, while Mr. St. James liked the boy, +and said "the lad would make a fine man if he lived." Every one liked +him, for he was a jolly good fellow, beloved by one and all, as all +sunny-dispositioned persons are, welcomed everywhere for the pleasant +brightness their presence throws around.</p> + +<p>"Do introduce me, Mrs. St. James. I will do any thing for you if you +will. Come, before the next band."</p> + +<p>Mrs. St. James does not reply, but the lazy smile leaves her perfect +face, as she looks into the boy's dark, earnest eyes. Arial has good +places in her character. She pities the young man at her side; it will +not be without an effort, to save him further pain, that she refuses to +do as he asks.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Ned," she says gently, "why do you wish to know this Miss +Litchfield? There are lots of the girls here whom you know; it is more +than probable were you to ask for a dance she would refuse you, on the +ground that all her dances are promised; so it would only be another +case of the 'moth and the candle.' See, there is Florrie Silverstone +just over there, waiting for you to ask her. Ah! Gordon, you promised to +show me over the vessel; shall we go?" and Mrs. St. James places her +dainty hand on Gordon Aubrey's arm, calls Rea to join them, and turns +away.</p> + +<p>"Well! of all the cool acts I ever heard of, that was done the neatest." +Ned looks after the retreating trio with a comical mixture of amusement +and vexation. Then he sees Jerry Hopkins, and when Mrs. St. James +returns to dance her promised waltz with a lieutenant of the flagship, +who had gone down without a struggle before her charms, she glances +across the deck, while a look—is it displeasure, or what?—crosses her +face, for what she sees is Ned Crane pacing to and fro, and beside him, +in a marvel of a white lace dress, is Dolores Litchfield. She has +removed her white lace and satin hat, and Ned, looking too utterly happy +for anything, is carefully holding a huge white lace parasol above her +pretty dark head. Arial St. James never loses her temper at trifles; if +Ned will be so headstrong, to get himself into scrapes, he will have to +get out again the best way he can. However, she goes over, with her +prettiest smile, and taps Dolores on the shoulder with her fan.</p> + +<p>"Can it be possible, Miss Litchfield, that you have forgotten me?"</p> + +<p>Dolores starts, turns pale, then a hot, burning blush dyes her smooth +young cheek. It is very evident Mrs. St. James and Miss Litchfield are +not entire strangers to each other. Ned Crane, standing there, never +remembers having felt so guilty ever in his life before; not that there +was any reason for feeling so, but it was decidedly annoying to have +Mrs. St. James lift her large blue eyes to his face, with a look that +said so plainly, "You know her in spite of me, don't you?" Then the pink +flush leaves Dolores' pretty face, and she looks Arial straight in the +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mrs. St. James, I remember you perfectly. Our past knowledge of +each other could scarcely allow of my forgetting you. As for your +recognizing me, to be candid, I never dreamed you would do so."</p> + +<p>For once Mrs. St. James almost loses her presence of mind. She looks as +if it would do her good to shake the girl standing before her, looking +so beautiful and defiant.</p> + +<p>"Why should I not recognise you, Dolores? You will allow me to call you +so still, will you not?"</p> + +<p>Dolores' heart beats under the pretty lace dress almost to suffocation, +the deeply hidden fiery blood inherited from her Southern mother, up to +this moment had slumbered; now it broke forth.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. St. James, I allow no one, only my friends, to call me by my +Christian name. If you consider yourself my friend, I think otherwise. +Had I treated you as basely as you have done me, who never harmed you +knowingly, would you consider me other than the deadliest enemy? No! you +shall not call me Dolores, never, never again."</p> + +<p>Dolores stamps her little slippered foot with decision; she is trembling +with passion. Surely something has touched quiet, lazy, languid, sweet +Dolores very deeply, to arouse such a tirade of passion and feeling. +Mrs. St. James laughs lightly.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you have not forgiven me yet? Well you know, dear," she goes on, +not heeding Dolores' averted face, "you know, dear, what I said was +true. I meant you no harm when I spoke of your mother's nationality. You +would not listen to any explana—"</p> + +<p>But Dolores interrupted her.</p> + +<p>"You called my mother a negress. You said a man in my father's position +was worse than a fool to marry a penniless negress. Some one said you +were mistaken, that Mr. Litchfield's wife was a Creole; and I heard you, +with my own ears, say there was not a shadow of difference; one was the +same as the other. But," and Dolores comes down from her towering rage +to a wonderfully quiet tone, "I forgive you for all the pain you may +have caused me—you know for whose sake, and the reason why I do +forgive, even though I shall never forget. Will you shake hands with +me?"</p> + +<p>Of course no human mortal could bear to refuse to take the girl's +outstretched hand. But Ned Crane was perfectly dumbfounded to see proud, +haughty Arial St. James eagerly clasp Dolores' hand in both her own, +and, can it be possible? yes, there are tears in the large blue eyes +that people say look as if the owner had no feeling.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Dolores, you are and have been an angel. My pride makes me forget +sometimes; but I should never quarrel with you, should I, Dolores, +should I?" Mrs. St. James passes her white handkerchief across her eyes.</p> + +<p>"We won't talk about it any more," the eldest Miss Litchfield replies. +"Pray don't make yourself miserable; your secret is safe with me."</p> + +<p>Then Dolores turns to Ned with a grave, earnest look in her pretty dark +eyes. "I trust you will pardon my unhappy interview with the lady who +has just left us."</p> + +<p>And Ned declares that of course he never thought anything about it; then +immediately condemned himself by saying Mrs. St. James was a fiend. +Dolores laughs softly.</p> + +<p>"You should never take up the cudgels for other people, Mr. Crane. I did +the same thing myself one time, and found it would not work."</p> + +<p>The gong sounds for luncheon, and Gordon Aubrey comes up hurriedly.</p> + +<p>"You promised I should take you down, Miss Litchfield. I hope you have +not forgotten."</p> + +<p>Gordon forgets, in the excitement of the moment, to adjust the gold +eye-glass, to stare at Mr. Crane as he reluctantly furled Dolores' white +parasol and placed it carefully in her hand.</p> + +<p>The dance was a grand success; the officers did all that lay in their +power to make it so; and as the party from the yacht took their +departure, floating dreamily across the smooth moonlit waters, all felt +perfectly contented with the day's pleasure. All but pretty, restless +Rea Severn; her peace of mind was sadly disturbed, and why? Well, +perhaps Dolores Litchfield, sitting there, leaning over the side of the +pretty little row-boat, idly trailing her white fingers in the cool +water, with Gordon Aubrey apparently utterly unconscious of everything +else, sitting beside her, trying to be as entertaining as possible. +Perhaps that had something to do with Rea's coldness to Jerry Hopkins, +who is talking to her now, and who, chatty people say, is not +indifferent to Miss Severn's good looks, or her forty thousand pounds.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.</h2> + +<h3>A STRANGER.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He lived at peace with all mankind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In friendship he was true;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His coat had pocket holes behind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His pantaloons were blue."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—<span class="smcap">A. G. Greene.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>"Zoe, come in out of the hot sun, child; do you hear? Sitting out there +in the full glare, bless my soul, without even a hat on your head."</p> + +<p>Miss Adeline Litchfield, the monitress of the Litchfield establishment, +stands in the pretty front porch, overhung with fragrant blossoming +honeysuckle and sweet climbing roses. She looks with wrathful eyes upon +her niece, curled up on a chair on the veranda, her book on the top +railing, with her elbows beside it, her head buried in her two hands. +Zoe was lost to the objects around and the world in general. She was far +off, taking a far deeper interest in the pleasures and trials of her +friends in the book spread out before her, than in the everyday +employments or household duties in which "auntie" wished her to excel.</p> + +<p>"Zoe! do you hear me? Come in directly."</p> + +<p>"Let me alone, Auntie; I am all right. I just have two chapters more, +and then I'll come."</p> + +<p>Miss Litchfield retires discomfitted, but not conquered. After a few +moments she again appears, bearing a large white sun hat, daintily +trimmed with muslin, and a small oval basket. Going over to the guilty +party, she quietly shuts the book up and puts it under her arm.</p> + +<p>"Zoe, put on your hat; I want you to go an errand for me, down to Mrs. +Haley's. Tell her I was so well pleased with the rolls of fresh butter +she sent, that I will take two more."</p> + +<p>Zoe's eyes blazed; it was on the tip of her quick tongue to say, "I +won't;" but an inward sense of politeness forbade her to do so; for +though "Auntie" had a sharp tongue and a strong sense of right, which +made her at times hard to get on with, still for all that her two +nieces, to whom she had been mother, counsellor and friend since their +own mother left them, were wrapped up in quick-tempered but kind meaning +aunt Adeline.</p> + +<p>People were not sure if Mrs. Litchfield was dead or not. Rumors had been +afloat that she had left her husband. No one dared question either Mr. +Litchfield nor his sister; every one knew it to be an understood fact +that the family desired the public to consider her dead. "Auntie" had +always been all-in-all to her brother and his children.</p> + +<p>Now Auntie hurries in to the kitchen, to see that the beautiful brown +loaves of bread, baking in the oven, are not burning. Zoe departs on her +mission; she walks down the road slowly; it is awfully warm. Goodness! +she never felt the heat so intense, with such a trot way down ever so +far. Ah! here is a brilliant chance for saving herself the weary walk to +Mrs. Haley's. Coming down behind is a cart filled with hay, and sitting +on top are three little boys in white pinafores, chattering to the old +man who holds the reins, and every little while flicks a fly off the +horses' backs with the whip he idly dangles.</p> + +<p>"Have a ride?" comes in chorus from the load of hay. Without a second +invitation, throwing the basket up ahead, Zoe climbs nimbly up; with the +able assistance of the three small pinafored gentlemen, she is pulled +triumphantly aloft. The heat is great, but it has no visible effect on +the three younger members of the party. After tumbling about at the +imminent peril of being minutely precipitated over the side, they +propose to bury Zoe alive. This takes some time to accomplish to every +one's satisfaction, so long, in fact, that presently Mrs. Haley's white +mite of a cottage appears in view. Zoe suggests that perhaps she had +better alight before she gets quite to the door. So the horses are +stopped by a tremendous "whoa!" and Zoe proceeds to descend as +gracefully as it is possible to do so. She is going down famously, +thinking how more than fortunate it is that she got this ride on such a +melting day. She happens to glance up the road; oh, horrors! coming +leisurely down, with his hands thrust carelessly in the pockets of a +little dark blue shooting coat, and a cigar between his lips, is a +man—a young man too—and, yes, he is looking at her. She misses her +balance, her foot slips, and, throwing her arms wildly upward, arrives +in the arms of mother earth, in any but a dignified descent.</p> + +<p>The "horrid brute" came quickly to see if he could assist the young lady +to arise; he takes her arm, and Zoe stands up, her face as red as the +scarlet passion flower tucked in her belt.</p> + +<p>"You are very kind," she stammers. "I should not have got up there; it +was very unfortunate."</p> + +<p>The gentleman, finding she is unharmed, lifts his hat and proceeds on +his way.</p> + +<p>Zoe hurries into Mrs. Haley's. Oh how silly she feels; oh heart! what +would auntie say if she knew the disgrace which had fallen upon her +niece? She wondered, with a sickening at her heart, if he had seen her +feet. Oh, dear! if he had would it not be dreadful? She looked at her +pretty slippered feet inquiringly. Of course they were nothing to be +ashamed of, but oh dear! And now come to think of it, "Auntie" had +strictly forbidden her riding on top of hay carts, ever since she had +read in the papers how some one had fell and broke their arm. Oh, she +hoped and prayed Auntie would never find out this wretched morning's +work.</p> + +<p>Zoe did her errand, and returned home, taking special care to "walk." +And the "horrid man," sitting on the veranda, talking so comfortably +with aunt Adeline, on being presented to "my youngest niece," bows, and +seems as unconscious of ever having laid eyes on the youngest Miss +Litchfield before, or knew what a pretty sight a young lady could make +of herself, coming to the ground in a diagonal line from half way down a +cart of hay. Yes, coming quickly around the corner, and running right up +the steps, she was astonished at finding this stranger conversing with +her aunt. Miss Litchfield rocked to and fro in the little wicker chair, +and Zoe, as she stands there holding the little basket with the rolls of +fragrant, sweet butter, covered with cool green leaves, concludes in her +own mind, this young man must be something of a favourite, or auntie +would not be so willing to be interrupted in her morning's work.</p> + +<p>"Zoe, how hot you are, child; your face is perfectly scarlet. What is +the matter with your skirt, child? a great rent in one side, a frill +torn beyond all mending, and the dress a brand new muslin, just made +last week. Where have you been, or what have you been about, to, +literally speaking, come home in such a ragamuffin fashion?"</p> + +<p>Zoe looks at her dress in dismay. Not for one instant had she remembered +to notice if her tumble had proved destructive to the pretty new suit +she had felt so proud of. Auntie was waiting for an answer to her +question. The young gentleman was busy looking at the fuschia climbing +up the pillar near which he sat. Perhaps he turned to look at the +flower, perhaps it was to hide the smile of amusement which would curl +the corners of his handsome mouth.</p> + +<p>"Put your hair off your forehead, do, child. The person who invented the +fashion of wearing one's hair all over their eyes should have been +banished from all civilized lands. The only thing that will keep your +father out of Heaven, Zoe Litchfield, is your persistent act of wearing +bangs, for it is the only fault in you that makes him angry."</p> + +<p>Just then the visitor turns around and deliberately surveys the pretty +culprit.</p> + +<p>"Nothing wrong in keeping along with the times, Miss Litchfield," he +says pleasantly; and Zoe casts him a grateful glance from the pretty +blue eyes, whose color no one can tell the exact shade. Any one who will +defend her pet bang is Zoe's friend.</p> + +<p>"I will tell you some other time how this wretched dress got torn. +Surely you will trust me enough to know I will tell you the truth, and +the exact truth about it." And Zoe turns to walk into the house, her +head thrown proudly up, with the torn frill of her white gown trailing +after her.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.</h2> + +<h3>FORTUNE TELLING.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Lady, cross the Gipsy's hand with gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She will to you the future unfold."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—<span class="smcap">Mae.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>"What a beautiful spot! how lovely if we could go on shore and +investigate."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Miss Litchfield, that is an excellent idea of yours. I will order +the boats out, and if the company are willing we will row over and +land."</p> + +<p>The Hon. Jerry goes rapidly away to give the order. Dolores is sitting +in a camp chair on the deck of the Hon. Jerry's yacht, a scarlet shawl +thrown lightly over her pretty shoulders. The yacht has glided into one +of the most charming inlets of beautiful scenery Dolores' eyes have seen +since her return from abroad.</p> + +<p>"Are we to really go on shore?" demands Rea Severn, lifting for a moment +her eyes from the crazy cushion she is engaged in making. She has been +industriously at work, with her eyes fixed most devoutly on the silks +and crewels, but her ears have heard every word Dolores and the Hon. +Jerry have spoken for the last twenty minutes.</p> + +<p>"I believe so," Dolores answers absently. She is busy gazing dreamily +across the deep, blue, shining, sparkling, rippling waters.</p> + +<p>"Come, ladies, let us be up and doing; the boats are ready."</p> + +<p>Gordon Aubrey flings overboard the cigar he has been smoking, and a +general move is made. Rea Severn hastily tosses aside her work, and puts +on the hat her maid has brought. Rea, Dolores, Mrs. St. James, Gordon +Aubrey, the Hon. Jerry, Ned Crane, and Florrie Silverstone depart. The +other members of the party are either too lazy, or have something to do +more pleasing to their minds than going to explore a place which would +in all probability be "abounding in snakes, bugs, and other venomous +reptiles," as old Lady Streathmere observed when she was told of the +intended expedition. Lord Streathmere would have gone too, and been only +too happy, especially as Dolores went, for poor Lord Streathmere was very +severely smitten with pretty, gentle Dolores; but unfortunately for him +he had gone on the tug boat to view a wrecked steamer some five or six +miles away.</p> + +<p>Ned Crane whispered, as he took his accustomed place by Dolores' side, +"that he was just as glad Streathmere could not come, as there was no +room for him in the boat." Mrs. St. James smiles languidly, endeavoring +now and then to stem the current of squabbling going on between Florrie +Silverstone and Gordon Aubrey. They never agree; so at last Arial gives +the attempt up in despair, and turns her attention to Ned and Dolores. +When at length the boat grates on the beach, three little children, with +bare feet, are building castles in the sand. They are well dressed +children, probably boarding here for the summer months. They gaze in +wide eyed wonder at the boat and her occupants; evidently they are not +accustomed to have their sandy domains intruded upon by strangers. The +eldest, a girl of eight or nine, accosted Gordon Aubrey.</p> + +<p>"Have you come to have your fortune told?" she asked sharply.</p> + +<p>"Will you do me the honor to tell me mine?" he answered with all due +respect to the oracle. She looked him over critically, from the toe of +his trim shoe to the top of his jaunty sailor hat.</p> + +<p>"People like you, with only one eye, and the other one glass, can't have +much to be told, I know," the tiny maid replies, looking at him from +under her big shady hat.</p> + +<p>"Who tells fortunes on this fairy island? won't you tell me, little +one?" Mrs. St. James touches the child's dark curly head caressingly.</p> + +<p>"Molly will; but you have to give her gold, or she won't." This +information was supplied by one of the other children.</p> + +<p>"What a joke if we could find some one who could tell us," Rea Severn +cries.</p> + +<p>Jerry Hopkins shows the girl a bright silver dollar, and says if she +will show them where "Molly" is to be found she may consider herself the +happy possessor of the aforesaid dollar.</p> + +<p>"Certainly, I will take you to Molly's tent, but mamma never allows us +to take money from strangers," the tiny maiden replies, as she sat down +in the sand to put on her stockings and slippers. Then she led the way +to the Gipsy's camp. Jerry Hopkins put the rejected offering in his +pocket, thinking that some children are wiser than people twice their +age.</p> + +<p>"Here's her tent, and there's Molly. See Molly," she cries, "I brought +you some people that want you to tell them their fortune. Will you tell +them, Molly? Will you?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, little Miss, you never forget old Molly, do you, dearie? Tell them +to come in." Dolores feels a shiver go over her; a nasty, creepy, +crawley sensation always seizes her at the mention of either Gipsy or +Indian. Auntie always had such a horror of all such travelling +companies. It may have been hearing her talk of them with so much +repulsion that made Dolores, who is generally so fearless, feel nervous +now.</p> + +<p>"You are not frightened?" Ned Crane has watched Dolores' pretty pink +colour die slowly out of her face and lips.</p> + +<p>"Let the others go in; we will stand out here by the door to take in all +that is going on inside."</p> + +<p>When she finds she is not expected to go inside the miserable hut, +Dolores brightens up, and the pink comes back to her cheeks. So they +station themselves in the doorway. Contrary to most people of their or +her profession, the Gipsy allows them all to remain; so, as each is +being warned of that which is in store for them, good, bad or +indifferent, every one hears what every one else is told.</p> + +<p>"She seems pretty well up in the arts," Ned whispers; Dolores nods; she +is listening intently. Mrs. St. James has shuffled and cut the cards, +she has also wished in obedience to the rule.</p> + +<p>"Your path has once been more rugged than that which you now tread, my +lady. There is a dark spot in your past, on which you pray, the light of +knowledge may never shine. There is one here present, who can betray you +if she chooses."</p> + +<p>Mrs. St. James glances toward the door; the gipsy's eyes also take the +same direction. Dolores stands there, placidly, calmly; she meets the +eyes turned on her with cool indifference; her pocket-handkerchief drops +to the ground; she stoops to pick it up, and the gipsy goes on:</p> + +<p>"There is a dark gentleman here whom you will have some trouble with. +There is a disappointment for you; but you will get your wish even if it +does turn out differently from what you think. You will get some money, +and there is a pleasant conversation with a light man. He has a good +heart for you; will tell you some pleasant news. You will receive a +letter within a day or two. Your life will be full of ups and downs, the +same as most of us."</p> + +<p>"Now, pretty lady, will you cross the gipsy's palm?" She has turned to +Rea Severn. "You are anxious about the doings of a fair man; but my +pretty one, put no faith in him; the men are fickle, the best of them. +You will be a little sick, not much, but brought on by your own +foolishness. Let me advise you to drop the habit you have contracted. If +you do not kill it, it will kill you; so be guided."</p> + +<p>Rea shivers; she begins to feel a little frightened; she is glad the +others are behind her; it would not answer for them to see the +expression of fear on her face. Then each of the others had their turn. +Dolores refused to have anything to do with cards; she despised the very +sight of them. She told Ned they sent a cold chill over her, and Ned +believed it.</p> + +<p>"How silly! What ails you, Dolores? You are generally one of the last to +back down when any fun is going on," Florrie Silverstone says +petulantly. There have been some facts told Florrie, by the gipsy, which +have made her a little cross. But Dolores is busy, and does not answer. +She has taken some tall golden-eyed daisies from the hedge row.</p> + +<p>"It is a much pleasanter way to tell one's own fortune, you know," she +tells Ned, the ever attentive; and of course Ned agrees—he always does +to what pretty Dolores says.</p> + +<p>"He loves me, he loves me not; he loves me, how nice," Dolores laughs +softly, as she flings the petalless flower in the water.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Will it be a soldier smart, who will storm and take me?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or will a sailor break my heart, his figure-head to make me?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will it be a man to preach, Even-song and Matin?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or shall I go to school again, with Jack to teach me Latin?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Will it be a coach and four? Will it be a carriage?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or will a cart be at the door, to take me to my marriage?"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Sings Jerry blithely.</p> + +<p>"Why, Jerry, old fellow, have you just woke up?" cries Gordon Aubrey.</p> + +<p>"Jerry has such a sweet, fine, sympathetic voice; almost think it was a +chime of bells," Florrie Silverstone says saucily.</p> + +<p>Now this is rather hard on the Hon. Jerry, his voice, on the contrary, +having once been compared favourably with a bass drum. But it being his +favourite cousin, Florrie, who made the remark, it was, considering the +person who expressed the implied sarcasm, overlooked.</p> + +<p>"There is Lord Streathmere waving his hat to us from the deck," cries +Rea. "We must not for the world say we have had our fortunes told, +before Lady Streathmere, for she would be shocked. Now remember, not a +word." Mrs. St. James holds up a warning finger, and she expects all to +obey.</p> + +<p>"Well, my dears, you must be very tired, I dare say you tramped all over +that island this morning, and what reward did you get for your pains?"</p> + +<p>The party are all on deck enjoying the beautiful sunset. Tea has been +over for some time, the wind is blowing softly over the deep blue and +green patches of water, and makes the yacht rock gently from side to +side.</p> + +<p>"Do you not consider having one's fortune told a sufficient reward?" +Dolores' lazy tones inquire.</p> + +<p>Now it so happened that Dolores, if she did hear Arial's command, had by +now forgotten all about it. Gordon Aubrey coughed frantically; there +seemed every reason to believe that he would strangle to death. Florrie +giggled, they all did their best to cover up the effects of Dolores' +unfortunate words. However, it was Florrie who saved them all from +disgrace.</p> + +<p>Lady Streathmere adjusted her gold eye-glasses firmly and cautiously +upon her aquiline nose. "You seem to be prone to a cold, my dear; do you +take any remedy for it? Now something hot would, I know, be most +beneficial." And Florrie, in a voice choking with laughter, said she +thought she must.</p> + +<p>"Now I know just how you came by your wretched cold. Quite likely the +grass was wet on the island this morning, and your feet have got damp, +and last night you stayed out here quite late, and you know the night +air is bad for any one with a weak throat. Now if you young people won't +mind, I think I would be more comfortable where the fire is," and the +poor unsuspecting lady arose, and, escorted by Jerry to the saloon door, +disappeared.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.</h2> + +<h3>YOUR SISTER DOLORES.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Give your tongue more holiday than your hands or eyes."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—<span class="smcap">Rabbi Ben Azai.</span>.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>"This is a splendid photo of your father, and this, yes this must be—"</p> + +<p>Zoe, sketching busily away at a little landscape she is copying, answers +"Yes," vacantly. She is devoted to her work, and after giving Mr. Glen +the three large family photograph albums to look at, sincerely wishes he +will look at them quietly, and not disturb her. But the spirit moves the +young man in an opposite direction. He suddenly becomes intensely +interested in the members of the Litchfield family, past, present and +absent. She does not notice the stop he makes now.</p> + +<p>"And this lady in the white dress. Who is she?"</p> + +<p>"With a big white hat?" Zoe enquires, looking up for a moment. "That is +my sister."</p> + +<p>"Your sister! So this is the peerless Dolores. Well, I will own she is +beautiful enough to command all your admiration." He studies the picture +before him intently.</p> + +<p>"How angry Dolores would be if she heard you say that."</p> + +<p>Mr. Glen looked up, inquiring so innocently, "Why?" that Zoe's heart +smote her with remorse.</p> + +<p>"She rather objects to having strangers call her by her Christian name, +of course," the youngest Miss Litchfield goes on cautiously. "Perhaps +she would not mind your admiring her picture. I am sure there was +nothing but perfect truth in what you said, was there?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Glen gazes across from his seat in the bay window, and regards Zoe +thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>"I suppose your sister, Miss Litchfield, has told you many pleasant +stories regarding her trip abroad," he enquires, with strong emphasis on +the Miss Litchfield.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes! Sometimes I almost think I am in the various places she has +been. Dolores describes persons and places so graphically."</p> + +<p>Mr. Glen rather winces. In the enthusiasm of speaking of Dolores, Zoe's +work is for the time forgotten.</p> + +<p>"Yes, she is more than clever in almost everything; she has certain +magnetic powers not possessed by us all."</p> + +<p>Zoe looks at him in amazement. Had a bombshell suddenly gone off at her +feet in the pretty sitting room, her eyes would not have fairly popped +out of her head as they did now.</p> + +<p>"Why, do you know my sister? You can't; at least she never mentioned +your name."</p> + +<p>Mr. Glen laughs, toys with his watch chain, and, does his face become +just a trifle red?</p> + +<p>"I am judging from the picture, my dear little girl."</p> + +<p>Zoe resents being called his "dear little girl," so she says, "Oh, +indeed," very stiffly. She goes on with her sketching, but its charm has +gone. She has a strong, very strong impression that this young man and +Dolores have met. But why has Dolores never told her? Perfect confidence +has hitherto existed between them. Surely Dolores would not have any +secrets from her. She would love to question Mr. Glen about it, but +pride forbids. If there is anything to tell, Dolores will let her know +when she thinks proper. So Zoe works on, and Mr. Glen turns the leaves +of the books over listlessly. It is evident his thoughts are far away +from the pretty room he is in, and the young girl, who looks at him from +time to time, as some one has said, "out of the corner of her eye."</p> + +<p>Mr. Glen had been an inmate of Mr. Litchfield's household for a week +now. Aunt Adeline was generally averse to having either small boys or +big boys around her house, but here she was wonderfully taken. Mr. Glen +was her ideal of all that a young gentleman should be. Mr. Litchfield +discussed the topics of the day with him; there was no subject but what +he was thoroughly versed in: a brilliant musician, with a fine tenor +voice, a capital hand at whist, and if there was one thing that +delighted Mr. Litchfield's heart more than another, it was to have some +one to sympathise with him in this his favorite after-tea game. And Zoe? +Well, he could paint, draw or sketch, and that with a true artist's eye +for the beautiful. One of Zoe's drawings was quite another article after +Mr. Glen had touched up and smoothed over the flaws. So in spite of +their first unfortunate introduction, Zoe has accepted his being there +as a thing to be tolerated. He lets her have her own way, and that is +all Zoe cares about.</p> + +<p>The soft warm breeze floats in at the open doors and windows, laden with +the heavy perfume of flowers. The tall white and scarlet lilies in the +garden nod and bob their stately heads. A bird, just outside in a tree, +is pouring forth his joyous song of gladness; it is an ideal day in +summer. Jet Glen, as he sits over there in the window, is "having it +out" with his conscience. The reason he is here is to find out all he +can, and as much more as possible. It was an anxious moment, when he got +within thirty or forty miles of the place, how to proceed further; but +fortune is good as well as fickle. He had greatly ventured, and all must +do so who would greatly win. A former school mate was in the railway +carriage; he was down with the blues. He had been invited to join a +fishing party, with a number of other young friends. Suddenly, on the +very day before they were to start, his mother, who was a woman of many +minds, commanded him to give up his intended cruise and go down to the +country to stop with her old school friend, Miss Adeline Litchfield. So, +like an obedient son, he was on his way. This was just the chance for +Jet's attaining his desired haven. Within less than an hour Jet Barry +Traleigh was passing himself off as Jet Glen, the son of her school +friend, and Miss Litchfield was delighted. And yet there was nothing, +no, not a look, smile, gesture or tone of voice that recalled the +remembrance of his mother. Poor deluded aunt Adeline, if you could see +the real Jet Glen disporting himself with his holiday friends, what +would you say?</p> + +<p>They had all received him so cordially Jet's conscience pricked him most +severely. But it was no use going back now; what he had done could not +be undone.</p> + +<p>The sun suddenly flashes full upon Zoe's work; she rubs her eyes, and +wonders if Mr. Glen has gone to sleep, or why in the world is he sitting +there, staring so idiotically at a photo of herself and Dolores when +they were quite small children? But in all probability he is inwardly +dying of laughter, commenting on the two thin little pairs of legs +dangling from the high chair, in which they are seated, and criticising +the braided pig-tails under the little round straw hats. How many times +Dolores and herself have laughed over the closely shut lips, and +demurely folded hands and short frocks. But for this young man to commit +a like action was justly unpardonable. Then she thinks she is playing +the part of hostess rather lamely.</p> + +<p>"Say, Mr. Glen," Zoe pushes her chair back, and proceeds briskly to +gather up her working implements. "Shall we go finish the game of tennis +we were playing yesterday?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Glen starts, shuts the album, and assents.</p> + +<p>"The sun looks like playing tennis, or any thing else; you both stop +just where you are, I am not anxious to have two cases of sun-stroke on +my hands, with all my other household cares. Another thing, you both +know the old maxim of "idle hands," so I have provided you with some +useful employment."</p> + +<p>Aunt Adeline sinks on a lounge, unties, and takes off the large yellow +sun-bonnet, and fans herself energetically with a huge palm leaf. The +useful employment consists of a bushel basket nearly full of green peas +to be shelled for dinner. Jet laughingly declares he is ready to do +anything to escape the two evils, sun-stroke, and the fate of the "Idle +men and boys who were found."</p> + +<p>And aunt Adeline replied admiringly, "Jet Glen, how much that sounds +like your mother."</p> + +<p>Jet looks thoughtfully on the floor, his conscience giving an unusually +sharp twinge. This was rather much for him to make any reply. How easily +we poor, frail mortals in this world are deceived.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.</h2> + +<h3>AT NICE.</h3> + +<blockquote><p>"We know nothing of to-morrow: our business is to be good and +happy to-day."</p> + +<p>—<span class="smcap">Sidney Smith.</span></p></blockquote> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>A day in December, two years previous to the beginning of my story.</p> + +<p>"Dolores, uncle Dick is going into the town; do you care to go?"</p> + +<p>Dolores is reading a long home letter from Zoe, full to the very edges, +beside being crossed and recrossed with all the latest sayings, doings, +and prospective to be done, ending up with the ardent wish and longing +to be with her darling Dolores, in beautiful, bright, sunny Italy.</p> + +<p>"I am so sorry, Blondine, but I must write to father this morning; so, +you see, to go would be impossible."</p> + +<p>Beautiful Blondine Gray, a distant cousin of the Litchfields, opens her +brown eyes in horrified astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Why, my dear, bury yourself in the house to write a letter on such a +day as this! Come, don't talk so nonsensical; get your largest umbrella, +for the sun is scorching. You can write this afternoon."</p> + +<p>But no persuasions, either on the part of Blondine or uncle Dick, can +move her, and they leave her in disgust. She watches them go down the +road. Blondine walks with the ease, grace and quietness of a born native +of Tyrol. Dolores admires Blondine's style of walking very much; it is a +pleasure just to watch her movements; so different from uncle Dick's +roll. A regular sailor's swing and roll of a walk did uncle Dick Gray +possess. He was major in the army, and of course very portly, as majors +are somehow, generally. But he had retired some years since with high +honors. Blondine, his brother's child, being left an orphan, he +considered it his duty to provide her a home; so before settling down to +house-keeping, a trip abroad was considered just the nicest idea. +Blondine was sick of school, so uncle Dick sent for Dolores to go with +them on their journey.</p> + +<p>After reading Zoe's letter over twice, to make sure there was nothing +skipped, Dolores takes her pen, ink and paper out on the piazza. The day +is like June; the waves, dancing and sparkling in the sunlight, are as +blue as the heavens above them. The little boats rock from side to side +as they float, now in, now out, from their moorings, and far out a white +sail glistens in the glimmering sunlight. On shore children, dark eyed, +red lipped little rascals, are selling flowers—roses and orange +blossoms, with quantities of violets. Little groups are sitting or +loitering about, their chief object seemingly to see who can produce the +largest and gayest parasol. Dolores takes in all the details of the +surroundings. Probably uncle Dick and Blondine are having some fun in +town; they will sit on the promenade, after they have made their +purchases, and rest themselves. They would be back by afternoon +sometime; then Dolores would go with them to the Casino, see the people +and hear the band. Suddenly her attention is attracted by a child, +somewhere near, crying. There was never an animal or child yet that +Dolores failed to sympathise with; now she looked about for the object +of her awakened feelings.</p> + +<p>"Don't go, mamma; don't go an' leave Roy alone."</p> + +<p>A carriage is standing at the door, and a tall, handsome woman is +getting in, a woman with a proud, cold face. A tiny boy, in a white +frilled dress, is vainly trying to get away from the nurse girl, who is +in her turn vainly trying to keep him out of sight, until his mother +gets away.</p> + +<p>"Take the child away, Hester, and do try to stop that terrible crying. +Gracious! what a pest some children are." This is addressed to the young +lady who comes down the broad steps to take her place by her friend's +side. Mrs. St. James, with Rea Severn, are going to spend the day at +Villafranche, and no foolish whim of a child's was going to interfere +with their pleasure.</p> + +<p>The carriage goes off, and Dolores tries her charms on the little man +left behind. She goes over and talks to him; he is instantly fascinated +by the lovely lady, consents to sit on her lap, listens to the ticking +of her watch, and finally falls asleep, with his dark curly head +pillowed on the train of Dolores' dress. She wrote her home letter, and +did not forget to mention her latest gentleman admirer.</p> + +<p>Walking back and forth, in one of the garden avenues opposite, there is +a gentleman who has been a witness of all that has taken place; a tall +fair man, broad shouldered, and with a noble face—a face possessed of +everything good, kind and generous—a thorough gentleman. There are a +great many "men" in the world, some great, some small, but the +"gentlemen," of them it is to be regretted there are too few. Sir Barry +Traleigh was here at Nice on business. He was very wealthy, but he was +always employed by his business affairs. He believed in a man, whether +rich or poor, having something with which to occupy his mind. Not an +idle life did Sir Barry, the genial owner of Castle Racquette, beside +many broad acres of land, lead. Castle Racquette was one of the finest +estates in all Glengarry, Scotland, and very pardonable was the pride +which Sir Barry entertained for his ancient, luxurious home. Now as the +sun steals slyly under the large Panama hat and turns his short pointed +beard, worn after the style of a Venetian, to a golden shade, Sir Barry +is a very fine specimen of a nineteenth century Scotchman. From his +promenade he watches Dolores; and Dolores, did she know who was watching +her? Why certainly not. Well then, how was it a few minutes afterward, +as Sir Barry came past the piazza, Dolores looked up, and their eyes +met, Sir Barry's full of respectful admiration; why did Dolores blush +and droop her eyes? It is truly wonderful how much can be said in a +look. The next instant Dolores is ready to call herself a silly +simpleton. What does she know of this man, that she should care to know +who he was? Probably she would never lay eyes on him again. And yet +Dolores could not help acknowledging, rather reluctantly to her own +conscience, that a handsomer man she had never seen.</p> + +<p>Presently little Roy wakes up, and Dolores and he have dinner brought up +to Dolores' charming parlor, and all his mother's unkind neglect is +forgotten. They have a right royal feast; and when Hester comes to take +him, Roy goes, with the promise of again taking luncheon with his pretty +Dolly. To all his nurse's entreaties to call Miss Litchfield by her +proper name he refused; to him she was his pretty, kind Dolly; so +Dolores, with a kiss, tells him laughingly he shall call her whatever he +pleases, and the child goes for his walk perfectly satisfied.</p> + +<p>"Come girls, come, don't be all day fixing yourselves; come on. Hello! +there is that—no, it can't be—Traleigh!"</p> + +<p>Uncle Dick, issuing forth on the way to the Casino, adjusts his gold +eye-glass quickly, and forgets for the moment his anger at Dolores and +Blondine, who hurry after him, secretly praying that their veils are on +all right, for of all the fussy men in the world uncle Dick is the +fussiest.</p> + +<p>"Yes, but it is Traleigh in the flesh, and more than delighted to see +Major Gray."</p> + +<p>Dolores' handsome man of the morning is shaking uncle Dick's hand +heartily. And uncle Dick, delighted to see his friend, turns and calls +in his usual quick, blustering fashion—</p> + +<p>"Say, girls, this is Traleigh, that I have told you so much about. +Traleigh, those are the girls who have been toting me around from pillar +to post for the last year or more. We are going to the Casino, so come +on, and go with us. But there is a fellow over there I must speak to; +you all go on, and I will catch up with you."</p> + +<p>Uncle Dick dives through the crowd of people, leaving Sir Barry to make +himself agreeable to the ladies. It is evident he has heard of them +before, as each girl was called by her proper name. Dolores remembers +this morning, and hopes he did not see her make a fool of herself over +little Roy. Sir Barry is pleased to know the young lady whose looks he +admired so much. As for Blondine—well, Blondine was always pleased to +make herself pleasant to no matter whom she was with, from the humblest +to the highest; it was always the same with her. She rather resents +Dolores' cold, commonplace answers, and secretly wonders what has come +over gentle, merry Dolores. Well, when they get back to the hotel she +will give Miss Litchfield a bit of her mind.</p> + +<p>The Promenade des Anglais is visited, and Blondine goes in raptures over +the magnificent horses, the jaunty equipages, and elegant toilettes. The +Casino is packed; they espy uncle Dick frantically indicating with his +arm that, as the crush is so great, he cannot get to them now, but will +get in their vicinity as soon as it is possible. Sir Barry does his best +to do his duty toward the two ladies thrown upon his tender mercies. He +and Blondine talk, while Dolores listens to the music of the band, for +music in Italy is worth listening to.</p> + +<p>"Dolores, for Heaven's sake let us walk."</p> + +<p>Blondine has nudged Miss Litchfield several times, but no notice being +paid to her efforts, she has been obliged to speak. Blondine declares +something ails her foot, a cramp, or asleep, or something, she cannot +just decide which. Sir Barry clears the way, and they go, to be +presently met by uncle Dick and two ladies. Sir Barry lifts his hat +courteously as uncle Dick presents Mrs. St. James and Miss Severn. Mrs. +St. James says they were caught in a shower on the way to Villafranche, +and when they had hurried back found the sun shining most gloriously. +Blondine bows and smiles—when does Blondine not smile?—and Dolores? +Dolores deliberately turns her back; of course it is most unpardonably +rude. Uncle Dick never notices anything wrong, he never does, poor +deluded man, but goes on talking about one thing, then another. Blondine +is shocked; the warm blood surges up in her face, covering her ears and +throat. It is the first time she has ever had cause to feel ashamed of +pretty, gentle Dolores. Poor Blondine ponders and worries; what has come +over Dolores? she must certainly be ill to act so strangely. Sir Barry +looks surprised as well as pained, but does his best to make things pass +off as smoothly as possible. The walk back to the hotel was anything but +pleasant. If there had been no gentlemen present Rea Severn would have +been sullen or sulky; her manner now, however, was something betwixt and +between the two. Mrs. St. James received the "direct cut" from Miss +Litchfield with cool self-possession and indifference. If she noticed +the insult offered to her she made no sign. A clever nineteenth century +woman was Arial St. James.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.</h2> + +<h3>YOU NEVER CAN TELL.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With every pleasing, every prudent part,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Say what does Chloe want?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She wants a heart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—<span class="smcap">Pope</span>.<br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>"No one could expect anything better from a person of Miss Litchfield's +position. Of course you could not help noticing her manner yesterday; +the girl's bringing up must account for her actions. Any man, a +gentleman, who would marry a negress, could not but expect some flaw in +his family."</p> + +<p>Sir Barry Traleigh turns sharply from contemplating the reflection of +his own face in the mirror opposite.</p> + +<p>"Do you say Miss Litchfield's mother was a negress?"</p> + +<p>Mrs. St. James takes up a scarlet ball of silk from her work basket.</p> + +<p>"Oh, well," she answers with sarcasm, "I consider Creoles and negroes +the same. As I said before, the girl is not to blame, considering +everything. Then her mother ran away; why, surely you heard the story. +She disappeared; no one knows if she is dead or living. The deepest +sympathy was felt for Mr. Litchfield, who, I understand, is a very +worthy man. His sister took charge of his home and children. Miss +Litchfield has a younger sister home; they were quite young at the time +of the trouble, and I believe they think their mother dead."</p> + +<p>Mrs. St. James has waited patiently to hear Sir Barry reply, but reply +in the way she wished him to; Mrs. St. James gets disappointed.</p> + +<p>Sir Barry is thunderstruck. It cannot be possible that Dolores can be +connected with any one but those whom any honest man would be willing to +take by the hand. There must be some good reason for Dolores' mother +leaving her home and family; and to find that reason out will be Sir +Barry's future aim. Mrs. St. James goes on in soft, smooth tones.</p> + +<p>"You see it places the family in a very perplexing and awkward position. +Outside of the friends of the family, I believe no one makes anything of +them." Mrs. St. James thinks Sir Barry will appreciate her defence of +Miss Litchfield. "Of course the girls are not to blame for their +mother's strange behaviour, but you know what the world is."</p> + +<p>Yes, Sir Barry, in his wanderings about among persons and places, knew +the world, and felt at this moment a fierce desire to punch every head +in the world who dared to cast a slur on Dolores, or any one belonging +to her. A very great interest he takes in this girl, whom he has not +seen over half a dozen times, and who takes special pains to snub him at +every opportunity. Mrs. St. James knits on the scarlet wool, contrasting +vividly with her marble face and hands. The sunbeams, peeping coyly in +through the half closed shutters, catches her diamond rings, and throws +around them a hundred glimmering, glistening, sparkling rays. Some one, +who has been sitting outside the open window, gets up to go. Sir Barry +glances lazily out. He meets Dolores' eyes fixed full upon him—Dolores' +pretty, gentle face no longer. Until he dies Sir Barry will remember +that agonized, broken-hearted look on Dolores' face. As he turns to Mrs. +St. James, he sees—can it be—a satisfied smile on her perfect lips? +When he looks again, Dolores is gone.</p> + +<p>"Did you see who just passed the window, and of course heard our +conversation?" breaks sternly from between Sir Barry's clinched teeth.</p> + +<p>"No. Who was it?"</p> + +<p>But this is too much for any man to swallow. He knew the lady sitting +right by the window had led the conversation to the topic they had been +discussing, knowing perfectly well who was sitting outside, and would +hear, whether she wished or not, what was said.</p> + +<p>"Oh it's all right; good morning." And Sir Barry takes his hat and is +gone. Mrs. St. James bites her scarlet lips in vexation, and hopes Sir +Barry has gone to thoroughly digest what was said. And Dolores—poor +Dolores—she is in her room, sobbing her heart out. Who can realize what +her feelings are, to be thus rudely awakened to the knowledge that there +hung over their family a dark cloud, some dreadful story about the +beloved mother, whom Zoe and she had so often mourned as dead?</p> + +<p>To be sure no tombstone marked her grave in the pretty shady cemetery at +home. Aunt Adeline said their mother was dead, and that, to their minds, +was proof enough, for was Auntie ever known to tell them a falsehood? +Since she had grown up, the desire to have her mother, like the other +girls around, had often possessed her. But to hear this woman tell Sir +Barry that her mother had gone away and left her home and family! +Believe it indeed! No! Certainly she could never look on the sweet, +grave pictured face hanging in its massive frame of gilt, over the +drawing room mantle at home, and believe that the original could commit +any act that would make her children blush when they heard the name of +their mother.</p> + +<p>Probably had Arial St. James known how deeply her words had wounded +Dolores, she would have been very sorry. Not a bad woman at heart, but +she spoke without thinking. Another thing, she had but repeated to Sir +Barry the story which every one knew at the time it happened. "A guilty +conscience needs no accusing," as has often been said before. When +Dolores turned her back on being presented to Mrs. St. James, it was +because she could not bring herself to treat with any show of civility a +woman who could treat her child so unkindly. Mrs. St. James attributed +it to a wholly different cause. Two years ago she and her husband had +come to Italy. Arial was charmed with the place, and when Mr. St. James +proposed returning home, his wife declined to go. So he, as usual, let +her have her own way, and left her and Roy, then an uninteresting, +sickly little infant of only a few months old. Arial was not much of a +person to write letters, so Mr. St. James, working away among his law +books, heard very seldom from his wife, and knew very little of the way +she employed her time. Sometimes the thought would flash across his busy +brain that he would like to see his son. But Arial never mentioned the +child's name, and Mr. St. James, thinking women were queer fish, came to +the conclusion that the baby must have died in its infancy, and as +perhaps it might hurt his wife's feelings, he never mentioned the +child's name to her. But contrary to his ideas the baby did live, grew +strong and flourishing, and little Roy was the favorite of all in the +large crowded hotel. But in spite of his beautiful dresses, sashes, +white kid slippers, dainty feathered hats, and little lace bonnets, +still, for all those desirable things, the poor Italian peasant women +followed the pretty, dark, curly headed lad, with deep pity in their +dark lustrous eyes—for the Italians love their children with a deep +passionate devotion almost amounting to idolatry. But the little white +frocked, blue sashed English boy, Roy, had no loving mother to caress +and love him. Mrs. St. James considered it time wasted to make a fuss +over children. She never talked to her little son, nor played with him; +she was proud of his beautiful face, and was not ashamed to call him her +son. She considered she was doing her duty by him in providing a +suitable nurse; he had everything he wanted, what more was required? And +yet night after night he has cried himself to sleep, because his mother +has passed his nursery door, and never "come to kiss Roy good night." +Every one knew in the respect of affection she did her son a great +wrong.</p> + +<p>This was the conclusion Mrs. St. James came to—somebody had told +Dolores that she neglected her child; and, be it said, Arial respected +this girl, who dared to show her feelings. A good many older people than +Dolores did not approve of Mrs. St. James' actions, but they held their +tongues, made much of the lively English lady, and Arial enjoyed her +power in her far Italian home.</p> + +<p>Out on the beach, romping among the dancing waves, and having a good +time generally, are Dolores and little Roy; much to Blondine's +amusement; she is too lazy to take any part in the programme; all +Blondine can do is to sit on a high boulder and laugh gaily at the two +sea nymphs disporting themselves to their evident satisfaction. Roy and +his "Dolly" are fast, firm friends; he cannot enjoy anything unless +Dolores is present. Mrs. St. James, as long as the child keeps out of +her way, does not take the bother to care who he is with. So many +pleasant hours are spent in each other's company. Blondine says "Dolores +cannot say she never had one staunch champion," and Roy declares he is +going to marry his pretty Dolly as soon as ever he gets to be a "big +man."</p> + +<p>Coming along the sands, with his dog at his heels, is Sir Barry. He +greets the ladies, and sends the dog in the water, to Roy's delight. +When he appears Dolores immediately freezes. It is a never ending source +of wonder to Blondine, what in the name of sense has Sir Barry ever done +that Dolores treats him as she does.</p> + +<p>"They are arranging a party to go and spend a couple of days or so at +Monaco. Are any of you going?" Sir Barry asks, in his cheery voice.</p> + +<p>"How delightful!" cries Blondine, starting up from her seat and brushing +the sand off her blue flannel dress. Very bewitching she is looking in +her blue gown and scarlet cap; and Blondine has the gift to know she +looks pretty. "I do wonder if uncle Dick will go? I hope, oh how I hope +he will; I am dying to go."</p> + +<p>Dolores throws sticks in the water, to see the dog bring them out.</p> + +<p>"Dolores, don't you hope uncle Dick will go? Did you hear what Sir Barry +says?"</p> + +<p>Dolores does not answer; perhaps the breeze carries Blondine's voice in +an opposite direction, perhaps Roy's childish talk proves more +agreeable.</p> + +<p>Presently Hester comes to take Roy away, and Dolores saunters idly back +to Sir Barry and his fair companion. Blondine is highly delighted; Sir +Barry has seen and asked uncle Dick if he would join the party, and of +course uncle Dick had said yes. Any affair Traleigh approved was in +uncle Dick's mind commendable.</p> + +<p>"Will it not be splendid! Dolores, are you not pleased?"</p> + +<p>And Sir Barry laughs lightly at Dolores' answer.</p> + +<p>"Blondine, you would think it splendid if a shower of rain should +descend this moment and drench us."</p> + +<p>Blondine is watching the white clouds float across the azure sky, and +wishing the sun may shine as brightly for the next couple of days. Sir +Barry looks at the massive gold watch in his pocket, and says by the +time they lunch and get ready it will be time to start. So Blondine +unfurls her large white cotton umbrella, tucks Dolores' unwilling hand +under her arm, and laments the smallness of the parasol's compass. If it +was possible she would offer a part to Sir Barry; as it is she advises +him to pull his hat well over his face, for freckles on a man's face is +something Miss Gray detests.</p> + +<p>"But some people consider them a mark of beauty; that is the reason I am +trying to cultivate some," Sir Barry says solemnly.</p> + +<p>Dolores gives one swift side glance at the handsome face of the man +walking the other side of Blondine. He happens, at the same instant, to +be looking at her. Dolores is angry at the blush she feels rising to her +face. The idea of his watching her that way; it is too bad he cannot +find some one else to gaze at all the time.</p> + +<p>"I do wish you would hold the umbrella a little on my side," she says +coldly to Blondine.</p> + +<p>Sir Barry bites his moustache savagely; he has never been so +persistently snubbed in all his twenty-eight years.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later Dolores, sitting at her parlor window, happens to +glance out, to see Sir Barry strolling leisurely down the garden, with +Rea Severn at his side, in all the glory of a fresh effort of Worth's—a +dress which every girl in the hotel would give anything to possess. It +was made so marvellously, no one could tell just how—and so Miss Severn +feared no imitation.</p> + +<p>Dolores watches them pace up and down, to and fro. Her heart is +throbbing with an angry, passionate feeling against Sir Barry. He was +very anxious to get Blondine and her back to the hotel, so he could walk +and talk with Rea Severn. She wished uncle Dick would take Blondine +and her home, away, far away from the place where Sir Barry Traleigh is, +and all belonging to him. And yet if such had been the case that uncle +Dick should leave Nice, probably Dolores would feel most sincerely loath +to go. Rea has a cluster of magnificent pink and white roses in her +hand. Dolores sees her select one and give it to Sir Barry. He takes it, +and Dolores waits to see him fasten it in his coat. But Sir Barry seems +to forget how much more effective it would have looked there, but +carries the frail blossom between his gloved fingers. Dolores wonders +what they are talking about? Probably the intended trip; no doubt they +are planning numberless blissful moments together. Rea talks on, and Sir +Barry listens, and ponders if Miss Litchfield will allow him to drive +her in his stylish dogcart and span of fine horses. The others are all +going in those jaunty little donkey carts which are so plentiful in +Nice. Probably Rea is not only very much interested in Sir Barry on +account of his good looks, but also has an inward longing for an +invitation to a seat beside the owner of the handsome bays.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.</h2> + +<h3>SHALL WE NOT BE FRIENDS?</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The time I've lost in wooing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In watching and pursuing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The light that lies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In woman's eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Has been my heart's undoing."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—<span class="smcap">Moore.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>"Miss Litchfield regrets that she must refuse Sir Barry Traleigh's kind +invitation to attend the excursion this afternoon."</p> + +<p>Sir Barry feels very much hurt and disappointed. He had done nothing to +merit Miss Litchfield's displeasure, and yet to his pleasantly worded +offer of a seat in his dogcart, she has sent him back those few coldly +formal words of refusal.</p> + +<p>In Dolores' parlor Blondine and Dolores are having what is approaching +the most serious unfriendly words that have ever been exchanged between +them. Blondine, who has at first laughed, then pleaded and coaxed, and +scolded, finally sits down and cries. Dolores pays no attention to her +cousin's entreaties. She had said she would not go to Monaco that +afternoon, and she meant to keep her word, no matter what any one may +say to the contrary.</p> + +<p>"You had much better get ready, and be in time," Dolores says quietly.</p> + +<p>"I never saw any one change so in my life as you have done lately. +Whatever has got possession of you? We were going to have such a +charming time," sobs Blondine, who is utterly cast down at the prospect +of not having Dolores go and enjoy the beauties of the place with her.</p> + +<p>Now any one may coax, scold, plead or pray, and Dolores is immovable; +but when tears are called into operation Dolores is lost. So she takes +Blondine's pretty dark head in her lap and pats it soothingly.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, dear; do not spoil your pretty eyes with crying over me, +but when I tell you that I would not enjoy myself, that I should be +wretchedly unhappy, were I to go to-day; and that for you and uncle Dick +to go and leave me behind, would render me a kindness more than anything +else, then you will believe me, dear, will you not?"</p> + +<p>Blondine is silent for a moment.</p> + +<p>"I wonder if Mrs. St. James is going?" she asks presently.</p> + +<p>"Why no, certainly not; little Roy has been so very ill lately, I should +think it would be the last thing to leave him with none but that little +nurse maid," Dolores answers decidedly.</p> + +<p>Blondine thinks differently. As she came up the stairs she heard Mrs. +St. James tell Sir Barry that she hoped there would not be many hills to +go down, or they would certainly be dumped out of those funny little +carts.</p> + +<p>At two the party start, and Dolores sits up stairs, listening to the +merry talk and laughter going on below. She will not so much as look out +the window to see who are going. No one but herself knows just how much +she wants to go; but she crushes the longing that arises in her heart; +she will not give in now, she will keep her word. Uncle Dick has +accepted her decision with strange quietness; the usually fussy uncle +Dick had laughed softly, and, rubbing his hands together remarked,</p> + +<p>"Well, my girl, if you choose to be left behind, it will not be uncle +Dick who will force you to go anywhere against your will."</p> + +<p>Then at the last moment, just before starting, Blondine had ran up to +say good bye, and actually Blondine was laughing as if she had never +regretted leaving her dear but rebellious Dolores behind.</p> + +<p>After they had gone Dolores does some fancy work; she plays a melancholy +tune on the handsome Steinway piano, and sings an absurdly sentimental +little ballad. She reads a little, and passes the afternoon. After tea, +in the evening, she throws a white fleecy shawl around her shoulders, +and strolls down stairs and out in the garden, the sweet, flower-scented +garden. The pretty stars twinkled brightly in the clear evening sky, and +the fair young moon, just rising, casts a silver lustre over the whole +scene. The trees bend and whisper to one another; the sound of voices +comes dimly to Dolores' ears, and a strange wave of home-sickness sweeps +over and almost overwhelms her. It is such a new, strange feeling that +Dolores does not quite know what to do with herself. If Zoe were only +here, with her bright words of cheering, if she were only here to talk, +perhaps that strange lonely feeling would pass away.</p> + +<p>"Pardon me, Miss Litchfield, but what have I ever done to offend you? +Why do you avoid me? You might have gone this afternoon in perfect +safety; you see I did not go."</p> + +<p>Dolores is so surprised to find Sir Barry here at her side, her heart, +in spite of her, gives a glad throb. But of course she would not +acknowledge it, even to herself, that it was his presence which made it +do so. Now she looks at Sir Barry with a most bewitching smile curving +her pretty red lips, and Sir Barry goes down before that pretty, piquant +face without a struggle.</p> + +<p>"Why, Sir Barry, I am sure you are rather visionary. I hope, if I have +hurt your feelings, you will forget, and forgive me."</p> + +<p>Dolores gives her hand to Sir Barry with a sweet impulsive gesture not +to be resisted.</p> + +<p>"And you will not 'cut' me any more, no matter how your temper runs?"</p> + +<p>And Dolores, with a relieved feeling at her heart, consents.</p> + +<p>"We shall be friends, Dolores, for the future?"</p> + +<p>Any other time Dolores would have been shocked that a young man should +dare to call her "Dolores." But then she had heard so much lately about +Sir Barry, and she has been so much in his thoughts, that neither notice +how naturally the name slips out. It is so nice to have some one to talk +to, Dolores thinks, as she and Sir Barry walk around and around the +sweet old garden, with everything bathed in the bewitching moonbeams. +Some one is singing in the hotel, and the song floats out on the clear +night air, and comes down to the ears of the young couple walking there. +The words were sweetly pathetic, and stirred Sir Barry's heart with a +wild impulse to end all further nonsense, and ask Dolores then and there +to marry him.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i2">"Never to know it, never,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Never to know, ah never;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never to know the heart that's aching<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All for our sake, and almost breaking;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Never to know, never to know,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The heart that we love is aching, aching, breaking."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>The song ends in a piteous wail that makes Dolores shiver.</p> + +<p>"How dreadful that song, 'Never to know,' ends," she says, never +thinking what an excellent opportunity she is giving the man at her side +to declare himself. But Dolores never thinks of this, however; and +anyway, all further confidences are over, for suddenly a little figure +appears before their astounded gaze.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Litchfield, would you please come in and quiet master Roy? His +mamma has gone away, and he is so ill, Miss, I don't know what I shall +do."</p> + +<p>The little figure wrings her hands and looks piteously to Dolores for +help.</p> + +<p>"Surely Mrs. St. James did not go and leave that sick child with a +little thing like you?" Sir Barry says sternly.</p> + +<p>Goodness knows what would have been said, but for this timely +interruption, and Sir Barry feels annoyed to find his opportunity gone. +But instantly Dolores returns to see what can be done for her suffering +little friend.</p> + +<p>"You will come out again?" Sir Barry asks, as Hester is seen whisking in +the door.</p> + +<p>"If I can leave," Dolores answers, and Sir Barry gives the little hand +resting on the balcony rail, a gentle pat, and Dolores, with a very red +face, hurries in doors.</p> + +<p>Poor little Roy, he is sitting bolt upright in his little iron bedstead; +the sweet pretty face is flushed and burning in a high fever; his eyes +are dull and heavy; but he holds out his arms when he sees Dolores.</p> + +<p>"Dress an' take Roy away from here, Dolly; take and carry Roy down where +the sun shines," he says; and poor Dolores is terribly frightened; +little Roy is very ill. She tells him he will go to sleep now, as it is +dark, but in the morning they will go and see the sunshine dancing on +the water. She sends Hester for the doctor, but Sir Barry, who is +watching, meets her and says to go back and remain with Miss Litchfield, +and he will go for the physician.</p> + +<p>All night, and all the next day, and the next, Dolores sits by the +little iron bed; she never leaves the child's side. Not for a single +moment will he allow his Dolly out of his sight. The case was very +serious.</p> + +<p>"I should think, if his mother wants to see him again alive, she had +better be here to-day."</p> + +<p>Mrs. St. James loves her child after her own fashion, but she loved +pleasure and her own comfort more.</p> + +<p>"He is surely not so very ill," Dolores says, regarding the doctor's +face in alarm.</p> + +<p>"Miss Litchfield, the child is dying; I can do nothing more for him."</p> + +<p>Dolores is shocked. What will she do? Dear, gay, merry little Roy dying! +Oh! it cannot be possible! What can his mother be thinking of to leave +him so cruelly alone? But he never once mentioned his mother's name. +"Dolly" was there, and that was sufficient. It was useless to try to +send for Mrs. St. James; it was doubtful if they could find her if they +did; anyway, they would be back within a day or so. So it was in +Dolores' arms he died. Dolores closed the white lids over the tired +eyes, folded the tiny waxen hands upon the little breast, and bitter +tears fell upon the still peaceful baby face of her little lost friend. +Then when all was over, Dolores waited with bitter feelings for his +mother to come.</p> + +<p>She came the next day, in the afternoon. They were a merry party, and +much pleased with their trip. Mrs. St. James, on going up to her rooms, +finds Hester, her eyes red and swollen with weeping, every blind and +shutter closed, and the child—where was he? Then she heard her boy was +dead; she would not believe it; nothing, until she stood beside the +little silent form, would convince her.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Miss Litchfield, can I ever forgive myself, can I ever forget that +you did for him while his own mother left him? Surely now, in my deep +trouble and sorrow, you will believe me when I say I am sorry for those +careless words you heard me speak about your mother."</p> + +<p>Dolores is sitting beside the little white casket, and on the floor, +clasping Dolores' hands, is the child's mother. Dolores wonders if her +sorrow is real, or is she so polished that she can deceive people? +Sometimes the awful suspicion does actually flash through Dolores' mind. +Yes, it is to Dolores she goes in her trouble, nor is it in Dolores' +nature to refuse any one her sympathy.</p> + +<p>"Will you have a dispatch sent his father, Mrs. St. James? We would have +sent before, but did not know the address."</p> + +<p>"No, no?" Mrs. St. James answers hurriedly. "I shall have him buried +here."</p> + +<p>Dolores opens her pretty eyes in shocked astonishment. Then Mrs. St. +James rises from her kneeling posture, draws the black shawl over her +handsome shoulders, and paces the long room hurriedly; then stops in +front of Dolores, and says, with a half smile:</p> + +<p>"Miss Litchfield, if I entreat you to silence, and entrust to you a +secret, will you help me, for my dead boy's sake, to keep it?" She draws +an easy chair beside Dolores, and goes on. "Yes, yes, you will promise, +for the child's sake, will you not, Dolores? will you not?" and Dolores, +with tears in her eyes, promises.</p> + +<p>"You may have wondered why the child never spoke of his father, and I +suppose, when I tell you his father believed him dead three years ago, +you will be still more surprised. I was jealous of my husband's love for +Roy. I never have been to Canada since we came here, three years ago. At +that time the child was sick, and after Mr. St. James went home I never +mentioned Roy's name, for my letters were not very frequent. Of course +he considered the boy had died. If he had had the slightest fancy the +infant lived he would have had him home, and I would hold but a +secondary place in my husband's heart; that would never do. I know it is +selfish in me, but I must have all the love of my husband; it cannot be +divided, not even with my own child. Now he must never be any the wiser +about the child having died, for if he should find out I have deceived +him so long, I should never be forgiven. I do not profess to love my +husband passionately; I never could love any one or any thing very much; +it is all owing, I suppose, to my selfish disposition. There is not the +slightest doubt but that I am wholly beloved by my husband. I do not +deserve so much goodness; I am utterly unworthy of him. Promise me, +Dolores, that if ever we meet again—Heaven only knows if we ever +shall—but if we do, never breathe of what has taken place here. Your +face tells me I have merited your disapproval, but try and pity me, for +I never had any one to teach me better, or instil good principles in my +mind. When you judge me, remember a spoilt child, brought up by nurses +and teachers, has not had the benefit of home discipline."</p> + +<p>Dolores does not know what to say, she has heard such a cruel story. +Contempt and pity struggle together in her heart. She buries her pretty +face in her pocket handkerchief and weeps—weeps for the little child +lying there, who has no fond mother's heart to mourn over him, and for +the far off father who will never see his little son now, and whose +heart would no doubt be well nigh broken if he knew no parent's face was +present to catch the last glimpse of the fast dimming baby eyes. And +seeing Dolores cry, Mrs. St. James does likewise; probably she is more +touched than she has ever been before in her life.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. St. James, I have promised," Dolores says presently, "and no +matter what my feelings are, I shall not go back on my word."</p> + +<p>She takes no heed of her companion's words of gratitude, neither does +she accept or notice the outstretched hand, but hurries from the room, +to find Sir Barry in the parlor opposite.</p> + +<p>"My dear little friend, how wretchedly tired you must be, and then +bothering with that woman. Why can she not humbug someone else beside +you?" he says, hurrying forward and taking her hands in his. Probably +Sir Barry was rather cross at not having seen Dolores more often during +the past few days; and Dolores, despite her independent spirit, is very +thankful for his thought for her.</p> + +<p>"I have done all I can," she replies sadly, and Sir Barry, terribly +afraid the next thing she will do will be to cry, goes on quickly.</p> + +<p>"Did you know Major Gray was talking of leaving here very soon?"</p> + +<p>Now those are the very words Dolores has been dreading to hear. She +knows perfectly well things cannot go on forever as they have been +lately, and now her heart goes down into her boots, if such a feeling is +possible.</p> + +<p>"I must go immediately and ask about the arrangements," she says +faintly.</p> + +<p>"And there is something I want to say to you. Can I see you this +evening?" and Sir Barry waits for her answer.</p> + +<p>Dolores' pretty face flushes; she looks past Sir Barry, down the long +hall, and out to the blue sky beyond.</p> + +<p>"Not to-night; some other time," she answers gently. Then, before Sir +Barry can plead more, she leaves him. But he is far from unhappy, as he +strolls down to the hotel office to smoke a sociable cigar with the +Major.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X.</h2> + +<h3>I WONDER WHO SHE CAN BE?</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The woman who deliberates is lost."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—<span class="smcap">Addison.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>"I wonder who that pretty girl is Sir Barry Traleigh is talking with so +earnestly down by the gate?" Blondine saunters into Dolores' pretty room +to wait for her cousin to go down to tea.</p> + +<p>"Any one you know?" asks Dolores, from the mirror where she is busy +twisting her back hair up and sticking silver pins here and there +through it.</p> + +<p>"They have just hailed a carriage, and are driving off," Miss Gray says +excitedly, from the window where she has seen Sir Barry and his pretty +companion disappear.</p> + +<p>"I suppose he has the liberty to go driving with, or talk to whom he +chooses," Dolores retorts crossly.</p> + +<p>She wonders who this fair unknown can be, and wonders still more why Sir +Barry should be so interested in her—for interested he must be, if he +would leave his tea. Still she is relieved to know she will not have to +meet him again to-day anyway. She would like to tell Blondine that she +and Sir Barry were good friends; but a feeling comes that Blondine will +only laugh triumphantly at her and say "I knew it would be so." She is +wakened from any further wonderment by Blondine.</p> + +<p>"Hurry, Dolores, uncle Dick won't wait all the evening for you to get +that bang of yours just fixed without a hair out of place, so come +quick. I am as hungry as, as—who was the hungriest person you ever +heard or read of, Dolores?"</p> + +<p>"I am afraid I cannot say, dear. You plunge too deep for me to follow +you," is Dolores' quiet answer.</p> + +<p>The second tea gong sounds; they hurry down, to find uncle Dick emerging +from the gentlemen's parlor, and just in time to hear his loud jovial +voice remark to his companion—"I wonder, in the name of Olympus if my +girls intend to come to their supper to-night?"</p> + +<p>It is morning—a bright, deliciously warm morning—with light yellowish +white clouds floating in the sky, and a soft, light wind coming in, +bringing the scent of the salt waves to heal the diseases, and warm or +thaw out the cold English tourists who are here seeking the heat of a +warmer climate than their own. Dolores and Blondine are sitting on the +pretty green bank, in sight of the remains of what the peasants call the +"Bath of the Fairies," a Roman amphitheatre. Blondine is supposed to be +sketching this picturesque spot; at least it is for that purpose that +they have walked two long miles to Cimella this delightful morning. But +the sketching is not progressing very rapidly; Blondine loses herself in +a day dream. Sitting there under the old elm tree, resting her dark head +against its friendly trunk, Blondine forgets the Abbey, likewise all +other things worldly. The white lids droop lower and lower over the dark +eyes, the breeze whispers a soft, gentle lullaby, all is stillness +around. Dolores looks up from her book to ask how the abbey is +progressing under Blondine's skilled fingers; but Dolores may save +herself the trouble of speaking, for Miss Blondine is asleep. Then a +wandering fit seizes Dolores; she wonders what is down yonder; perhaps +some pretty cottage hidden from view by those jealous hedges of +hawthorn; she will go and see. On and on, over the narrow beaten track +goes Dolores, charmed onward by she knew not what; up little hills and +down little paths she goes, and yet the ideal cottage she is hunting for +fails to present itself.</p> + +<p>Suddenly voices make her pause to listen. She is startled, for surely +the tones are familiar. Only a hedge of cedar divides her from them, and +unintentionally she is forced to listen to a conversation not intended +for her ears, or else betray her presence, and Dolores would sooner do +anything than stir.</p> + +<p>"Do go back, Jantie, do for my sake: you will never regret it. Do make +up your mind, for you cannot think how you worry me. I promise you +faithfully I will publish the marriage in all the leading journals as +soon as I can do so discreetly. Now, dear, you will go back to Scotland, +to please me, won't you?" Sir Barry Traleigh's voice is full of tender +pleading.</p> + +<p>"Never again shall the finger of scorn be pointed toward me. No! I +refuse to return home until I am an acknowledged wife. I say no! I shall +never be despised for a sin of which I am innocent."</p> + +<p>The girl's clear voice is raised in a passionate flow of rage and +sorrow. They pass out of hearing, leaving Dolores pale and trembling.</p> + +<p>Sir Barry here; and of course it is the girl Blondine had seen with him +the previous afternoon; his wife, of whom he was ashamed. Of course she +is his wife, and he is persuading her to go home, and promises to +acknowledge her before the world some day. Ah! some day! And meanwhile +he has been winning her—Dolores—heart; he, the husband of another +woman. May Heaven forgive him; she never can. The sun dazzles her eyes, +the day has lost its charm; she gets back somehow, to find Blondine +awake, and wondering what had happened to her. Blondine's careless laugh +is hushed at sight of the utterly wretched, hopeless look on Dolores' +face.</p> + +<p>"My dear! what is it?" she cries, springing to her feet, and taking +Dolores' cold hands in both her warm ones. But Dolores turns her +miserable face away from Blondine's enquiring glance.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Blondine, Blondine; would to Heaven we had never seen this place. +If I were only home—home, where there is no treachery or deception. Oh, +Blondine, Blondine!"</p> + +<p>Nothing can be more perplexed than Blondine's mind, as she has often +thought there was no accounting for Dolores' conduct lately. Blondine +hurries her sketch book into the little willow-basket.</p> + +<p>"I suppose we had better get back," she says as calmly as her confused +feelings will allow, and Dolores wearily assents. Certainly the bright +day which promised so much pleasure is falling most woefully short of +its fulfillment.</p> + +<p>"Tell me what ails you, dear; are you ill? Come, tell me all about it, +won't you, Dolores." But Dolores shakes her pretty head; she does not +seem inclined to tell any one anything. Blondine gives her up in +despair. She is beginning to think herself, perhaps it would have been +better not to have come here; and yet what was there, here in bright, +pleasant, sunny Nice, that the most fastidious could object to? Poor +Blondine gives this second problem up as hopeless as the first.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you are pretty well packed. You know we start by the +five-fifteen coach this afternoon; so look lively, my dears."</p> + +<p>Uncle Dick's pompous figure is standing in the gateway, and uncle Dick's +merry grey eyes look enquiringly at Dolores' pale face.</p> + +<p>"What's up now? Too much high jinks seems to use you up soon, young +lady."</p> + +<p>Major Gray goes in for pink cheeks and red lips, like blooming +Blondine's, for instance. He admires Dolores immensely, but she might +have been a marble statue now, for all the pink there is in her face; +she looks positively 'chalky.'</p> + +<p>"Uncle Dick, we are surely not off so soon?" Blondine exclaims.</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dear, but we are; we have been gone a good round year now. See, +we have done Marseilles, Naples, Cannes, Monaco, Mentone, San Remo, +Pegli, Genoa, Spezia, Lucca, Pisa, Leghorn, Serrento, Capri and Nice, +and I feel as if I should enjoy the sight of home faces again. So hurry +now, so we won't be late."</p> + +<p>Uncle Dick rolls off down street at a dashing pace, full of glee at +having got over the question of departure. He had expected to be +assailed by an avalanche of refusals at leaving Italy for a long while +yet. It has all been gotten over with so smoothly, that Major Gray could +at this moment have shaken hands with his greatest enemy—if such a +being existed, which was doubtful—and said "hope you're well," with +genuine warmth.</p> + +<p>Passing through the hall Blondine sees Mrs. St. James seated in her +parlor, the doors open, with dear Florrie, dear Bessie, dear Nattie, and +all the other dears, sitting about consoling the bereaved lady. Arial +looks exceedingly handsome in her dress of deep crape. An interesting +looking woman at all times, just now she is doubly so, receiving the +sympathy of endless numbers of friends over her recent loss. Blondine +steps in the room to tell Mrs. St. James of their going, and to say +farewell. Not so Dolores; she hurries to her rooms, gives her maid all +due instructions concerning luggage, and then speeds away to the pretty +burying ground, to pause beside a tiny grave; a broken pillar of +granite, with the simple words "My son Roy," marking the resting place +of her little lost friend.</p> + +<p>Dolores gathers a few forget-me-nots from around the mound—flowers that +in after years will remind her of this tiny grave in Italy. Here her +resolution is taken to forgive—she cannot forget—two persons whom she +firmly believes are at war against her; then with a long, last, +lingering glance around, she goes.</p> + +<p>Blondine hails the sight of Dolores with joy. Will she just lend a hand +for a minute, to see if all is ready? Poor Blondine would never get over +the world with doing her own packing is very evident, from the sight +that meets Dolores' eyes. Things always contrived to get mixed up so +queerly; her best bonnets and boots, the desk with the ink and mucilage +bottles, generally reposed calmly upon her most dainty pair of gloves. +Now she cannot find her pearl-handled knife, the ivory opera glasses, or +her silver nut crackers. Dolores searches around with the eyes of a +professional detective, and at length discovers the missing articles in +the pocket of Blondine's riding habit; the knife was found in the window +sash, where it had been put to keep it from rattling the night before +when the wind blew.</p> + +<p>The last trunk is strapped, the hasty search around for farewell words +to friends (of which there are shoals); the coach is at the door; they +are off, going by the famous Cornice route for the last time. Its many +scenic beauties will scarcely ever fade from Blondine's admiring eyes; +her memory will never fail on that score. Much disgusted is uncle Dick +at not having seen "that boy Traleigh," and wonders if he will "turn +up," ere they leave; but Traleigh fails to "turn up," greatly to Dolores +satisfaction.</p> + +<p>Uncle Dick is in high glee, to find that a steamer sails the following +morning, and Blondine turns pale when some one suggests to Major Gray +that they may look forward to a pretty "tumbly" voyage, as gales seem +the proper thing during the past week.</p> + +<p>Dolores cheers up at the mention of home, becomes absorbed in purchasing +numerous foreign trifles for Zoe, talks learnedly on the wretchedness of +foreign cooking, and altogether appears the cheerful, but not gushing +Dolores of old.</p> + +<p>The passage across was, as predicted, rather inclined to be "tumbly," +indeed, at times most uncomfortably so. Blondine declares if Heaven will +ever spare her to get on land once more, never would human persuasion +entice her across old Atlantic again. Uncle Dick was delighted with the +pitch and toss and knock down of the angry waters, and Dolores +laughingly declares, "uncle Dick you were born for a sailor but became +spoilt in the drilling."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.</h2> + +<h3>TROUBLES OVERTAKE THE BEST OF MEN.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"He is miserable once who feels it,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But twice who fears it before it comes."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—<span class="smcap">Eastern Proverb.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>"Well, Edward, what in the world are you going to do? Why, I never heard +of such actions in all my forty years of life. A man of your honorable +principles to be in league with such men as you have just described; why +it just takes my breath away with astonishment, it certainly does."</p> + +<p>Aunt Adeline gives the white head-dress on top of her head such an +excited rap that its position lent to her face a peculiarly fierce +expression quite foreign to her general air of amiability.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps some means may present itself that will tide us over safely, +but it is very dark looking just now, very dark indeed."</p> + +<p>"Well, they cannot do anything with you, can they?" aunt Adeline +inquires excitedly.</p> + +<p>"No, my dear sister; only to have an old firm like ours go down seems a +pity. And, Adeline, I hope you will not be very much displeased at what +I did to-day." Mr. Litchfield speaks nervously.</p> + +<p>"Now Edward, what have you been about again? You know how many imprudent +actions you commit. Tell me what is the thing now you think I won't +approve of?"</p> + +<p>"This morning young Fanchon asked me to sign his note for three months." +Aunt Adeline stiffens visibly in her chair.</p> + +<p>"What was the amount?" she asks coldly.</p> + +<p>"Only three hundred dollars; and he said it would oblige him, as at the +end of three months he would get some money owing him. Of course it will +be all right you know," replied her brother in an off-hand tone, which +he is far from feeling, for the man Fanchon has long been losing ground +in public favor; and rumor said, if it were not for the senior partner, +Litchfield, the business would be done.</p> + +<p>Miss Litchfield looks out the window, as she says slowly:</p> + +<p>"You may be sorry, some day, that you did not take my advice. You know I +warned you about your marriage; you scorned my advice then; you know now +how it has turned out. All I can say is, it will be your own fault +either way, good or otherwise."</p> + +<p>Mr. Litchfield gets up from his seat at the table.</p> + +<p>"Adeline,"—his face is very pale as he stands before his sister—"let +what has passed rest. You have been a most faithful, affectionate sister +to me, and aunt to my girls, but from you, nor no one else living, shall +I take a word of disrespect about my wife." Then Miss Adeline hears the +door close, and she is alone.</p> + +<p>"Well," she says, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle in her apron, "I am +terribly afraid Edward is getting a softness in the head; any man that +could feel no reproach against a woman who has wronged any one, as +Estelle Litchfield has wronged my poor brother, beats me more than words +can express."</p> + +<p>The white curtains flap idly in and out at the windows; a white and +yellow butterfly comes in to light among the pink roses and white lilies +in the glass dish on the table. Zoe's voice comes from somewhere in the +garden, scolding her pet kitten for disgracing himself by persisting in +chasing imaginary flies over the flower beds. Jet Glen is whistling "The +girl I left behind me," somewhere near. Aunt Adeline hears the happy +young voices and sighs. Her brother's business has not gone altogether +straight lately; she does her best to keep his spirits up, but sometimes +her own heart nearly fails with anxious forebodings for the future.</p> + +<p>"Edward seems to lose the use of all his faculties," Miss Litchfield +soliloquises. "There was that wealthy Mrs.—I won't say her name—but +any one could see with half an eye—was only waiting to change her name +to ours. Her money would have done wonders for Edward, but no one knew +what had become of Estelle, and so for the sake of her my poor brother +must needs lose all the chances that appear, and lose his health +worrying over his business affairs, seems too bad entirely."</p> + +<p>An enquiring fly lights on the tip of Miss Litchfield's aristocratic +Roman nose. Now this is something appalling; never does she allow a +single poor stray fly to remain in those cool, shady rooms. The next +half hour is spent in ousting the enemy, and after that length of time +the viper is finally vanquished.</p> + +<p>"Auntie, do you notice how very pale father looks?"</p> + +<p>The dim shadows lie in long dark lines across the quaint old room. Zoe, +curled up by the window, is trying to catch the last faint rays of +daylight; but the dim light grows dimmer, and the words on the page are +no longer discernable.</p> + +<p>"Yes, child, of course I've noticed it; who would not? and what the end +of it will be is more than my knowledge of the future can penetrate; I +have not the least idea."</p> + +<p>Dolores' pretty grey kitten jumps up in Miss Adeline's lap.</p> + +<p>"Get down, you nuisance," she says crossly.</p> + +<p>"Come here, Moody, you dear, pretty thing, to Zoe."</p> + +<p>Moody obediently goes sedately, with a look of injured dignity; she rubs +her glossy head against Zoe's arm, and plays with the tassels on the +window curtains.</p> + +<p>"I will have to marry old Mr. Vacine after all, and his money bags will +restore the house of Litchfield to its former glory."</p> + +<p>Miss Adeline is quick to take offence when one of her old friends are +being spoken lightly of.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Vacine is too old for a child like you to jest about. Youth should +always respect old age," she says severely.</p> + +<p>"Well, I never could see any sense in him living up there all alone in +that great gloomy mansion, when other people—any quantity of +them—would be willing to share the goods the gods have given him."</p> + +<p>The little silver and marble clock on the bracket ticks the minutes +hastily away.</p> + +<p>"I am glad to hear that; would you, my dear little friend, be 'one' of +the 'any quantity' you just spoke of?"</p> + +<p>Both Zoe and Aunt Adeline are startled by the grave voice behind them. +Mr. Blois Vacine, past sixty years of age, and owner of the finest +properties in the town, seldom leaves his home of gloomy grandeur; and +Zoe mentally calculates, as Miss Litchfield goes forward to greet the +visitor, that something more wonderful than usual is about to take place +after this.</p> + +<p>"Father home?" Mr. Vacine inquires, coming over to the window where Zoe +is standing. Evidently the power of speech has deserted the ever +ready-tongued young lady.</p> + +<p>"No sir; yes—that is—I don't know," she stammers. She feels horribly +ashamed of herself for having spoken as she had done; and yet it was in +her own house, and if people can't say what they wish in their own +house, pray where would they? and another thing, it was decidedly mean +to come into a house without first ringing the bell to announce one's +coming.</p> + +<p>"Oh well, probably he will not be gone long, and meanwhile you and I can +have a little friendly chat," Mr. Vacine says cheerfully.</p> + +<p>Zoe politely asks if he will not take the easy chair aunt Adeline has +just vacated.</p> + +<p>"And so you don't believe in people being mean and stingy with their +worldly gifts. But even wealth, after a time, grows monotonous; we very +seldom find the pleasure we expect, even in the success of our highest +ambitions. I am a lonely old man, my dear; once I had a dear nephew, of +whom I was too fond; I said something passionate; he took offence at his +old uncle, and left me. But never mind, I would be only too glad if you +would look upon my house and grounds as your own, to come and go in at +your pleasure."</p> + +<p>Zoe's eyes dance, and her heart beats with delightful anticipation. The +dream of her life has been to be allowed to pass beyond the heavy iron +gates, with their fantastic guardians of lions' heads, and wander at +will in the dim, unknown depths of the paradise of flowers beyond; and +the house, the dear old rambling castle of which she has heard so much. +Poor Zoe, for some minutes she is unable to speak.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you have thought differently since you first spoke. Well, it is all +right; there is not so much to interest one, perhaps, as I imagine." +There is a ring of disappointment in the old man's voice, and Zoe +hastens to say,</p> + +<p>"My dear Mr. Vacine, believe me, I am not ungrateful to you for your +goodness, and will take much pleasure in your kind offer," the girl +says, with a choking in her throat.</p> + +<p>Aunt Adeline comes in with lights, saying Mr. Litchfield was feeling so +unwell, that he had retired. So Zoe accompanies Mr. Vacine to the door, +watches him walk down the little path to the gate with a step as firm +and elastic as a boy of twenty.</p> + +<p>"Well little one, is this the latest victim your charming self has +brought down?" Jet Glen's tall figure stands before her, and Jet's brown +eyes are full of lazy laughter, as he stands and watches Zoe straighten +her slim figure in virtuous indignation.</p> + +<p>"You are like a toad, Mr. Glen, always cropping up when least expected," +she says, with what is intended to be withering sarcasm.</p> + +<p>"Allow me to offer a thousand thanks for your kind sentiments on my +appearance, Miss Litchfield." The young man doffs his white straw hat +gallantly.</p> + +<p>"No need for thanks; it is the simple, unvarnished truth; it is nothing +to me if you get offended." The little foot, clad in its dainty wigwam +slipper, taps the door step impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Never mind, dear, don't get angry; you and I should understand each +other by now. You are such a little wildfire, I like to see you get +excited. But come, tell me what the old gentleman said."</p> + +<p>Zoe's anger is never very long lived; now, under Jet's conciliatory +tones, it vanishes and fades like the mist in the morn.</p> + +<p>"Of course I'll tell you, you old goose," Zoe exclaims, coming down +toward him.</p> + +<p>"Well, let us walk around the paths, and we can talk better," suggests +the 'old goose,' persuasively.</p> + +<p>"He asked me over so nicely, to come and go in his beautiful house and +grounds, and make myself at home there. Ah, I felt like hugging the old +dear." Mr. Glen pokes the grass thoughtfully with his cane.</p> + +<p>"Indeed," he says drily. "It is a pity you could not expend your surplus +affection on a younger man."</p> + +<p>Zoe stops short in her walk. "You are very impolite, to say the very +least; in fact I am rather surprised at you," the youngest Miss +Litchfield says loftily. The wind blows in chilly gusts, suggestive of +rain; it is very cold for a night in August.</p> + +<p>"Shall I run in and fetch a shawl for you?" Jet asks in a protective +sort of way.</p> + +<p>"No thanks, I shall never accept any service from your hands sir, or in +fact from any one who would dare speak disrespectfully of my friends."</p> + +<p>But Zoe forgot the old but true proverb about "pride having a fall." +Suddenly the young lady seems to be seized with a panic of despair.</p> + +<p>"Oh! oh! oh!" she cries, in frantic tones.</p> + +<p>"What in the name of the stars is the matter now?" inquires the young +man, looking about him to the right and left.</p> + +<p>"Oh, kill it; kill it, quick." White dresses are a great magnetiser for +June bugs; caught in the lace of her sleeve is an immense—as Zoe calls +it—'horny bug.'</p> + +<p>"He's dead; come look at him," Jet adds; but Zoe retreats to the front +door in haste.</p> + +<p>"Come in, come in, quick, till I shut the door; surely the wretches +won't chase us in the house."</p> + +<p>The door shuts to with a defiant bang, while the agitated young lady +once more recovers her tranquility of mind.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.</h2> + +<h3>TOO CONFIDING. "YES, IT IS MY HUSBAND."</h3> + +<blockquote><p>"I never judge from manners, for I once had my pocket picked by +the civilest gentleman I ever met with."</p> + +<p>—<span class="smcap">Lord Byron.</span></p></blockquote> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>The bright sunlight played coyly through the half-closed shutter, and +fell across the table, brightening up the dusty old books, slates, and +every other article which helped to make up the furnishing of the +private office of Fanchon, Litchfield & Co.</p> + +<p>"The note falls due to-morrow at the bank, for the three hundred you +accommodated me with; but no matter, that will be all right; you go and +transact the business abroad for the firm, and I will attend to lifting +your note."</p> + +<p>Mr. Litchfield looks steadily at the young man sitting opposite, and +says quietly, "I shall be thankful, yes, more than thankful, when it is +lifted, for never again will I put my name on any man's paper. However, +some one will have to go, and I had better be the one."</p> + +<p>Cyrel Fanchon laughed lightly. "Every business firm is obliged to run on +paper; why feel worried that ours should do the same?"</p> + +<p>The little alarm clock on the shelf struck two. Mr. Litchfield pushes +back his chair.</p> + +<p>"It will be nearly three weeks before I can return, so you can write me +if anything new arises," he says, taking his hat from the peg.</p> + +<p>Cyrel Fanchon takes a slip of paper from the desk, writes a few lines to +a leading daily paper, and slips it in his coat pocket. If Edward +Litchfield could have seen those few words, so hastily written, he would +not have gone home to prepare for his journey on the morrow with so much +freedom from coming care. The next day found Mr. Litchfield still in his +office, a paper in his hand, his face like ashes. Before him is a notice +from the Bank, to lift a note, bearing his signature, for thirty +thousand dollars—money he had never had. Where was Fanchon? He would of +course explain the meaning of this strange business. To be sure he never +thought to notice the amount when he hastily signed his name to the +note, for he had no glasses with him at the time, but trusted to +Fanchon's honesty when he said three hundred. Of course it would be all +right, but his sister's warning words come back to him with double +distinctness, that does not help to relieve his feelings. Adeline could +always discern further than he. If he had only heeded her words this +trouble would not have to be faced. But Fanchon was nowhere to be found; +he told some one he intended going away for a few days. What was to be +done? He dared not stay; he could, but would not, borrow money, to repay +those with whom he had never had any dealings. He would leave the +country, his home and family, of whom he was so fond. The drops of agony +stood deep on his face. Cyril Fanchon had deceived his old friend, the +man who had put him in the position he held to-day, and in return had +ruined him. Yes, he would go to-night, and to-morrow the city would ring +with the news of the sudden departure of him, whom all respected and +trusted. Oh, it was bitter to think of, but more bitter to remain. "Ah, +Estelle, Estelle, thank Heaven you are not here to-day to share my +disgrace." Edward Litchfield bowed his head and wept bitter tears of +self-reproach. He went, and no one knew but Aunt Adeline, and the blow +almost broke her heart.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The boat had just come in; the passengers crossing the ferry hurried +ashore. A girl, lonely and tired looking, came slowly, feebly up the +floats. She was neatly dressed, and had a look of refinement, that +prevented the men lounging along the railing from passing the usual +slang remarks so common to their idle profession. Well may she look +tired and weary, for many a mile has she travelled over land and sea.</p> + +<p>"Can you tell me where I can get a night's lodging?" she asked of a neat +old woman who kept a tidy little grocery store at the corner. The woman +was kind hearted; she pitied the girl's desolate look, and kept her for +the night. The old woman questioned her with motherly solicitude. Was +she married? "Yes, there was the ring on her finger." "Was she a widow?" +"No," the girl said; "she was searching for her husband." The woman saw +her go the next day, with a lunch and a blessing. All day she walked up +one street, down another, looking keenly at each passer by, but always +with the same hopeful look. Toward nightfall, when she was again seeking +a place to lay her weary head, a mist, almost rain, began to fall. She +turned her lagging steps up a street lined by beautiful, costly houses. +One especially caught her fancy. The windows were open, lights streamed +out on the dreary wet road. She crept up and looked in. She saw a room +with everything lovely and costly; a lady sat at the table, two pretty +children at her side.</p> + +<p>"Here comes papa to kiss us good night, mamma," the eldest girl cried.</p> + +<p>A gentleman came in, and hastily kissing the children, turned to the +lady.</p> + +<p>"My dear wife, what nonsense; no one could be looking in the window; you +are whimsical. A woman's face! what next will you see?" Then he goes out +smiling and down the road. He sees not the strange, wild figure flying +after him, nor hears the faint voice calling his name.</p> + +<p>"Cyril! Cyril Fanchon! Ah me! Husband! speak to me, your wife—your +Jantie!"</p> + +<p>The wind sweeps down the street in chilly gusts; the woman wraps her +jacket around her; she stumbles on, on, blindly. A railing, enclosing a +dark, grim building, comes in sight and looms up in the darkness; she +struggles with the weakness that overtakes her; she falls, but she is +conscious, only unable to move. All her weary journey has ended here; to +find the man she believes to be her husband, with a wife and family. She +loves him too well to expose his crime; for the gentle looking wife's +sake she will give him up; she will lie here and die, and he will never +know of the sacrifice she made. Ah yes, she has only her poor old +mother, and by now she no doubt would think her better off if she were +dead. Then a deadly faintness takes possession of her; she must be +dying; then all is blank. A policeman, passing, does not notice the +figure lying almost at his very feet. He buttons his waterproof coat up +tighter and shivers, as he thinks of his comfortable home, and pities +all who are so unfortunate as himself, to be out in the cold.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.</h2> + +<h3>THE CONVENT OF ST. MARGUERITE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Paradise is always where love dwells."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—<span class="smcap">Richter.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>Tingle, tingle, tingle, chimes the tiny silver bell, and down the pretty +newly swept gravel path file the pupils, two and two; the plain black +dresses, and black hoods looking strangely quaint on the smiling faces +of the girls going to early service. The sisters, with folded hands and +devout downcast eyes, follow. Suddenly a moan or gasping sound makes +sister Christine pause in her silent march behind the others. She looks +about, then her eyes take a startled, anxious expression; she steps +hurriedly forward to kneel beside a woman lying among the fragrant +mignonette. With sister Christine to think is to act. She felt the +faintly beating pulse; her first anxiety is over; the woman has but +fainted. At first the sister, glancing at the set, white face, feared +she could render no assistance on earth to this creature flung on her +path. A tiny silver whistle hangs at her side; lifting it to her lips +she blows a shrill toot; a mulatto boy, in a coat bright with silver +buttons, runs down to her.</p> + +<p>"Oh massey," exclaims this little black diamond, standing off, with his +mouth open so wide that sister Christine fears he will have the +lock-jaw.</p> + +<p>"Woolly, run quickly to the house and ask the Mother Superior to come +here to me. Now hurry; and Woolly! shut your mouth." There was a sudden +scamper, a vision of bright shining buttons, and Woolly was gone.</p> + +<p>A few minutes later the still unconscious figure was borne into the +house, tenderly attended by the mother and good sisters.</p> + +<p>The first face Jantie Mackeith saw when she awoke was the tender, +pitiful face of Mother St. Marguerite.</p> + +<p>"Where am I? Who are you? Ah, yes, I remember, they told me this was a +convent, where there was rest for all who were weary. I crept in by the +gate, to ask if I might stay here—stay where my heart would find peace; +then I grew dizzy, everything seemed black; I tried to call some one, +then all was dark. May I stay here—may I?"</p> + +<p>Mother St. Marguerite's eyes are full of tears; she takes the pretty +small white hand, stretched out so imploringly, into hers. Sister +Christine, just entering, has never seen the mother so moved before.</p> + +<p>"Yes, poor lamb, stay—stay; no questions will be asked you. If evil has +come, no doubt punishment has followed; if you are wronged, Heaven will +give you a free, light conscience to know that you are doing what your +God would approve. Heaven bless you! We are all weak, erring sheep."</p> + +<p>The school was dull that bright, cheery morning; rumors have got afloat +about the strange lady; the pupils wanted to know all about it. The +sisters' lips were sealed; the only speakable person on the premises was +Woolly. He was bribed by every imaginable luxury, all the way from a +bright yellow handkerchief—the color which was dear to Woolly's +eyes—to a lump of barley candy—dear to the lad's mouth. He drove +enough bargains that morning, during recreation, to last a boy of his +age a whole year. Meanwhile the patient up stairs, in sister Christine's +room, was improving. As was promised, she was asked no questions, and +she gave no information. The name Sister Jean was given her. No one ever +regretted the care bestowed upon the stranger, so eagerly did she strive +to please. The school was large; many pupils occupied the attention of +the sisters sister Jean was given charge of the smaller girls, and right +loyally did they love the pale, quiet, gentle teacher. Mother St. +Marguerite, a wonderful woman herself, took a particular interest in the +new found sister. The sick were visited, the poor watched over, by the +mother's watchful eye and helpful hand. Many homes learned to bless the +good, angelic work of sister Jean.</p> + +<p>Over a month after sister Jean's admission into the convent of St. +Marguerite, a note was received by Sir Barry Traleigh, at Castle +Racquette, Scotland.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"I have given up ambition for the future. Do not try to find +me; I am leading a peaceful, useful, happy life. My heart, +though broken, is as peaceful as is possible again in this +world. <span class="smcap">Jantie.</span>"</p></blockquote> + +<p>But in her haste she forgot the name of the convent was stamped on the +paper. However, Sir Barry's mind was set at rest by those few words; he +knew the more than headstrong, pretty daughter of one of his tenants was +safe. Pretty, foolish Jantie Mackeith had been persuaded into a secret +marriage with a young man, a stranger to Scotland—Cyril Fanchon. He was +a nice, gentlemanly looking fellow; and Jantie—silly child—her head +was turned by his attentions. However, the deed was done, and a week +later Cyril Fanchon suddenly left Scotland, without a word of +leave-taking. In a fit of remorse the girl confessed her marriage to Sir +Barry, and Sir Barry, who had teased and petted the pretty child since +she was out of her baby frocks, was shocked and surprised.</p> + +<p>"You should not have done it, Jantie; you know anything secret is bad, +child. What will your mother say?"</p> + +<p>Sir Barry feels almost a paternal interest in this girl, and her own +father, were he alive, could feel no deeper pity for her than he does +now.</p> + +<p>"Oh sir, mother must never know. You, who know her, can see it would be +madness to say anything to her about it. I expert he grew tired of me, +and yet he used to tell me he would never tire of his pretty Jantie. Oh +yes, my punishment has quickly fallen."</p> + +<p>The girl, standing by Sir Barry, folds her white hands behind her back, +and the honest, truthful brown eyes look vacantly into the distance. The +warm breeze lifts the curly locks from her low white forehead; the +sunbeams kiss the cheeks once so blooming, now pale with anxiety.</p> + +<p>"But, Sir Barry, mark what I say. I shall move all creation but what I +shall find him. Stay here and be talked to death by mother, and mocked +by all? No, I won't! Heaven help me to make him endure just the anguish +that is tormenting me to death. Can you blame me, Sir Barry, can you?" +And Sir Barry, leaning against the arched gateway, looking at the pale, +drooping face, from out of which all the pretty rose bloom has fled, +cannot blame Jantie for what she says.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Mackeith loved this, her only daughter, passionately—the only one +she had to love; mother and daughter were inseparable. As passionately +as she loved, so could she hate; if her love turned to displeasure it +was bitter as death. Her own husband, to whom she was devotedly +attached, displeased her by selling a farm without her consent. He took +cold one morning, while swimming across a swollen ford where the bridge +had been swept away; she took excellent care of him, did all in her +power to save his life, and failed; he died; but she never forgave him. +Sir Barry knew, and so did Jantie, only too well, that her mother's +reproaches would be more bitter than anything else to bear. So Mrs. +Mackeith never knew what had taken place. She wondered, even grieved +with motherly anxiety, over Jantie's pale face and strange freaks of +listlessness. But one morning it all broke upon her unawares. Without a +word of farewell, Jantie left her safe, quiet home among the Scottish +hills, to seek for him who had left her so basely. Cyril Fanchon had +gone; Jantie was gone. Mrs. Mackeith put two and two together, and it +slowly but surely dawned upon her mind that Jantie—her Jantie, of whom +she was so proud—had run away with that fellow Fanchon. The neighbors +thought it a just judgment upon her, for her hard words to her husband +on his death bed. But they offered their consolation with warm, hearty +sympathy. Every one was fond of cheerful Jantie, whose pretty lips +always had a pleasant word and smile for everybody. Her daughter's +conduct, to all outward appearances, seemed to make no difference +whatever to the tall, bony, hardy Scotch woman. Her step was just as +elastic, her eye as keen, as though no trouble had crossed her path in +life. She went about her daily duties the same as when Jantie blithely +sang and cheerfully worked about the house. Mrs. Mackeith showed herself +to be a woman of well-controlled feelings; she told her sorrow to none, +and none knew how nearly broken her faithful, loving heart was.</p> + +<p>Had Sir Barry been home, things might have been different; she trusted +him implicitly; why would she not? She had known the lad all his life; +had she not nursed him in her arms when he was a tiny infant, and +watched the little bonnie laddie grow up to be the fine, good, generous +gentleman she was proud to see he had become? Ah, no; there were few men +who could come as near perfection in Mrs. Mackeith's eyes as brave Sir +Barry Traleigh.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.</h2> + +<h3>TRYING TO BE ECONOMICAL.</h3> + +<blockquote><p>"Check your passions, learn philosophy. When the wife of the +great Socrates threw a teapot at his erudite head, he was as +cool as a cucumber."</p> + +<p>—<span class="smcap">Newell.</span></p></blockquote> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>"Where is father? Is he sick?" It is breakfast hour, and the head of the +house was not in his usual seat at the head of the table. To Zoe's +knowledge this is the first morning she has failed to see the familiar +form sitting in his big chair, glasses on, reading the morning papers.</p> + +<p>"Your father was called away suddenly on business," was the short reply +from aunt Adeline, who looks as if she had not closed her eyes all +night. Jet Glen, lazily reading down the columns of the paper, almost +springs from his seat, as his eye rests on a certain paragraph.</p> + +<p>"Lend me the paper a moment, please." Zoe's voice awakens him from his +trance of surprise.</p> + +<p>"In one minute," coolly taking the scissors from the window sill. "A +trifle here I want to cut out." Zoe looks curious.</p> + +<p>"Let me see, won't you?" she persists.</p> + +<p>"Really, Miss Curiosity, it would do you no good, and I am not going to +give you my reasons for everything I do," is the playful reply, as he +goes out the low French window.</p> + +<p>"What is the trouble with this house anyway? Everything seems upside +down. Tell me, aunt Adeline, where has father gone?"</p> + +<p>Miss Litchfield hesitates for a moment, then she says quickly,</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, child, I had better tell you than strangers. There has been +some trouble about your father's business, and—and he has been obliged +to go." Aunt Adeline bows her head on her folded arms and weeps.</p> + +<p>"Go where? I don't understand why that should make every one in the +house so horrid," Zoe says snappishly.</p> + +<p>"Child," she cries, lifting her wretched face, "don't you hear what I +say? Your father is ruined, but not disgraced, thank Heaven. Though he +has gone, yet he deserves no blame; always keep that in your mind. Your +father never committed an action that would make us ashamed of him."</p> + +<p>Zoe is utterly confounded; surely aunt Adeline is certainly losing her +senses. Then it all dawns upon the girl's mind. Her father—her dear +father—had been obliged, through the deceit of another, not his own +fault—she must always remember that—to leave them all, all whom he +loved on earth. She sipped her coffee thoughtfully, and stared absently +through the clear, thin china saucer. Jet had seen the account of her +father's absence in the paper, and tried, by cutting it out, to spare +her feelings. She had heard that people in reverses of fortune had the +very roof sold over their heads. She looked around the pretty, quaint +oak dining room, opening into the very charming conservatory, and +wonders if it will be the case with them. Ah, she hopes not, for the +memories of the pretty, cosy home were very dear.</p> + +<p>"I wish Dolores were here," she says gravely.</p> + +<p>"Tut, child, Lady Streathmere has taken Dolores home with her; let the +child enjoy herself while she can."</p> + +<p>Aunt Adeline has had her fit of low-spiritedness, now her own energetic +self asserts itself. She bustles around, and when Jet puts his head in +at the door to ask Zoe if she will ride over to the mill with him, aunt +Adeline insists upon her going. And never a word is mentioned about what +each knew the other to be thinking of. Down the shady lane the two +horses slowly walk; the wind blows soft and pleasant in the faces of the +riders, and tosses the manes helter skelter over the horses' pretty +arched necks.</p> + +<p>"I am off to-morrow, little one." Jet Glen settles the fore-and-aft cap +on his head, and surveys the deep blue sky above, as if he is doubting +the settled state of the elements. Zoe takes her foot out of the +stirrup, then puts it in again, settles the folds in the skirt of her +riding habit, and says slowly,</p> + +<p>"Are you?" She is not paying particular attention to anything going on +around; she is wondering what is to be done, in fact is learning that +life is not all sunshine, but full of a great many shadows. She wonders +vaguely if her friends will "cut" her, as she read last week in a story. +Well, it did not matter if they did; there were none she cared enough +for to regret, if they were civil or otherwise.</p> + +<p>"You will be sure to know I will do all that lies in my power to sift +this—this dreadful matter."</p> + +<p>This is sufficient to arouse the wandering Zoe to what he is talking +about.</p> + +<p>"Thanks; you are very kind, I am sure," she says stiffly, and wonders if +this is what any one else in her position would have said.</p> + +<p>"I am sure there is something behind it all," the young man goes on. "I +blame him for going; he should have remained, and made the man confess +to his guilt." Zoe blazes.</p> + +<p>"How dare you speak so of him?" Then extending her pretty gauntleted +hand towards him, says gently, "Forgive me; I know you meant kindly when +you spoke, but I cannot bear to hear him spoken harshly of."</p> + +<p>Jet takes the proffered hand, and gives it a gentle squeeze. He admires +Zoe all the more for the faith she sustains in her father. The old mill +comes in sight, with the sound of rushing water and whizzing of +machinery. An old woman comes to the door of one of the cottages. Zoe +talks to her while Mr. Glen rides on to speak to some man. The villagers +whisper among themselves what a fine looking couple Miss Zoe, bless her +dear heart, and the strange, handsome young gentleman make.</p> + +<p>Some two or three days later Mr. Glen goes away, with the promise to +search for good news to send back to them; and Miss Adeline is perfectly +confident if there is any way to manage, Jet will be the one to arrange +everything. Zoe has accepted the position of organist at the pretty +little Episcopal church; to be sure the salary is small, but as aunt +Adeline said, every little helped, so she took it. Rather dubious at +first was her attempt, not being accustomed to an organ, but a splendid +piano player. Mr. Vacine said there were two organs up at the house, and +no one touched them from one year's end to the other; so the largest and +best was sent down and placed in the corner of the cheery sitting room +at Mr. Litchfield's, where Zoe practiced to her heart's content. Very +kind and thoughtful was Mr. Vacine in those days. Not a single day +passed but what he sent over fruits, or game, or some choice vegetables; +and aunt Adeline fully appreciated his kindly goodness.</p> + +<p>"You see there is more than we know what to do with," he said, when aunt +Adeline expostulated with him for his generosity.</p> + +<p>It was about this time that Mr. Vacine first awoke to the fact that Zoe +was fond of pictures. He found her one morning standing before a picture +in the gallery, lost in admiration; it was then that he declared she +must take some lessons, if it was only to please him. So it happened +that the youngest Miss Litchfield attended the classes held in the Art +Gallery twice in the week, and Mr. Vacine smilingly footed the bills.</p> + +<p>Zoe has gone down to the church this lovely afternoon, to practice over +the hymns and chants for the services on Sunday. She opens the grand old +organ and plays piece after piece, hymn after hymn; then the parson +comes up the cool dim aisle; he shakes hands with the pretty young +organist; he is very fond of Zoe, but still more so of her charming +sister Dolores. A very romantic affair had happened last summer. A party +had gone on a fishing excursion. Dolores somehow or other missed her +footing and slipped into the water. The parson gallantly came to the +rescue, while the other members stood spell-bound. Ever since they had +kept it for a standing joke, and Dolores would laugh, and blush, but +took all the banter in good part.</p> + +<p>"When do you expect your sister home Miss Zoe?"</p> + +<p>The sun comes in slanting rays through the stained glass of the chancel +window, and fell in a myriad of colored shapes, lighting up the bright +trimmings of reading desk and pulpit, and softening the sombre darkness +of the heavily carved doors and window frames.</p> + +<p>"We had a letter day before yesterday; she said they were invited to +join another yachting party, but did not know if she would accept. But +we never can tell anything about what she intends to do. Sometimes she +comes home when we least expect her."</p> + +<p>Zoe rolls up her music, and smiles as the parson says with poorly +disguised unconcern:</p> + +<p>"It would be very beneficial to me, if she would return. When one loses +such an excellent voice as your sister's out of the choir, it makes the +rest sound flat."</p> + +<p>Mr. Wimbleton proceeds to close the organ, and Zoe goes on down the +choir steps; she is obliged to turn away for fear the smile she cannot +conceal will offend Mr. Wimbleton, and she is certainly far from wishing +to commit an offence so great as that. Zoe goes home, and in the hall, +three big trunks meet her surprised eyes; she hears a musical voice +talking to Aunt Adeline in the dining-room.</p> + +<p>"It must be, it is Dolores!" she exclaims delightedly.</p> + +<p>Yes, Dolores has returned more beautiful than ever, with a quiet, grave +look, befitting the trouble for which she thought it her duty to come +home and share with Zoe and aunt Adeline. Dolores was deeply pained, she +put so much confidence in her father; she thought his discernment +incomparable, he always stood so high in her estimation, far beyond +reproach.</p> + +<p>"My poor darling, how you must have suffered, and I enjoying myself; how +utterly selfish I am." There is a mingling of tenderness and reproach in +Dolores' tones.</p> + +<p>"You foolish child, how could you do differently, when you did not know +how often we wished for you? Don't blame yourself child, we will all +bear it together." Aunt Adeline hates to see the pretty faces of her +darlings clouded by care, and she strives to bear all the cares on her +own willing shoulders.</p> + +<p>"I play the church organ," Zoe announces with well pleased promptness. +"And I like it very much, and I am getting quite fond of Mr. Wimbleton; +if he is a little bashful, I like him just the same," the youngest Miss +Litchfield says between the bites of currant cake she is helping hungry +Dolores make way with. Dolores raises her eyebrows, but says nothing and +her sister rattles on.</p> + +<p>"I suppose you will stay home now for the remainder of the summer, will +you?" She thinks she might have a chance to visit around once in a +while, and feels rather inclined to be crabbish.</p> + +<p>"Yes, dear; my finery is so far exhausted, I am afraid it will be +necessary for me to refuse any more invitations. Have you heard from +Blondine while I was away?"</p> + +<p>Zoe puts the last bite of cake in her mouth before she replies.</p> + +<p>"No, she never writes to me. Did you see my latest sketch Dolores?"</p> + +<p>"Why, my dear, how you have improved. I am so glad." Dolores looks +admiringly at the pretty drawing.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, Jet Glen helped me fix my scenes up finely." Dolores never +bothers to inquire who "Jet Glen" is; someone probably Zoe has picked +up, because he had a mania like herself for pictures. Zoe sees the +peacock eating the buds off her pet fuschias out by the door, and she +darts off to chase the offender. Dolores saunters through the hall, and +into the pretty, cool, sitting-room. She looks around, at the things +there, thinking how nice it is to be home again. "Ah, a strange picture; +who are you, sir?" She takes the panel photo, in its green plush frame, +from the table.</p> + +<p>"Heavens! how like the eyes, features, all but the whiskers." The face +looking at her so steadily from out the pretty frame, was the face of +the man whom she loved better than her very life. Only a heavy moustache +shaded the grave, tender mouth, but evidently he had shaved his beard. +But how came his picture here in their own pretty room at home? Zoe +finds her gazing intently at the photo.</p> + +<p>"Where did you get Sir Barry Traleigh's picture?" she asks, and Zoe, +with all the plainness, which was one of her chief characteristics, +replies with a groan for her sister's ignorance. "Sir Barry Traleigh! +your grandmother's ducks! that's Jet Glen, who I told you helped me with +all my precious sketches, and who is the best and dearest fellow in the +world."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.</h2> + +<h3>AN ACCIDENT. A BEAUTIFUL FAMILIAR FACE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"You never can make a crab walk straight."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—<span class="smcap">Aristoparus.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>Two years have rolled past since men in business circles had been called +upon to lament the departure of Edward Litchfield and his ill gotten +gains.</p> + +<p>"What makes Nellie so restless? Is the harness on them all right?" Cyril +Fanchon surveys his span of beautiful black horses rather anxiously.</p> + +<p>"She's all right, sir, just a trick that of hers."</p> + +<p>Fanchon gets in and slams too the door. Certainly he never remembers the +horses to act so before; the carriage rocks wildly from side to side. +Heavens! they are beyond the man's control, they are running away. Loud +cries of "stop them, stop them," rings in his ears, there is a sudden +plunge, a crash, and all is still. Fortunately there was a doctor on the +spot, he orders the unconscious man to be taken into the convent just +opposite. The sisters were good at nursing, it could have happened +nowhere more desirable. The dead leaves lay thick and yellow on the +ground around the convent of St. Marguerite, the cruel winds have lately +robbed the trees of all their pretty green foliage, leaving them grim +and leafless, tossing their gaunt limbs sadly with the autumn's blast. +The air is chilly; there is a decided sense of frost in the atmosphere. +Sister Jean hurries in at a small side door; she is very tired, for she +has been sitting up all night with a sick woman.</p> + +<p>"Sister, there has been an accident; a man is hurt, he is here in room +five; will you watch by him after you have rested?" says the Mother +Superior, meeting her in the hall.</p> + +<p>"Is he very bad?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; but of course we cannot say just yet. We will do all we can; if it +is useless the fault will not be laid at our door," answers mother St. +Marguerite, selecting a certain key from a string hanging at her side.</p> + +<p>Sister Jean hurries to her room, removes her long black cloak, and sits +down for a moment to collect her tired senses. No, she will not rest +now, there may be something she can do for the sufferer down stairs. She +goes down, opens the door softly, and enters. The room is so dark, that +for a minute or two nothing is discernable. Then mother St. Marguerite +steps out from the shadows, and says in a whisper:</p> + +<p>"Just sit by and watch for any movement." Then she and the doctor pass +out, and Sister Jean approaches the bed where her patient lies.</p> + +<p>"God help me," she cries, falling on her knees beside the bed. "Dare I +stay here? Can my strength sustain me, to remain? Oh! will it? Has +Heaven indeed at last avenged me?"</p> + +<p>The eyes of the sick man are upon her, she holds her breath, then the +room seems to swim around, as the weak voice says distinctly:</p> + +<p>"Jantie, is this my Jantie?" The eyes close, and Cyril Fanchon is again +unconscious. When five minutes later mother St. Marguerite enters, she +finds the sister in a dead faint near the door.</p> + +<p>Two months later, on a cold December afternoon, when the snow is piled +up in high drifts around the convent of St. Marguerite, a man, muffled +in furs, is walking up and down impatiently in the parlour or visitors' +room at the convent. From the next room comes the music of a violin, it +is evident one of the pupils is taking lessons. The door opens, he turns +abruptly.</p> + +<p>"Sir Barry Traleigh."</p> + +<p>"Jantie!" sister Jean's hands are clasped warmly in the man's. "The same +pretty Jantie of old, only a litter paler. Why did you run away, little +one, and leave us all?" Sir Barry asks playfully.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Sir, I could not stay there after—"</p> + +<p>Sir Barry gets up and walks hastily to the window, and, coming back, +says gently:</p> + +<p>"You will pardon me for asking you something painful?" Jantie raises her +pale face.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Sir, nothing hurts my feelings now; sometimes I forget I have any +left." Sir Barry laughs.</p> + +<p>"A girl like you talking such nonsense; why child, your life has +scarcely begun." He feels so sorry, so unutterably sorry for her.</p> + +<p>"Tell me Jantie, have you any idea where your—where Cyril Fanchon is?"</p> + +<p>The fire in the grate crackles and snaps cheerily, Jantie looks at the +glowing coals, then she asks:</p> + +<p>"Why do you come here to ask me that, Sir Barry?"</p> + +<p>"My dear, you may be sure it is not from idle curiosity. A very dear +friend of mine has been almost ruined by his partner; his name was +Fanchon, but he is here in this house, so ill he can neither confess his +guilt, if he be guilty, nor defend himself, if he is innocent. Tell me +honestly, Jantie, do you know the man here sick?"</p> + +<p>The falling snow outside comes in spiteful little flakes, and slaps +against the heavily curtained window. Jantie shivers; surely she can +trust the man beside her, who has always proved her friend.</p> + +<p>"Sir Barry, he is my husband, the man for whom I left home and +everything," bitterly. "But, Sir Barry, he wronged me; for when I found +him he was already married. Yes, he had a wife and two children." The +voice is low. Sir Barry looks incredulous.</p> + +<p>"Impossible, the villain."</p> + +<p>"Ah, but I saw them, I knew it was true, so I came here; I have long ago +forgiven him, Sir Barry, and I want you to do the same."</p> + +<p>The door opens, and mother St. Marguerite enters. Sir Barry starts to +his feet. Good Heavens! who was this?</p> + +<p>"Sister Jean, it is your hour to watch by your charge." The door closes, +but Sir Barry's eyes seem fascinated. What makes him feel so strangely? +Where had he seen that face before, where? Why, has it stirred the very +depths of his heart?</p> + +<p>"That was the Mother Superior, Sir Barry, the best and noblest woman in +the world. She gave up home and friends to found this convent, and there +is no need to say she has succeeded in doing Heaven's work among all who +are in need or trouble. Every one blesses the name of mother St. +Marguerite. But will you excuse me now, Sir Barry, I am sorry it is +impossible to remain longer away from my patient."</p> + +<p>Sister Jean has nursed the man most faithfully, who had so basely +deceived her. She has spared neither time nor rest; she will do for him +all she can.</p> + +<p>Sir Barry takes his leave; he is haunted by that face; he is scarcely +himself; it is imperative that he should act, or he will lose his +senses. His ears are caught by a voice that sounds familiar. Just ahead +are a lady and gentleman. The man, Sir Barry immediately decides he does +not know.</p> + +<p>"Just wait here for a moment and I will inquire," Sir Barry hears him +say to his companion, as he darts into a store.</p> + +<p>Surely Sir Barry knows that perfect figure with its pretty suit of +velvet and fur.</p> + +<p>The lady turns her head and sees him.</p> + +<p>"Why, Sir Barry, is it really you?"</p> + +<p>"Miss Grey, I was sure I knew you, the back of your head had such a well +known look."</p> + +<p>Yes, it is stately, pleasant Blondine Grey, every whit as charming as +when Sir Barry saw her last in Italy.</p> + +<p>"And Miss Litchfield, how or where is she?"</p> + +<p>Blondine's pretty face clouds.</p> + +<p>"Poor Dolores, they have had such a trying time; of course you have +heard about the trouble, Sir Barry."</p> + +<p>Sir Barry looked grave, and said he thought he had heard something about +it.</p> + +<p>"I am going to see Dolores, as soon as Uncle Dick settles up some +affairs; there is a very nice place, quite near where they live, that I +want Uncle Dick to buy, and erect a summer residence, or winter either, +if we should like the place very much."</p> + +<p>Sir Barry sees Miss Grey's escort looking daggers at him, so raises his +hat, and bids Blondine good-bye. He is gone; and Blondine had so many +questions to ask him, oh dear; she wishes she could call him back again, +but the corner hid Sir Barry's retreating form from Blondine's wistful +eyes.</p> + +<p>Then the remembrance of the face in the convent comes back to Sir Barry +Traleigh, and he remembers where he has seen that wonderful face before, +knows why it has raised such a flood of remembrance in his heart, and +almost set his brain on fire. His mind is fully made up, that he will +lose no more time in beating around the bush, he will do according to +the dictates of his heart. "Faint heart never won fair lady," and Sir +Barry determines he will be no coward. He set himself a task, and now +when he is about to succeed, is his pluck going to desert him? he thinks +not.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.</h2> + +<h3>TRULY, VENGEANCE IS MINE.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Sit down and dangle your legs, and you will see your revenge."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—<span class="smcap">Italian Proverb.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>It is a broiling day, or has been, but toward evening the same dense, +lurid heat reigns over everybody and everything. The Australian sunset +is going down in all its fiery glory. The sandy wastes stretch out far +and wide, looking in the glowing heat like beds of living ashes. The +miners are all out by their hut doors, vainly endeavoring to catch a +reviving breath of fresh air, which seems very loth to lend its +invigorating presence.</p> + +<p>"Jim wants to see the American paper we got last night; here's a +Canadian one, too." The man addressed took the pipe he was smoking out +of his mouth.</p> + +<p>"No, lad, there's nothing in the papers to interest me; lend it to some +of the other chaps, there may be something to please them." He puts his +pipe in his mouth and finishes his smoke. "May I see them a few moments, +please?" asks the man whom no one dares approach with other than +respect. He had come there and been very successful with his mine; the +men said he was making money fast. He never drank, nor told long yarns +with his fellow workers, and they at first feared, then grew to respect +his solitude. Through the day no one worked harder than Ned Field, and +it stood to reason that at night he was too tired to remain talking when +sleep and rest were so much needed. He takes the paper in his own little +cabin, spreads the sheet out on the table, and pores over the contents +with eager eyes.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"<span class="smcap">Serious and Supposedly Fatal Accident.</span>—As Mr. Cyril Fanchon +was being driven home from his office, the horses became +startled, ran away, upsetting the carriage, and throwing him +out immediately in front of the convent of St. Marguerite. The +injured gentleman was carried into the convent, where he now +lies in a critical condition. Mr. Fanchon is of the firm of +Litchfield & Fanchon, whom the reader may remember as +Litchfield being the defaulter for thirty thousand dollars, and +who left the country with that amount. It is supposed Mr. +Fanchon, who is well and favorably known, will die."</p></blockquote> + +<p>The paper lies unheeded on the table, the minutes and hours pass +unheeded likewise, but the man sitting there in the little rudely +constructed cabin never stirs. The clock strikes five and the man +springs to his feet.</p> + +<p>There is quite a surprise among the miners, when they start to work the +next morning, to see their old chum departing with his few worldly goods +for parts unknown. He took passage in the next steamer, and his heart +rejoiced as each mile brought him nearer the completion of his hopes.</p> + +<p>Sir Barry Traleigh has started out for a walk. All day he has been +unsettled, anxious, worried; he cannot define the feeling which +oppresses him, as he expresses it; he feels as if "something unusual was +going to happen." Very tired and often very discouraged was Sir Barry +during those two years. He had tried with untiring, unwearied patience +to find Mr. Litchfield's whereabouts, no expense of time or money had he +spared, and yet not a word of hope could he send to the anxious, waiting +family. All he could do was to buoy them up with hopes, and those were +almost failing him. He had written a letter to Miss Adeline, telling of +his assumption of another name, and pleaded for her to forgive the +deception he had practised upon them, but saying she would be sure to +forgive, when he could explain personally. All this he had written, and +much more to the same effect. Dolores answered the letter for her aunt. +A letter full of bitter reproaches, refusing to hear any explanation +from him—words which stung Sir Barry's proud spirit to the quick. Any +other man would have thrown up the whole business, but not so Sir Barry. +He could not understand Dolores' strange actions. He sent a postal card +saying he was going to see them, and named the day. But he received a +curt note, saying they were not at home to strangers; so Sir Barry would +not force himself where he was not wanted. He had certainly done wrong, +but then Miss Adeline might have been a little more charitable. He was +sure it must be Dolores who influenced Miss Adeline, and what he had +ever done to be under the bane of Dolores' displeasure, was more than +Sir Barry's keenest discernment could fathom. It entirely disheartened +his efforts, this fruitless search, from day to day, week to week, and +month to month, seeking among strange faces. The cabs and busses rattled +along, up and down, in a ceaseless clatter of wheels and rumbles, that +make him wonder if they tried to see how many scurrying foot passengers +they could knock down in their progress along. He stands a minute to +watch the whirling, pushing mass, then enters the station house, as the +train is coming, in to watch who comes. And the first man he meets is +the one man whom he would give the best thousand dollars he had to meet, +just when and where he does. In spite of the heavy beard and deep +sunburn, Sir Barry is not to be deceived; he recognizes immediately his +old friend Edward Litchfield. Sir Barry rushes forward, extending his +hands, and greeting him joyfully.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Jet my boy, the first home face I have seen; it does my heart good +to look at your face, lad." Edward Litchfield looks haggard and worried.</p> + +<p>"How are things working?" are the first words he utters after the +welcome is over, and they have taken a cab for Sir Barry's apartments.</p> + +<p>"Of course Fanchon got the money, and used it; you disappeared, and of +course he let you carry the blame with you; the business is going on +with Fanchon at the head. It is the second rather steep affair for which +he will be called to account. Of course I could do nothing, but now you +are here, we will have a general sifting up of affairs," Sir Barry says +with satisfaction.</p> + +<p>"How is Fanchon getting? Poor fellow, I feel so sorry for him, but it is +my duty to clear my own and my family's name from dishonor."</p> + +<p>"We will go to the convent to-morrow, and see if he can say anything, +clearly," Sir Barry says.</p> + +<p>He is very anxious that all this miserable affair shall be cleared up as +soon as possible.</p> + +<p>The reports next day of the patient were much better; there was no +question but that he would die, but as far as clearness of mind went, +why he was perfectly capable of settling any affairs he wished. Sir +Barry secures the services of a prominent lawyer and an officer of the +police force, and with the physician visited the convent the next day. +They took down Fanchon's written confession. He had knowingly obtained +the missing money, for purposes he did not state; he professed himself +sorry for having wronged his partner, but seemed utterly unaware of what +punishment he would be called upon to suffer for his crime. Then Sir +Barry says clearly:</p> + +<p>"It is an understood fact that Cyril Fanchon is accused and found guilty +of default of trust, is that true gentlemen?" Sir Barry looks around the +room inquiringly.</p> + +<p>"The man's own words declare himself guilty," is the reply.</p> + +<p>"And I accuse him of another crime, that of bigamy."</p> + +<p>"Sir Barry you must surely be mistaken," interrupted Mr. Litchfield, +gravely. The silence for a moment is almost unbearable.</p> + +<p>"That man lying there went to Scotland, won the affections of a pure, +innocent girl, the pretty daughter of one of my tenants. He married her +when he was already married here. He left his little Scottish bride, and +she left her home, followed him here and found him a married man with a +wife and family. She gave up all worldly ambitions; she is here in this +convent, the girl who has tended him so faithfully during his +illness—Sister Jean, once Jantie Mackeith. Are you listening? Is it not +so?"</p> + +<p>If Cyril Fanchon were dying, Sir Barry could not help feeling that +Jantie Mackeith's hour of triumph had come. From pale to red, from red +to purple, turned the face of Cyril Fanchon.</p> + +<p>"Is that true?" Mr. Litchfield's voice is stern and reproachful. "Can it +be possible this young man can be guilty of so much dishonor? +impossible."</p> + +<p>The doctor gives Fanchon some brandy, and he says sullenly:</p> + +<p>"Well, if I did, whose business is it but my own?"</p> + +<p>"Scoundrel," comes from Sir Barry's clenched teeth.</p> + +<p>"In those two cases my friend, you are in my charge." The police officer +steps forward.</p> + +<p>"Cannot arrangements be made to let him remain here? You see death is +not far off." Mr. Litchfield feels so sorry to see his late partner +reduced to such distressing circumstances.</p> + +<p>"Pity does more harm than good to such men as him," Sir Barry declares. +All inducements were unavailable, and Cyril Fanchon was removed to +prison. His wife, utterly heart-broken, took her children and went home +to her father, and Edward Litchfield was proclaimed a free man. Old +friends gathered around, glad to find their friend had not been unworthy +their esteem.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Adeline, you had better go right in the kitchen, for Zoe is in the +preserve kettle, and I am afraid your plums will be scarce if they are +not looked after, by some one less fond of tasting them than she is."</p> + +<p>Aunt Adeline is out in the garden gathering fruit: peaches, ripe and +luscious, and pears, rich and mellow.</p> + +<p>"There, give me the basket, and I will finish." Dolores daintily holds +up her white skirt, and climbs up the stepping stones, the better to +gather those aunt Adeline could not reach.</p> + +<p>"Say, Dolores, please throw me down that big, ripe peach up there, just +this side of your head. Oh dear." Dolores does as requested.</p> + +<p>"Zoe, child, what is it now?" she asks anxiously.</p> + +<p>"I burnt my tongue, that's what's the matter, if you want to know. I +wish I'd let the old preserves alone." She stands there leaning her +pretty plump arms on the fence and watches her sister.</p> + +<p>The train whistle blows shrilly, and is the only noise that disturbs the +sweet drowsy stillness. Then the youngest Miss Litchfield saunters +idlely off, vainly trying to coax the burnt tongue with sundry ripe +peaches and pears.</p> + +<p>Dolores laughs and works on; and as the sunlight glances through the +boughs of the trees, lingering with a loving touch on her pretty hair, +and sparkles and glistens in the tiny diamond earstuds, which had been +Blondine's last Christmas gift. Dolores loved these, her only valuable +trinkets, and wore them constantly: she even slept in her pretty +eardrops. The little gate in the vegetable garden clicks, but the young +lady perched on the wall never heeds it. She goes on placidly gathering +her pears and peaches. Occasionally a more tempting one than the others +finds its doom in her pretty mouth, but then the picker is always +privileged.</p> + +<p>"My eldest daughter is, as usual, busy, and where is my other daughter?"</p> + +<p>It seems so natural that she should hear that voice; and those very +words have been repeated so often that Dolores laughs softly, then she +gives herself a little pinch to make sure she is awake, and not +dreaming, then she looks down.</p> + +<p>"Father." Slipping down into his arms.</p> + +<p>"Hurrah! Aunt Adeline, father's home." Shouts the brilliant Miss Zoe, +rushing up to fling her long arms around that beloved neck. She has +witnessed the arrival from the very highest limb of a sweet bough apple +tree, and has come down as quickly as possible, to the utter destruction +of her dress sleeve, which looked now utterly innocent of ever being +dignified by the name of sleeve. Nevertheless, her greeting was just as +sincere, for Mr. Litchfield loved this, his youngest daughter, fondly; +in fact, considered her a queen among women, no matter how she looked in +other people's eyes. The fatted calf was certainly killed that day, in +honor of the master's return. Aunt Adeline piled the tea-table with +everything good, every imaginable luxury, to tempt her brother's +appetite. And Zoe had a right royal feast, having three different kinds +of preserves, and every variety of pie and cake, in which her longing +heart delighted. It was a truly gala day.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.</h2> + +<h3>BLONDINE COMES OUT VICTORIOUS.</h3> + +<blockquote><p>"He who builds according to every man's advice will have a crooked +house."</p> + +<p>—<span class="smcap">Danish Proverb.</span></p></blockquote> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>"Now uncle Dick, you promised, you know you did, and I will be so +disappointed if you don't." Blondine's pretty red lips are curled up in +a naughty pout, and her red cheeks are two or three degrees redder than +their wont.</p> + +<p>"People have said I could find a nicer, prettier place, and, my dear, I +intend to settle this matter myself," decidedly.</p> + +<p>"All right, uncle Dick, if you do not you will be sorry, now mind."</p> + +<p>Blondine takes her place at the foot of the long table, and makes much +unnecessary clatter among the fragile cups and saucers. Uncle Dick goes +on calmly eating his tapioca pudding; he enjoys exciting Blondine's +anger, but this time he wants her to understand that he knows his own +business best. He thinks that at his time of life he knows where to or +where not to build a house for the summer. Blondine, during her visit to +Dolores, had found the most delightful spot, to her mind, for them to +settle on; but some one had told uncle Dick that the place was the +dullest hole he ever had occasion to poke his nose into. And if there +was anything uncle Dick hated, it was a place where there was not +something always on the move, to enliven things up once in a while.</p> + +<p>Blondine toys with her napkin ring; she is too cross to finish her +dinner; sometimes uncle Dick tries to see just how horrid he can act.</p> + +<p>"Sir Barry Traleigh is in the drawing-room, shall I show him in here +sir?" the servant announces at Major Gray's elbow.</p> + +<p>"To be sure, to be sure; fetch him in," and Blondine looks up to see Sir +Barry's pleasant face entering the door.</p> + +<p>"Now, Sir Barry, won't you try to induce uncle Dick to do as I say? You +have been there, and is it not delightful?" Sir Barry strokes his silky +moustache in his lazy way, and contemplates Miss Gray for a few moments +in silence.</p> + +<p>"Traleigh knows next to nothing about it at all, so how can he tell?" +uncle Dick puts in hastily. He is afraid if Blondine secures Sir Barry +for her side, the case will go rather hard against him.</p> + +<p>"Excuse me, Major Gray, but I do know something about it, and if you +will permit me to express my opinion, I should say you could not do +better than acquiesce to Miss Gray's wishes." Blondine claps her hands.</p> + +<p>"Now then, uncle Dick, what do you think of that?" she cries, +delightedly.</p> + +<p>"Two against one is not fair," uncle Dick says, in a tone intended to be +argumentative.</p> + +<p>"Say it shall be as I wish," Blondine demands, holding the Major's face +between her hands.</p> + +<p>"We will see; perhaps after I smoke my cigar, I will think it over," and +Blondine knows that the victory is almost won.</p> + +<p>"I had a long letter this morning from Dolores," Blondine says, as she +and Sir Barry go out on the south balcony. "They are so glad their +father has come home, and all that affair cleared up to every one's +satisfaction."</p> + +<p>Major Gray is off, down in the garden, wending his footsteps in and out +among the late autumn flowers.</p> + +<p>"Were you ever through the convent of St. Marguerite, Miss Gray?" Sir +Barry asks, suddenly.</p> + +<p>"No. I never have been, but Dolores, in her letter to me, spoke of one +of the sisters there, who was treated disgracefully by the man Fanchon, +who caused Mr. Litchfield so much trouble." Blondine is very much +interested.</p> + +<p>"You saw her, Sir Barry; is she very pretty?"</p> + +<p>Sir Barry puts his hands in his pockets, and whistles. Blondine looks +surprised.</p> + +<p>"Will you go through with me next Thursday? I believe that is the +visitor's day? Perhaps I can introduce you to Sister Jean; that is the +girl's name Miss Litchfield referred to."</p> + +<p>Blondine declares herself delighted to go. Then out there where the +glimmering sunshine turns everything into a golden hue, with the flowers +nodding their bright, cheerful heads, Sir Barry tells the girl by his +side something, which causes Miss Gray to open her large brown eyes in +bewildered astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Why, I can scarcely credit it," Blondine says, when she has recovered +the use of her tongue.</p> + +<p>"If you agree with my impression, we will see what can be done. You are +the only one I have said anything to about it."</p> + +<p>Blondine would like to tell uncle Dick, but the dear old major could +never, to save his life, keep a secret five minutes, so it was decided +better not to tell him.</p> + +<p>Thursday afternoon, Sir Barry and his pretty companion wend their steps +toward the convent. One of the sisters, whose duty it was to show +strangers around, informs them at once, that Sister Jean is well, but +has gone out to the prison, where she goes twice a week to sit with one +of the prisoners. Sir Barry and Blondine exchange glances, they both +understand who "the prisoner" is, whom forgiving Jantie goes to visit +when everyone else has forsaken him.</p> + +<p>"What pretty flowers," Blondine exclaims, going over to a space in the +hall, divided off by a little wicker railing. Sir Barry slowly follows.</p> + +<p>"Are they not arranged beautifully?" she asks, turning to Sir Barry.</p> + +<p>Coming down the long corridor, on her way to the school-room, is Mother +St. Marguerite; she smiles her gentle, pleasant smile, when she sees the +visitors; she always welcomes everyone with that grave, tender glance.</p> + +<p>"Merciful heavens! the very image; of course you were right; how very +wonderful," gasps Blondine. Sir Barry looks pleased.</p> + +<p>"Then you and I agree on that point?" he asks, bowing to the sister who +politely conducts them to the outer door.</p> + +<p>"Agree with you! why no one could have the least doubt. The features, +why her movements, smile, all are the same." Blondine declares she has +never been so worked up in all her life before as she has been this +afternoon.</p> + +<p>"I must certainly tell uncle Dick," she says, decidedly, and Sir Barry +consents.</p> + +<p>At the end of the month, Cyril Fanchon dies, a very remorseful death; +business men were sorry he did not live to bear the punishment he so +richly deserved. But he was bidden to answer before a more powerful +Judge than any on earth. About six weeks previous to his death, Sister +Jean had heard they could find no one to sit at night with him, so she +begged Mother St. Marguerite to allow her to take the night-watch by +Cyril Fanchon. The mother knew it could not be for long, so she +consented. Now her mission was over at the jail; she had kept her watch +faithfully, she had nothing to regret. The girl looks white and +miserable, after her long night vigil. Surely she has had her revenge +doubly. But revenge is the last thing the gentle, faithful woman thinks +of; far be it from her desire to have her worst enemy suffer.</p> + +<p>There has been an application at the convent for one of the sisters to +go to the country to take charge of a sick child for a few weeks. Mother +St. Marguerite determines that Sister Jean shall be the one to go.</p> + +<p>"The country air will brace you up for your duties here, when you +return," were the Mother Superior's parting words, as she kissed the +sweet face, and bade her bear up.</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p>The gas and pretty wax candles are lighted, throwing a pleasant, soft +radiance over Major Gray's daintily furnished drawing-room. It was +rather chilly, and near tea-time; Blondine has ordered a fire to be lit +in the white marble fire-place.</p> + +<p>"Well, well, to be sure; of course I never heard the full particulars of +the story, but of course Traleigh may be mistaken after all, and then +you would both feel pretty foolish; but what does he purpose doing?" +Major Gray inquires, helplessly.</p> + +<p>"Oh, uncle Dick, certainly Sir Barry knows what he is about. I had not +the slightest doubt, nor have I now, as far as the likeness goes. +And—and—why he will fix it up all right." Pretty, stately Blondine +sinks in her low chair of plush and satin, with an air of perfect faith +in Sir Barry's mode of unveiling this little mystery, which has caused +so much excitement among those three persons. The Major gently rubs one +slippered foot over the other, and watches Blondine thread her needle +with yellow floss. It is very evident he has something to say, that he +finds rather difficult to express.</p> + +<p>"My dear," he says, toying with his spectacle case, "I had the papers +drawn up this afternoon, and the architect engaged, and they intend +commencing work on the new house immediately."</p> + +<p>Blondine lays down her fancy work, and looks at Major Gray.</p> + +<p>"Where?" she asks.</p> + +<p>"I have Traleigh's word for it, that the place you spoke of could not +answer better."</p> + +<p>"You dear, you gem of a man, I knew you would change your mind and do as +I asked you to."</p> + +<p>"There, there, my dear, that will do," gasps uncle Dick, as two fond +arms are twisted about his neck.</p> + +<p>"Get me my shoes, my dear; I have to go to see a man about, about—ah, +some business," the Major declares.</p> + +<p>Blondine runs up-stairs, singing, to get a letter for uncle Dick to put +in the post-office for—well, perhaps it would do no one any good to +know to whom that dainty little letter was addressed.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.</h2> + +<h3>A WOMAN ONE DOES NOT MEET EVERY DAY.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Gone—and I always loved that girl so well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gone—like the old proverbial fair gazelle;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or like the piece of toast so broad and wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That always tumbles on the buttered side."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—<span class="smcap">Anon.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>"Burpee, my dear son, be careful in your choice of a wife; it is an +event in life which every young man should look into with all possible +keenness of judgment; and, my dear boy, I beg of you to be very +careful."</p> + +<p>Lady Streathmere taps her silver-headed cane on the deep piled, plush +carpet. She is very anxious about the person who is to be the future +bride of her wayward son.</p> + +<p>"Yes, mother, you are very good about giving your advice, but I hope I +have sense enough to understand what I am doing. I know my own mind, +too, although you seem to think I don't."</p> + +<p>Lady Streathmere feels hurt; she looks past her son, out the window into +the garden, where the pretty flowers have faded and died by the frost's +bitter, chilly blast.</p> + +<p>"'In buying horses and taking a wife, shut your eyes and commend +yourself to God,' is an old Italian proverb, often quoted by your +father; it contains all that is necessary, my son. I will leave your +choice in hands higher and better than mine."</p> + +<p>Burpee, Lord Streathmere, laughs gaily; he has become so accustomed to +those little lectures from his mother that they go in one ear and out +the other.</p> + +<p>"Well really, mother, I actually believe my fate is sealed, at last; the +girl I have selected, is a woman you don't meet every day."</p> + +<p>The sweet perfume of mignonette and roses float through the long, +handsome rooms, from the lovely vases fixed around in such sweet, +artistic profusion. Lady Streathmere sighs. Whatever is she to do if +Burpee brings home a wife whom she will blush to present to her friends?</p> + +<p>"Who is she?" she asks, faintly, after a moment's reflection.</p> + +<p>"She is a sister in the convent of St. Marguerite, one of the best and +noblest of women. I know, when you know her goodness, you will say the +same." Lord Streathmere leaves the mantel, where he has been standing, +and goes over to the table, where his mother sits.</p> + +<p>"Oh, my son, my son," she moans, "is it so bad as that? You surely are +trying to jest with me."</p> + +<p>"No, mother, not jesting. If she will have me I intend to marry her, +although I have never spoken to her."</p> + +<p>"Heaven grant you never may," groans Lady Streathmere. She is in an +agony of doubt; it is even worse than she had expected.</p> + +<p>"I was so sure you would take a fancy to Rea Severn. Such a nice, pretty +girl; although there was none I should have liked better for a daughter +than charming Dolores Litchfield. I think you are very cruel, Burpee, to +treat your poor old mother so."</p> + +<p>Burpee is busy selecting a fragrant rose to pin in his coat; it is more +than probable he has not taken in all his mother has been saying.</p> + +<p>"I never saw any girl looking so wretched as Rea Severn; I wonder what +ails the girl?" asks Lady Streathmere.</p> + +<p>"I should be very thankful, if I were you, that my son had enough +discretion not to marry a girl who is killing herself by eating opium," +Lord Streathmere says, deciding on a cream instead of a pink rose. "As +for Dolores, she did me the honor to refuse me, but in such a nice way +that, 'pon my word, I forgot to feel bad over it."</p> + +<p>Burpee, Lord Streathmere, possesses a good, though rather effeminate +face, and now, when lit up by enthusiasm, he looks the ideal of an easy, +good-tempered fellow, of whom any mother might well be proud. Certainly +Mrs. St. James must have exaggerated when she had described him as a +"horrid, quarrelsome little boy"; for a better, nor a more peaceful +young man never existed.</p> + +<p>"Burpee, how dare you speak so unkindly of Rea Severn, who has always, +to my knowledge, been beyond reproach," Lady Streathmere says, sternly. +"Mrs. St. James is a friend of mine, and I am sure Arial never mentioned +such a thing." To be sure, she had heard many people remark about Rea's +complexion, her scarlet cheeks and the feverish looking sparkle in her +eyes, but the girl was always in such high spirits, she never seemed +ill, and Lady Streathmere always understood opium eaters were nervous; +altogether it all seems very perplexing. Burpee strides over to the +piano and fusses around among the music.</p> + +<p>"Everyone knows it, and I dislike Mrs. St. James most heartily." Burpee +dashes off into a breezy little ballad that used to be a favorite of +Dolores, and Lady Streathmere leaves the room. She has no patience with +the boy when he is in a mood like the present. Lord Streathmere dislikes +being left alone, so he goes down town, and meets Sir Barry Traleigh.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Sir Barry," he says, taking the Scotchman's arm, "Will you +get me acquainted with Sister Jean? I am going to marry that girl, if +she will have me. Day after day I have watched her go on her dreary +visit to the jail to see Fanchon. Such devotion I never heard of. I want +you to plead my cause for me, to my mother. Tell her the girl's story; +you are more plausible about such things than I am." Sir Barry looks +amused.</p> + +<p>"What will Lady Streathmere say?" he asks.</p> + +<p>"I want you to tell her, and get me acquainted as soon as you can; will +you?" Sir Barry looks at his watch.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid it will be no use Streathmere. Her first taste of married +life has been so bitter, it is very doubtful if she would care to try it +a second time." Lord Streathmere looks distressed, and Sir Barry goes +on. "Of course I don't want to discourage you, but you will do well to +be prepared for a refusal."</p> + +<p>The pretty little Bijou Theatre is ablaze with lights, brilliant jewels +and handsome women. And over there in a box sits Lady Streathmere, and +leaning over her plush chair back stands handsome Sir Barry Traleigh. +Many pairs of bright, eager eyes are levelled upon this society +favorite. But alas for them, Sir Barry is too deeply interested, by what +he is saying, to be conscious of the flattering scrutiny. He is relating +Jantie's sad love story to the high bred looking lady.</p> + +<p>"What a brave, forgiving, sympathetic girl." There are tears in Lady +Streathmere's kind eyes. She feels deeply interested in the story of +this girl, whom Sir Barry Traleigh has been telling her about.</p> + +<p>"She it is whom Burpee has decided to select for his wife." Sir Barry +has been ordered by Lord Streathmere to tell his mother, and this is the +way he tells her.</p> + +<p>The music and acting go on, but Lady Streathmere, sitting there in her +beautiful silk and lace dress, waving the feather fan she holds, pays no +heed to anything but the words Sir Barry is uttering. No one could have +told her better, for she had Sir Barry's word for it, that the woman who +was to bear their old ancient name, was a woman faithful, honest, and +true. So she thanked heaven Jantie was as good as Sir Barry said she +was, and Lady Streathmere had to make up her mind to do the best she +could with her future daughter-in-law.</p> + +<p>"You will never have cause to feel ashamed of her, Lady Streathmere. +Jantie is a lady in every sense of the word, but I feel rather certain +that Burpee will find it a difficult matter to cage his pretty bird."</p> + +<p>"Why?" Lady Streathmere asks, coldly. She is at a loss to see why +anyone, let alone a poor, friendless girl like Miss Mackeith, should +have the audacity to hesitate a moment when considering a match like +Burpee, Lord Streathmere.</p> + +<p>"Do not misunderstand me, Lady Streathmere. When you come to consider +that the girl knows nothing of the honor in store for her, you will see +there is some weight in my remark," he says, stiffly. He is not going to +allow Lady Streathmere to snub him in that tone.</p> + +<p>"Silly boy," she says playfully; going on earnestly, "you will pardon a +mother's pride and anxiety. I did not wish to wound you, Sir Barry; you +have told me very kindly, but I cannot help wishing that Burpee could +have trusted his mother enough to have told me, what you have done, +himself."</p> + +<p>So when Burpee comes in later his mother greets him with a smiling look, +and the faint-hearted lad knows Sir Barry has overcome all his +difficulties for him, as far as Lady Streathmere's anger was concerned.</p> + +<p>The next day, when Lord Streathmere, accompanied by Sir Barry, called at +the convent of St. Marguerite, they heard that Sister Jean had been +called away, to take charge of a person who was ill. Nothing could be +learned about her farther. She had gone, and it was against the rules of +the convent to give information to strangers concerning the habits or +whereabouts of the inmates. Lord Streathmere was disconsolate. She was +gone, and he had loved her so well. Now what was to become of him? It +required Sir Barry's deepest chaffing powers to be called into play, in +order to keep the disappointed boy from falling into despair.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.</h2> + +<h3>A REVELATION.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"I am as I am, and so will I be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But how that I am, none knoweth truly;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be it ill, be it well, be I bond, be I free,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I am as I am, and so will I be."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—<span class="smcap">Wyatt.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>Sir Barry Traleigh's parlour, at his bachelor apartments, is lit only by +the flickering firelight. It chases the dark shadows out of the dim +corners, and throws a cheerful brightness over the pretty crimson and +gold satin furniture. Sir Barry's little dog "pug" lies on the tiger +skin rug in front of the cheerful blaze, keeping watch over his master's +slippers. Mr. Litchfield and Dolores sitting there, awaiting Sir Barry's +return, are not slow to enjoy the luxuries spread so lavishly about +them. It is nearly five o'clock on a December afternoon, and the short +day is almost gone. The woman in charge of the rooms had brought in +lights, but Dolores had refused to have them lit, saying the fire light +was so very pleasant. Sir Barry had sent to Mr. Litchfield to know where +he could secure a good boarding place for a few weeks for sister Jean. +She had a persisting, little, hacking cough, that worried Sir Barry, and +made him persuade her to try a change of air. Aunt Adeline, in her +goodness of heart, said the girl should come to them. And Dolores was +sent with her father with a special invitation. They had gone to the +hotel on their arrival, and afterward drove to see Sir Barry. He was +out, but they awaited his return in his pretty fire-lit parlour. Dolores +has slipped off her seal skin jacket and gloves, and is sitting on the +rug patting the little grey coated, brown eared dog, when the door +opens.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Litchfield, why, this is a pleasant surprise; have you been waiting +long?" Sir Barry says, coming forward. Then his eyes fall on the girl +crouched there by the fire, with the dog in her lap. "Dolores, Miss +Litchfield."</p> + +<p>There is an eager, expectant look in Sir Barry's pleasant eyes, he has +longed so to see the girl's face, to hear her musical voice; now she is +here, here in the room where he can talk to and hear her talk. Dolores +rises leisurely and puts the dog down.</p> + +<p>"How do you do, Sir Barry Traleigh?" she says coldly, not offering even +to shake hands with him. She does not, she can not yet trust herself to +look at the man standing before her, and Sir Barry turns to Mr. +Litchfield.</p> + +<p>"You got my letter; have you gained a place for my little friend yet?"</p> + +<p>"My Sister sent us to take her home with us."</p> + +<p>"Miss Adeline was always kind; I hope she has overlooked my deception +ere this?"</p> + +<p>Sir Barry glances across the room where Dolores stands beside a cabinet +of rare old china, her blue velvet and silk dress making a pleasant +rustle as she moves about the pretty room, admiring the pictures and the +ornaments. Sir Barry lets her be, he will not force his company upon +anyone.</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, long ago, my lad; we laugh at your masquerade now as a fine +joke. I explained away all the difficulties. Now when can we see this +sister Jean? Mr. Litchfield's voice breaks in upon Sir Barry's +meditation.</p> + +<p>"We can go now; ah!"—The door is thrown open, and Blondine's pretty +face, radiant with welcome, appears.</p> + +<p>"I just thought I would come over; I got your telegram, uncle Edward, +and as you were not at the hotel I came here. I hope you will pardon me, +Sir Barry, for invading your room in such an unceremonious way. Dolores, +my darling, how are you?"</p> + +<p>"We are going to the convent, Miss Gray, will you come?" asks Sir Barry, +as he assists Dolores on with her coat.</p> + +<p>"Do, dear," Dolores says, drawing on her fur gloves. "I hate to go, yet +I want to."</p> + +<p>Blondine is always ready and willing to go anywhere for a change, so +consents. Sir Barry had said he would arrange some plan for taking Mr. +Litchfield to the convent; this must be the way, and Blondine begins to +feel a great excitement creeping around her. They arrive and are +admitted by a sister, who takes them up-stairs to the Mother Superior's +parlour, where a cosy fire burns in the polished grate.</p> + +<p>"Will you see the mother St. Marguerite? as sister Jean has just come +home and is too tired to see anyone to-night," asks the sister. This is +just what Sir Barry wants, so he said if it were possible he would see +mother St. Marguerite. Sir Barry is very restless; he walks up and down +the pretty, homelike little room, until Blondine thinks she will go +wild, if he does not sit down. Blondine's eyes are full of suppressed +fire; she and Sir Barry are soon, any moment, to be either rewarded or +mistaken in what they have long been patiently planning. There is a +sound of approaching footsteps, Sir Barry wheels around his face in deep +shadow; the door is opened softly, and mother St. Marguerite stands +within the room.</p> + +<p>"Estelle, my wife? Thank God I have found you at last," Mr. Litchfield +cries, springing forward.</p> + +<p>"Edward," gasps mother St. Marguerite.</p> + +<p>"Blondine, what does it all mean?" Dolores demands.</p> + +<p>"It means that you have found your dear mother."</p> + +<p>"Surely this is Dolores." Mother St. Marguerite takes the trembling girl +in her arms. "And my little, spirited baby, my Zoe, she is well? Ah! the +good God has preserved my dear ones until this happy day." Blondine's +eyes are full of happy tears.</p> + +<p>"Are you not glad, dear Sir Barry? Dolores will never be able to thank +you enough. If it had not been for you, she would never have found her +mother."</p> + +<p>Sir Barry feels glad that so much happiness had been brought around for +all hands concerned, but feels most woefully forlorn himself. It seems +now they are all united, that he is left entirely out in the cold. +Blondine's voice awakens him.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I suppose so," he says, absently.</p> + +<p>"Dolores is going to stop a few days with me; come in and see us any +time, when you are lonely," Blondine says, cheerfully. She intends +giving naughty Dolores a good scolding for her persistent coolness to +Sir Barry. "And at one time I imagined they were getting so fond of each +other," Miss Gray thinks, ruefully.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.</h2> + +<h3>REA'S ATONEMENT. THE NEW MOTHER SUPERIOR.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"When little girls tell tiny fibs,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We turn all roary tory;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tell how lions ate the child,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Who told one naughty story.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But when the girls adorn themselves,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With hair dye, paint and chignon;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They look so nice, that in a trice,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">We alter our opinion."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—<span class="smcap">Anon.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>The rain comes down in a dull, ceaseless pour, making the icy streets +still more dangerous to walk safely on. A regular January thaw, after a +freezing spell of bitterly cold weather. Rea Severn, sitting in a large +invalid chair, looks out on the dreary scene. She is thinking long, and +hardly, and bitterly on her past life. No one would recognize the bright +vivacious Rea in the distressed looking creature sitting there, in her +white dress, the dress no whiter than the wearer's face. Her eyes look +as if she had cried all the brightness out of them. Rea has been very +ill; at one time it was understood she could not recover. The habit of +eating opium had taken full possession of her, and now she is but a +skeleton of her former bright self. She had eaten only a little at +first, because it put color in her otherwise colorless face. It helped +to brighten her eyes; made her high spirited. But after a time its +deadly work began. She could no longer exist without a double portion of +the deadly drug. The habit, of which she had been warned against by the +Gipsy, during her visit to the Island, with the other members of the +party which were on board the Hon. Jerry's yacht, was certainly doing +its best to kill her, if she did not kill it. And Rea felt almost +powerless to battle any longer. People said she most certainly must put +something on her face, it was such a strangely, pinkish-creamy tint. Rea +denied it to all but Arial St. James, and it was to be said to Arial's +credit, that she was shocked when she discovered the girl had recourse +to such means. She persuaded her to stop, but Rea persisted, and made +Arial promise secrecy. During her spells of low-spiritedness, the only +one who could sympathize with her was Mrs. St. James. During the past +three years, no one but the girl herself knew how she had suffered; how +many battles she had tried to fight against it; how many prayers she had +offered up, but all seemed of no avail; and at last, when death had +almost claimed her, she seemed ready to lay down the weapons at the +enemy's feet and give up all further efforts in despair.</p> + +<p>When Sister Jean came to take care of her, she it was who changed the +whole current of Rea Severn's life. She offered to help her daily; she +told of the quiet, peaceful convent life; of the good waiting to be +done, if there were any to do it. She braced Rea's spirits up and +brought her to see that there are more things in the world to live for +beside one's own selfishness. And the Heavenly hand she had almost began +to think had failed her, was stretched out to Rea to assist her future +life, to guide her steps into a safer path than she had been treading. +For the first time for many months and years her mind was calm and +satisfied; she found a peaceful calm and quiet settle around her after +hearing Sister Jean's gentle voice, telling her of the helpfulness to +many of the convent sisters. The wind howls around the house dismally. +Rea shivers and looks from the dreary outside to the cheerful fire +roaring in the pretty room within. There is a peal of silvery laughter +comes floating up-stairs, followed by Mrs. St. James' lovely self. She +could not wait any longer for the storm to clear, but had taken a cab +and come over to cheer up her invalid friend. She comes into the pretty +room, smilingly serene as usual.</p> + +<p>"Arial, how good of you to come to me, and on such a miserable day, +too." Mrs. St. James takes the easy chair opposite Rea. She looks over +toward the other window, with a very scornful smile on her very +beautiful lips. She has no smile, no word of greeting for the other +occupant of the room. It is quite foreign to her to take any notice of +the charity sister, whom it has been Rea's fancy to make so friendly of. +Most decidedly Mrs. St. James does not approve of Sister Jean. Does it +ever enter the scornful lady's mind that she may and would live to see +the day when she would do anything reasonable or otherwise to be +recognized by the girl over there in the window, who never raises her +sweet, pale face from her sewing? Perhaps not, we do not know, in these +days of possibilities, what is likely to happen within a short period.</p> + +<p>"Have you heard about Gordon Aubrey, my dear? What will you say when I +tell you? Prepare for a shock to your feelings." Rea smiles languidly.</p> + +<p>"Poor Gordon, what has he been up to now?" she asks, indifferently. She +has always been fond, very fond of Gordon. And Gordon? Well, the path he +has marked out for himself now, goes to show how fond he was of charming +Rea.</p> + +<p>"He went somewhere with some friends, fishing; they came across some +girl, and Gordon, of course, as usual, was immediately captivated with +her pretty face; he only knew her a week, when, to use Whitehead's +words,</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'In short she blushed, she looked consent,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He grasped her hand, to church they went.'<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>And Gordon is lost to us all forever and aye." Arial is hardly prepared +to see Rea take her words so coolly.</p> + +<p>"And so he has been and gone and done it? May every happiness follow him +and his pretty wife, whoever she be," are Rea's gracious words.</p> + +<p>"I should not like to be her; in a week he will tire of her. You know he +is not one of the constant sort." Mrs. St. James shrugs those beautiful +shoulders of hers. She is really quite disgusted at Gordon's lack of +taste. A girl with no education whatever, and in those days, too, when +every person has a chance to learn, if they so please. She hopes he will +repent, and that bitterly, in the bargain.</p> + +<p>"Such a nice fellow young Lord Streathmere has become; they say his +mother and he, accompanied by Sir Barry Traleigh, were at the ball last +night. Sir Barry gets nicer every day; what a pity he does not marry."</p> + +<p>Sister Jean's spool of thread falls on the floor: she stoops to pick it +up and then glides from the room. This is the first time sister Jean +heard of Lord Streathmere, but her heart beats with grateful affection +at the mention of Sir Barry Traleigh.</p> + +<p>"I cannot understand how you can have that girl here, Rea; she would +give me the chills to have her gliding so noiselessly around. Another +thing, you are nearly well now; I don't see why you need her any +longer."</p> + +<p>The clouds are breaking away, the storm is over, and a glimmer of +sunlight, peeping from a rift in the sky, falls on Rea's pale face, and +lights up the tired eyes.</p> + +<p>"What makes you so prejudiced against her, Arial?" she asks, looking at +Mrs. St. James' cold, handsome face.</p> + +<p>"I have no patience with that class of people; my advice to you is to +get rid of her as soon as you can." Mrs. St. James feels she has not all +the confidence of Rea. She used to tell her everything, but since sister +Jean's arrival, Rea never has any confidence to make, and Arial feels +she is gradually being rivalled, and by a charity sister. It is all very +bitter for Arial to believe.</p> + +<p>Some days later, the cosy library at Mrs. St. James is bright with +light, and warmth.</p> + +<p>"Something to interest you, my dear," Mr. St. James says, passing his +wife the evening paper. Very quietly Arial looks up from her book. She +takes the paper, and a red, deep crimson spot burns on both her perfect +cheeks as she reads. It has come to pass what she has been dreading.</p> + +<blockquote><p>"It is to be regretted by all who have known her worth of +goodness, that mother St. Marguerite, the sympathetic Mother +Superior of the Convent of St. Marguerite, is about to give up +the position she has begun and succeeded with so famously. Her +place will be supplied by one whom we all hope may prove +herself as worthy of esteem as her valuable predecessor. The +new Mother Superior is a lady who lately adorned the most +brilliant and fashionable society circles—<span class="smcap">Miss Rea Severn</span>." </p></blockquote> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.</h2> + +<h3>NED CRANE. THE ONE AND THE SAME.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Stolen sweets are always sweeter,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stolen kisses much completer;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stolen look are nice in Chapels,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stolen, stolen be your apples."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—<span class="smcap">Leigh Hunt.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>It is Sunday morning, a bright, beautiful, peaceful Sabbath. The pretty +church is warm and comfortable. The sunlight, creeping in through the +gaily painted stained glass windows, tinge those sitting in its +brilliant rays, with every vivid hue of the rainbow. The service has +begun when Mr. Vacine enters, and with him a tall, pleasant looking +young fellow, who, as he takes his seat, looks eagerly up to the choir. +Dolores, sitting up there in her own special corner, starts and looks a +second time at the stranger, who is regarding her fixedly.</p> + +<p>"How in the name of sense has Ned Crane come here? And with Mr. Vacine, +too—Mr. Vacine, who never entertains, from one year's end to the +other." This is what Dolores is saying in her mind. "And then just +look at Mr. Vacine's face. How wonderfully happy he looks; surely +something very unusual has happened that Mr. Vacine should wear such a +very beatific expression." A little boy in the next seat dropped his +cent on the floor, then he looked at the elderly gentleman and by him in +awe; all the small children stood in great dread of old Mr. Vacine. The +child expected either a stern look of disapproval, or else a poke from +Mr. Vacine's gold-headed cane. Contrary to the youngster's expectations, +he saw Mr. Vacine actually smiling at him—smiling after he had let his +cent drop on the floor with such a click. The little boy was so +astonished that he was quiet during the remainder of the service. +Dolores has only arrived home this morning from her visit to Blondine. +She had got ready as soon as she arrived, and gone to morning service, +for the parson was anxious that she should take her place again in the +choir. She has not seen Sister Jean yet, and Dolores is very anxious to +do so. Zoe, from her high seat at the organ, is "taking in" the young +man with Mr. Vacine. He is quite nice in Zoe's sight, and the youngest +Miss Litchfield listens to the sermon and determines that she thinks she +will like him very much. At the door, Mr. Vacine invites Zoe and her +sister up to take dinner. Dolores demurs, but Zoe says promptly, "Of +course they will;" so Dolores goes. Over the prettily arranged dinner +table Mr. Vacine tells the two astonished girls all about the dear +nephew who had left his uncle's home in a passion, vowing never to +return. But something happened that made him feel remorseful for having +deserted the kind old uncle, who had always been as a father to him. So +the prodigal had returned, and Mr. Vacine cannot disguise his gladness.</p> + +<p>"I never imagined we should meet here, Ned," Dolores says, as they +saunter through the warm, pleasant drawing-rooms.</p> + +<p>Zoe has gone up stairs to play some hymns for Mr. Vacine; in the cosy +music room.</p> + +<p>"It is queer now, when you think of it, and, by jove, what an awfully +pretty girl your sister is," Ned says. He has always admired Dolores +immensely, but Zoe—Zoe was so entirely different. In fact Ned is sure +he will grow to be awfully fond of Mr. Litchfield's pretty wilful +daughter Zoe.</p> + +<p>The sun shines brightly on the clear, white, glistening road, covered +with snow; the icicles glitter in the limbs of the leafless trees like +crystal; everything is bright, cold, and sparkling. The bells are +ringing for Sunday-school, and the little and big children troop along +in response to the bell's call.</p> + +<p>"I was awfully glad you found your mother. How was it you did not know +where she was before?" Ned asks, as they stand at the window, watching +the passers by.</p> + +<p>Dolores silently contemplates the gold fish swimming around and around +in the huge glass globe.</p> + +<p>"She said a feeling she could not resist, made her think it her duty to +leave home and found a safe, calm retreat, by which much good could be +done for the sick, poor or suffering, of a large city like Montreal. She +knew aunt Adeline would take excellent care of the house, and my sister +and I, so she went. You know the rest, how she has instituted a convent, +that all declare had done more good than any other institution of a like +kind. Now she has consented to give up the name of Mother St. +Marguerite, and come back to us all at home. You cannot fancy, Ned, how +too good it seems, after all those years, to have my mother again. Just +think of Rea Severn taking mother's place. What strange things happen."</p> + +<p>"I guess she felt pretty cut up about Gordon Aubrey's marriage," Ned +says, his heart beginning to beat, as light footsteps are heard running +down stairs, and a clear girlish voice calling Dolores' name.</p> + +<p>"We must really go, Dolores, I have brought your coat and hat," Zoe +announces, dropping the articles on a chair, as she speaks.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Crane, what a good time you must have, if you are fond of pictures; +why this house is a paradise," says this precocious child, going over to +one of the mirrors to put on her hat.</p> + +<p>"Sir Barry Traleigh is a beautiful painter," announces the youngest Miss +Litchfield proudly. It has occasioned her much pride to tell her girl +acquaintances, how a real, live "Sir" had initiated her into the +mysteries of painting.</p> + +<p>Ned looks deeply amused, the girl is so original, so different from any +other girl of her years. The corners of his mouth twitch in a highly +suspicious way; he would enjoy vastly to laugh, but politeness forbids, +and he turns to Dolores.</p> + +<p>"When did you say this very beautiful cousin of yours, Miss Gray, was +expected?"</p> + +<p>Dolores laughs, her sweet, silvery tones filling the handsome old room +with sweet music.</p> + +<p>"It is doubtful what day. I shall expect you to fall in love with +Blondine the first time you meet," she says archly.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps," Ned answers, watching Zoe fastening up her roll of music.</p> + +<p>"Have the girls gone?" asks Mr. Vacine, coming in from a brisk walk +around the snow covered garden.</p> + +<p>"No, but just going," Dolores says, smiling.</p> + +<p>"Give my love to mother and father, and be good girls, both of you," and +Mr. Vacine goes into the library and shuts the door. Ned puts on his +overcoat and walks down with the girls to the gate. He offers to escort +them home, but Dolores will not listen to such an arrangement, much to +the youngest Miss Litchfield's disgust. It is a bitterly cold afternoon; +the sun looks out sullenly from behind dull, grey clouds.</p> + +<p>"The days are certainly very changeable," Zoe declares as they hurry +home, the snow creaking beneath their feet. "This morning has been so +bright, and now just see how dull it has become."</p> + +<p>Dolores removes her seal jacket and hat by the stove in the hall, and +Zoe says she will carry them up-stairs, as she is going up. Dolores +pushes open the drawing-room door and goes in. The cosy fire looks very +cheerful and inviting. Drawing up an arm chair, Dolores sits down to +enjoy the warmth. The folding doors are on a jar. Presently someone +comes in.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Sister Jean, you are reading yet? Your Bible chapter has been +rather lengthy, if it is not yet finished." Mrs. Litchfield's pleasant +voice says.</p> + +<p>"I had finished reading some time ago, and was indulging in a day dream +when you came," is the reply. Dolores sits upright in her chair. Surely +she has heard that peculiar voice before.</p> + +<p>"I have not seen your other daughter yet. I wonder if she will be very +angry with me for asking her a question? Sir Barry Traleigh, the last +words he spoke to me were to find out, if I could, why Miss Dolores +treated him so unkindly. Sir Barry is very fond of your eldest daughter, +and he feels her unkind conduct to him very keenly."</p> + +<p>Dolores springs from her seat to the door and looks through the opening +into the next room. Oh! Why was I so quick to jump to conclusions, might +I not have known I could have trusted him? Sister Jean is, yes, the same +girl I saw talking to him that wretched day in Italy. She looks again. +Yes, she has snubbed Sir Barry all this time, and now will he, will he +forgive her? Dolores is dreadfully put about. Sister Jean's next words +almost finish her anguish of mind.</p> + +<p>"I understand he proposes returning to his home in Scotland, almost +immediately. He says there is no excuse for his remaining away any +longer. If Miss Dolores would only consider what a wrong she is doing +herself by throwing away the love of a good man like Sir Barry, she +would be lifting a weight off more than one mind."</p> + +<p>There is a silence for a space, then Mrs. Litchfield says, quietly:</p> + +<p>"I am sure my Dolores would have told me if there had been any trouble. +She certainly cannot know that he cares for her in the way you mean, +or—"</p> + +<p>The curtains are thrown unceremoniously aside.</p> + +<p>"Mother, I did, I do know. What if he has gone before he knows +differently? Will he ever forgive my coldness toward him? What shall I +do? What am I to do?" Sister Jean's face is bright with gladness. At +last she has done something for Sir Barry in return for all his goodness +to her. She, or, at least, her words have done more to turn Dolores' +wilful, yet loving heart, than anything else could do.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII.</h2> + +<h3>LORD STREATHMERE'S SUIT. SIR BARRY'S CONQUEST.</h3> + +<blockquote><p>"Mortgages and great relations, And Indian bonds, and tithes +and rents, What are they to love's sensations?"</p> + +<p>—<span class="smcap">Praed.</span></p> +</blockquote> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>"Oh mercy! A real, live Lord to be in town, and I declare if Sir Barry +Traleigh is not here, too. Hurrah for our side!"</p> + +<p>The breakfast room is cheerful with fire and sunlight. Zoe is reading +the list of hotel arrivals.</p> + +<p>"What is the child talking about? Zoe, I trust you are not growing +profane. What is that you are saying about Lord?" Aunt Adeline is busy +with the breakfast arrangements, and has only caught a stray word of +Zoe's exclamation.</p> + +<p>"Father," calls the youngest Miss Litchfield, at the top of her far from +low voice, "Did you know Sir Harry was here? My dear old Jet, how glad I +will be to see that man."</p> + +<p>"Not so loud, my girl," her father says from the fire where he is +warming his hands. "I saw them last night, and invited them here to +dinner this evening."</p> + +<p>Aunt Adeline sniffs in an ominous manner. The Litchfield household have +got to look upon that sniff of aunt Adeline's as boding no good to any +new project of which it is doubtful if she will approve.</p> + +<p>"Chickens are eighty cents a pair in the market, are you aware of it, +Edward?" she asks tartly. Mr. Litchfield laughs.</p> + +<p>"Well, my dear sister, we need not encourage their heinous demands."</p> + +<p>"Lords and Sirs always expect every luxury, whether reasonable or +otherwise, but as you have already asked them, I will have to do the +best I can." Miss Adeline stalks from the room with a stern look of +disapproval on her face. "Lords and Sirs indeed," she mutters. "Pray is +it not all owing to Sir Barry that is making her dear Dolores go around +looking so disconsolate?" She never for a moment takes into +consideration that it is all Dolores own wilfulness that has made Sir +Barry stay away so long.</p> + +<p>A telegram arrives during the forenoon from uncle Dick Gray, announcing +their coming that very afternoon. Dolores drives over to the station +with her span of grey ponies, to meet and bring them home.</p> + +<p>At dinner Lord Streathmere is presented to Sister Jean. Blondine, merry +Blondine, his right hand neighbor at dinner, is nearly beside herself +with merriment, as she watches the covert looks of admiration he casts +across the table at the convent sister. Sister Jean has improved +wonderfully since her arrival; gay and charming, she is almost the +pretty Jantie of old. Poor Burpee, Lord Streathmere, is very badly hit; +more so, perhaps, than he himself thinks. Dolores has a bad headache, +and does not put in an appearance. Zoe is rather disappointed in Sir +Barry, he seems so much changed since he left; not the same genial Jet +who had petted and teased the youngest Miss Litchfield almost to +distraction. He seemed to Zoe older and graver. After dinner Dolores +comes down to the pretty drawing-room. She is looking most wonderfully +sweet and gracious. Lord Streathmere is making great strides in his +friendship with Sister Jean. He suddenly manifests a strong inclination +about finding out the ways of life in a convent, and the wants of the +poorer classes. To all this Sister Jean gives her patient attention and +information.</p> + +<p>Sir Barry is standing by the little Gipsy table, where Dolores is busy, +daintily dealing out cream, and sugar, and coffee, in tiny shell-like +cups. Dolores is very gracious this evening, so much so that Sir Barry +is completely dazzled, and he can scarcely realize she can mean it all +for his own benefit. She is wearing a dress this evening, the identical +kind of a one she wore daring the last tender interview they had held +together in far off sunny Nice, when Dolores had strayed down to the +clear moonlit garden, and Sir Barry had almost declared himself. Dolores +talks on, her soft, pleasant laugh filling up the spaces, when Sir Barry +forgets to answer. A marble jar standing near is laden with mignonette +and candy tuft, filling the rooms with their sweetness, making Sir Barry +almost positive that the present is a dream, and that he is back in the +pretty Italian garden, surrounded by the old-fashioned sweet-smelling +flowers, walking by Dolores side, and listening to her gay, young voice.</p> + +<p>"Now stupid, try, do, to keep still until I can undo this tangle you +have made," says the youngest Miss Litchfield to Ned, who sits most +patiently, adoringly, by Zoe's side, assisting, or detaining, the young +lady to wind a skein of wool.</p> + +<p>In spite of all aunt Adeline's corrections, her niece very frequently +falls into the error of raising her voice to what Miss Adeline considers +a most unladylike pitch of clearness and highness. Staring at people was +another grave offence that called forth all aunt Adeline's attempts to +put down. Zoe would open those wonderful grey green eyes of hers and +stare at you for, it would be impossible to say what length of time. +Habit, of course, but a habit that aunt Adeline's gentle "Zoe, my dear, +drop your eyes, dear," failed to mend.</p> + +<p>"I see St. James is selling out, and going to live abroad. I wonder what +he purposes doing?" asks Lord Streathmere.</p> + +<p>"I believe this climate does not agree with Mrs. St. James' health," +Blondine answers quickly.</p> + +<p>Dolores looks across the room at Ned; he catches her eye, and smiles.</p> + +<p>"Handsome woman, I have heard," Mr. Litchfield says, from the hall where +he is walking up and down.</p> + +<p>"Who do you mean? Ah yes, Mrs. St. James; a most peculiar woman," says +Sir Barry, as he comes back, after giving Mrs. Litchfield her cup of +coffee.</p> + +<p>A very great favorite is Sir Barry of Mrs. Litchfield's; she is so +grateful to him for all his past goodness, and, knowing Dolores tender +secret, she looks forward to Sir Barry some day gaining his heart's +desire. They are a very gay party; Blondine is greatly interested in +Sister Jean. She has taken a great fancy to this girl, of whom she has +heard so pitiful a history. This lovely morning Blondine and Sister Jean +are driving into the town to do some shopping. Pretty Blondine is always +needing "trash," as she calls the hundred and one odds and ends her +fancy decrees. She has declared her intention of visiting the furrier's +store this particular day.</p> + +<p>"Why, Miss Gray, what do you want of another seal jacket when you have +such a beauty already?" Sister Jean asks, as the man displays the goods +before Blondine's critical eyes.</p> + +<p>"My darling, I want it for you."</p> + +<p>"For me?" Sister Jean's pretty lips ejaculate. Nothing that she could +say would make imperious Blondine change her mind.</p> + +<p>"To please me, dear, you will take it, won't you? I have so much money I +do not know how to spend it. You will not feel insulted and refuse my +gift, will you?" Blondine argues in her coaxing tones.</p> + +<p>So the gift was accepted. Sister Jean is very happy, everyone is so good +to her—to her, a poor charity sister. But as far as being intimately +connected for the future with the convent, they will lose one of their +most staunch and zealous workers. For Lord Streathmere had very humbly +and in great trepidation, asked Sister Jean to marry him.</p> + +<p>It all seemed very impossible, but true, nevertheless, and Sister Jean? +well, she was so grateful to him, and then another thing, she had +learned to be very fond of impetuous, handsome Lord Streathmere. So as +there was no need for delay, one pleasant sunny morning in May, pretty +Jantie Mackeith became Lady Streathmere. And Burpee's meaning was very +tender as well as sincere, when he whispered in Jantie's dainty ear:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Huntingtower is mine lassie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Huntingtower is mine Jeanie;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Huntingtower an' a' Blairgower,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a' that's mine is thine lassie."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>No one among all the throng of invited fashionables knew the bride's +origin. All they knew was that it was a purely love match, very unusual +in those all-for-money-days. But the poor, sick and suffering, of the +convent of St. Marguerite are losing a gentle, sympathetic friend. An +anonymous gift of several hundred dollars, was received by the new +Mother Superior, which went to show Jantie's influence had already +begun. Lord Streathmere's mother was not present at the marriage; she +was in the south of France, and she dared not risk her health in our +clear, cold Canadian winter. The happy couple went away immediately on +an extended European tour.</p> + +<p>"I am off to-morrow, my dear, for far off Scotish home; will you not say +farewell, Miss Litchfield?"</p> + +<p>The sun is streaming in, in all its full, glorious tints through the +stained glass windows of the pretty sitting room, and falls and lingers +lovingly on Dolores' head, bent over the table writing. She starts as +Sir Barry speaks.</p> + +<p>"To-morrow," she repeats, gazing at him as if his words were some +foreign tongue, to her meaningless. She loves this man standing there, +but her proud heart is too lofty to let such a feeling be fancied, let +alone proved. And so she hides her feelings behind an icy exterior. And +Sir Barry has given Dolores, his own Dolores—as he calls her +passionately to himself—up almost in despair.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is a long time now since I have seen the dear old place, and I +dare say they are requiring my presence there. I have done all I can do +here, there is no need for my remaining longer, there will be no one to +be sorry I am gone. Good bye, Miss Litchfield, I am sorry I have always +seemed to displease you, very sorry, but when I am gone, then perhaps +you may sometimes think of me kindly in my far off lonely home."</p> + +<p>Sir Barry's voice breaks in a highly suspicious way. He is holding his +hand out to Dolores; but Dolores' eyes are full of tears, she cannot see +the outstretched hand. What makes her sit there, feeling so silly? What +will Sir Barry think of her? She tries to throw off the strange feeling +that is stealing over her senses, but Sir Barry's words were so pathetic +they struck direct to Dolores' rebellious, loving heart. She drops her +head on the table and weeps.</p> + +<p>"Dolores, my darling, do you care so much that I am going?" He steps +over to her side. "Is it go or stay, Dolores?" Sir Barry asks, with a +peculiar catch in his clear, firm tone.</p> + +<p>"Stay," comes the reply from the bowed head on the table, and Sir Barry +stays.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.</h2> + +<h3>ZOE'S SOME DAY.</h3> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"There's something undoubtedly in a fine air,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To know how to smile, and be able to stare;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High breeding is something, but well bred or not,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the end the one question is, What have you got?"<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">—<span class="smcap">A. H. Clough.</span><br /></span> +</div></div> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p>The sun is shining brightly, pleasantly, over all London, England, even +penetrating into the dim, dirty alleys, and tenements; but is also +shining, with all its wealth of golden, cheering gladness, into the +long, handsome gallery of art at the great London exhibition. Pictures +and pictures of endless variety and beauty are here displayed. There is +one especially that fascinates the eyes of all the thousands of curious +visitors. It is hanging in a perfect light, in a heavy gold frame. +Offers to purchase it have been innumerable, but a little tag on the +corner announces to the would-be purchaser that it is already sold. The +scene is a beautiful Italian garden. Seated in a swaying chair, on the +pretty terrace, is a lady whose face people rave over, as being the +image of Dolores, Sir Barry Traleigh's beautiful wife. The lady is +engaged in writing a letter. The trees almost immediately opposite the +terrace, conceals the indistinct form of a man watching. By the lady's +side, lying with his dark curly head resting on the train of the lady's +white lace dress, is a little boy, in a white embroidered frock, +sleeping. The Prince of Wales, who opened the exhibition, was so struck +by the merits of the picture, that he desired an introduction to the +fair young painter. And Zoe was duly presented to our future king, who +shook the girl's hand warmly, and wished her all good success in the +future. Surely Zoe's "Some Day" had come with a wealth of splendor and +glory. It had been at Sir Barry's direction, that his sister-in-law +painted it, and he had bought it at a princely price to hang in the +exquisitely furnished drawing-room at Castle Racquette. As Zoe expresses +it, "Everyone and his brother are here." Sir Barry and Lady Traleigh +have run down from Castle Racquette to London, to be the proud witness +of Zoe's triumph. Dolores is charmed with her beautiful Scottish home, +and is loved by everyone, as she deserved so well to be.</p> + +<p>Jantie, Lady Streathmere, is the pride and delight of the husband's +life. She rules her elegant home with a firm, but gentle hand, and +though Burpee, Lord Streathmere, is not her heart's first love, still +she honors and respects him thoroughly. The dowager Lady Streathmere is +very fond of Jantie; she was very agreeably disappointed in the girl, +and now she speaks to her friends in loud terms of "my daughter Jantie's +excellence." While they were in Paris, they met Mrs. St. James. She was +very gracious to Jantie, and made much of Lord Streathmere's pretty, +demure wife. But her overtures were not at all successful. Lord +Streathmere never liked her, and Jantie could not help remembering how +coldly cynical Mrs. St. James had been to "Sister Jean." Gordon Aubrey +and his pretty wife are living very happily, though not endowed very +richly with this world's goods, still she has won her husband's love, +and knows how to keep it, and Gordon has certainly not repented of his +bargain, as Mrs. St. James had predicted. The Hon. Jerry Hopkins is +still unmarried: he declares himself as "not a marrying man." People say +he felt very badly at Rea Severn entering the convent. But sometimes +people say a good deal that is not quite true. The convent of St. +Marguerite is in a flourishing condition, everything works on serenely +and calmly. Uncle Dick Gray has his new house completed and is charmed +with its beauty. Blondine declares that he thinks more of the house than +he does of her.</p> + +<p>It is Winter again, a cold December afternoon, and Ned Crane has just +"happened in," as he very often does now, to have a chat with Zoe, and +to hear over and over again about her lovely visit abroad with Sir Barry +and Dolores. Mr. Vacine is very anxious that Ned will marry Zoe, but +like her sister, the youngest Miss Litchfield, is very refractory. She +is really very fond indeed of gay, good-hearted, adoring Ned. But it is +far from her to give him the satisfaction of knowing. She knows Ned +intends asking her to marry him, and, perhaps, after a good many years +from now, he will. Ned stops and talks so long that at last the pretty +white and gold clock strikes five, and they hear Mrs. Litchfield and +Aunt Adeline preparing tea in the dining hall.</p> + +<p>"Say Zoe, when are you going to say 'yes' to what I asked you the other +day?" Ned says, as he pokes the fire in the brightly-polished grate.</p> + +<p>"Nonsense," Miss Litchfield answers, crossly. She heartily wishes Ned +would not allude to that "other day," when he had stirred up her +feelings so remorselessly. She smiles grimly and clinks her knitting +needles together viciously. She even goes so far as to give "Duff," the +unoffending kitten, an angry poke with her toe.</p> + +<p>"Won't you tell me when, dear?" Ned urges, tenderly. And Zoe throws the +crimson and white smoking cap she is making on the sofa.</p> + +<p>"I must go and see if the supper is nearly ready," she says, standing by +Ned's side, in the red glow of the flickering firelight.</p> + +<p>Ned takes the pretty hand hanging by her side. "Say, Zoe, when will you +marry me?"</p> + +<p>With a clear, mocking laugh she twists her hand away. And the +tantalizing words he has heard so often ring through the pretty cosy, +fire-lit room, echoing wilful Zoe's words, as she floats out the door +toward the dining hall, for she is most unromantically hungry for her +tea. The answer to Ned's earnest question was one of Zoe's clear, sweet +ripples of gay laughter, and the mocking words, "Some Day."</p> + + +<h3>THE END.</h3> + + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Zoe; Or, Some Day, by May Leonard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ZOE; OR, SOME DAY *** + +***** This file should be named 36364-h.htm or 36364-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/3/6/36364/ + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions +(www.canadiana.org)) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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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: Zoe; Or, Some Day + A Novel + +Author: May Leonard + +Release Date: June 9, 2011 [EBook #36364] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ZOE; OR, SOME DAY *** + + + + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions +(www.canadiana.org)) + + + + + + + + + + ZOE; Or, SOME DAY. + + A NOVEL. + + BY MAY LEONARD. + + AUTHORESS OF "TRIXIE'S INHERITANCE; OR, WHICH SHALL WIN." + + + SAINT JOHN, N. B.: + + PRINTED BY GEO. W. DAY, COR. PRINCESS AND PRINCE WM. STS. + + 1888. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +I.--AN INVITATION + +II.--"I SHALL SNUB HER" + +III.--A YACHTING PARTY + +IV.--A STRANGER + +V.--FORTUNE TELLING + +VI.--"YOUR SISTER, DOLORES" + +VII.--AT NICE + +VIII.--YOU NEVER CAN TELL + +IX.--"SHALL WE NOT BE FRIENDS?" + +X.--"I WONDER WHO SHE CAN BE?" + +XI.--TROUBLE OVERTAKES THE BEST OF MEN + +XII.--TOO CONFIDING. "YES, IT IS MY HUSBAND" + +XIII.--THE CONVENT OF ST. MARGUERITE + +XIV.--TRYING TO BE ECONOMICAL + +XV.--AN ACCIDENT. A WILD HOPE + +XVI.--"TRULY, VENGEANCE IS MINE" + +XVII.--BLONDINE GAINS THE VICTORY + +XVIII.--"A WOMAN ONE DOES NOT MEET EVERY DAY" + +XIX.--A REVELATION + +XX.--REA'S ATONEMENT. THE NEW MOTHER SUPERIOR + +XXI.--NED CRANE. "THE ONE AND THE SAME," + +XXII.--LORD STREATHMERE'S SIT. SIR BARRY'S HEART'S DESIRE + +XXIII.--ZOE'S SOME DAY + + + + +PREFACE. + + +Just a few words to my readers, with regard to the book before them. The +story of a girl's ambition; a novel certainly, but containing many +incidents that have lately happened. It is most certainly very difficult +to attempt to please every one, when there are so many different tastes +to please. The many readers of my first novel, "Trixie's Inheritance; +or, Which shall Win?" were kind enough to remember that the story had +not come from the pen of a woman who had lived to realize the many +changes that happen during years of personal experience, but that it had +all been composed and written by a girl sixteen years old. They +pardoned, overlooked the many flaws and mistakes, and remembered that we +are not to be condemned for our first efforts. It was a very pleasant +remembrance for me of my first book, that Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, +on receipt of a copy, sent me the following recognition for my letter +and book: + + "General Sir Henry T. Ponsonby is commanded by the Queen to + thank Miss May Leonard for her letter of the 20th March, and + for the book she sends." + + Buckingham Palace. + 18th May, 1887. + +A copy was sent to Lord Lansdowne, Governor General of Canada, who also +sent a pleasant note of thanks. + +In conclusion, I wish to thank the many ladies and gentlemen who so +heartily, willingly and kindly have assisted me in making this, my +second book, so successful. + +MAY LEONARD. + + + + +ZOE; Or, SOME DAY. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +AN INVITATION. + + "Dark is her hair, her hand is white, + Her voice is exquisitely tender; + Her eyes are full of a liquid light, + I never saw a waist so slender." + + --Praed. + + +"Dolores, will he ever come?" + +The hammock, slung between the two sturdy old apple trees, swings gently +to and fro, the scorching rays of an August sun beat fiercely down, the +bees hum lazily in the dense heat, the flowers droop their pretty heads, +as if inviting a refreshing shower to brighten their fainting spirits. + +"Dolores, I believe you are asleep. Do you think he will soon be here?" + +"Who?" comes the lazy enquiry from the young lady of the hammock. + +"Why, the postman, of course. How stupid of you not to remember. I never +saw any one so indifferent in my life." + +Zoe's red lips form themselves into as near a pout as her ever ready +smiling mouth will allow. + +"Who could be anything else than indifferent on a day such as this?" is +the half sleepy reply. + +"Dolores, like my own sweet sister, sit up and talk to me." + +The bees hum on, the butterflies light here and there, now on this +flower, now on that. Then sweet, gentle, pretty Dolores Litchfield +stretches her white arms over her pretty head, yawns, and slips from the +hammock. + +"Now Zoe, you little worry, what is the trouble?" + +Dropping into a garden chair, Dolores folds her white hands, to await +further developments from her wilful, impulsive, harum-scarum sister +Zoe. + +"How handsome you are, Dolores. Do you think I shall ever be as +beautiful as you, do you, Dolores?" the girl cries eagerly. + +Dolores brushes a fly off her white dress and laughs softly. + +"Ah, Zoe, what a little flatterer. One of those days I will be no +comparison to my little sister; you will eclipse me in every respect." +And Miss Litchfield smiles fondly at the troubled, eager face before +her. + +"Oh, I could never be like you, Dolores. I have a wicked temper, and a +quick tongue; were I not to speak out what I think, why I should choke +to death. I may have a pretty face and nice figure, but I can never be +good, unselfish, forgiving, like you, never." + +The girl shakes her head; she feels herself far from perfect. Since +Dolores has come home from her foreign tour she has been her sister's +ideal of all women. + +"How I do wish he would come," the youngest Miss Litchfield says +impatiently. "He is like the policemen in town, never around when they +are wanted. Well," defiantly, "I don't care a snap of my finger if he +comes or stays." + +Dolores smiled in her lazy fashion; she is too much accustomed to Zoe's +"ways," to say anything. + +"Dolores, talk to me; tell me a story, anything to put in the time, +something you saw on your visit abroad; it must be an Italian story; +dear, beautiful, sunny Italy! Oh, Dolores! what would I not give to be +there! What pictures I could paint! I did not for one moment begrudge +your going, but if I could have had the chance, I would have painted +pictures which would have made me famous. Oh, Dolores, think what it is +to be famous. Some day, it may be far off or it may be near, but the +time will surely come, when you will be proud to own me as your sister. +I want--my ambition is--to be great, grand, noble." + +Dolores laughs. "And good, my sister; that is better than all," she +says, smiling. "My ambitious little one, do not be too eager, you have +all your life before you yet; fame will not be caught easily; she +demands much chasing, and those who pursue her have many slips and +tumbles before they achieve their end, so be patient. And now for the +story." + +"Well, once upon a time there was a castle in Italy, a beautiful, +costly, grand structure. The lord of the castle was a brave, generous +gentleman, honorable and true. His lady was lovely, proud, and intensely +jealous of her very charming husband; she had a gentle serving maid, +Christina, a girl as pure in thought and deed as the lily; they had +grown up as playfellows. The Countess was very fond of her, for she was +not like her other friends. The Countess would quarrel with any and +every one, on account of her fiery temper; with Christina she never +quarreled. The maid was fond of solitude, and passed her spare time in +wandering alone among a grove of beautiful trees, her white dress could +often be seen as she paced back and forth among the dark trees, and +gained for her, among the people, the name of the White Lady. The +Countess' room was costly and elegant, the toilet table was of massive +silver, covered with a profusion of everything handsome. Her chair was +placed in front of the glass, and one day, so the legend runs, she was +sitting there, while Christina was combing her mistress's golden hair; +the Count was called away on urgent business, and as he passed through +the door she saw, as she believed, a smile, a glance at parting, given +and answered, that turned her heart almost to stone. That night, ere the +moon was up, Christina was led forth; no instrument of death was used, +not one hair of her head was harmed. In all the full glow of life and +health, fair, gentle, good Christina was walled up within the castle +walls, in a vault under the chapel. And now, every night, at the same +hour, a figure stands, with eyes uplifted, and hands clasped in prayer, +then it vanishes, and the hunter meets her on his hunting track, and the +shepherd on the heath starts and exclaims, 'It is the White Lady!'" + +Dolores' voice sinks to a whisper; there are tears in her dusky eyes. +Surely one would think the sad story of poor Christina awakened more +than a passing feeling of sadness for her in Dolores' kind heart. Zoe +was too much interested to notice her sister's silence. + +"And you really walked in the Countess' own room, saw the grove where +Christina walked and spent her lonely hours of solitude, and the vault +which she never came out of?" + +"Yes, dear, it was all very lovely, sad and beautiful," the eldest Miss +Litchfield replies. "But look! your patience is rewarded; there comes +the postman in at the gate." + +Zoe darts off in quest of the daily post. Before many minutes she is +back again, her face wreathed in smiles, for there actually was a letter +addressed to Miss Zoe Litchfield, from an affectionate girl friend; and +soon Zoe is deep in its contents. Dolores languidly scans the +handwriting on the large square envelope addressed to herself, then +breaks the seal, and reads; and as she reads a gleam of satisfaction, +quickly followed by one of sorrow, passes over her ever changing face. + +"What's in yours, Dolores?" Zoe asks, putting her own epistle in the +pocket of her white frilled apron. + +"There is to be a yachting party, and I have been invited to join it," +Dolores answers, absently gazing at a rose bush stirred by the breeze. + +"Oh!" Zoe ejaculates. "Will you go? Who asked you? Won't it be sublime?" + +Zoe's eyes dilate, and a wish, not altogether unnatural in a girl +fifteen years old, arises in her mind, to be Dolores. Now, however, +Dolores smiles faintly, and says slowly, + +"I shall think it over. The Hon. Jeremiah Hopkins sent the invitation, +and as to its being sublime, I suppose so." + +Then Dolores arises and goes across the lawn towards the house, with her +white dress trailing over the green grass behind her. Pretty, graceful, +sweet Dolores. What was the reason no one cared to be seen talking to +her? And in crowded parlors or assemblies, if her name happened to be +mentioned, why did virtuous mammas look at the person who spoke her name +with such a shocked expression? Surely gentle Dolores could not have +wronged any one by word or deed. A gentleman once said, speaking of Miss +Litchfield, "That if ever a true, pure woman lived, a woman on whom any +man might stake his life and honor, it was a woman like Dolores +Litchfield whom he might trust." And it is quite safe to say, that this +praise did not make Dolores any more of a favourite with the roomful of +ladies of all ages, where the remark was made. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +I SHALL SNUB HER. + + "A favourite has no friends." + + --Gray. + + +"And just for that one simple reason you refuse this invitation; which +you have been craving for so long a time? Well, my dear, stranger every +day grow the works and ways of this troublesome world. Of course you +certainly know your own reasons best; it is nothing to me if you act +foolish." Mrs. St. James shrugs her pretty shoulders as she looks with +astonishment at her young visitor, charming Rea Severn, who, as she +stands before the cosy fire, tapping her small foot impatiently on the +brightly polished fender, looks the original of injured dignity. + +"No, but Arial, just think yourself, how more than provoking it is. What +do you think possessed Jerry to invite the girl? Oh dear, the men are so +green sometimes; there is no accounting for their tastes in some +matters." + +Mrs. St. James smiles, and twists the heavy gold bracelet about on her +white arm as she replies: + +"Be reasonable, Rea; of the two, I have more reason to dread the meeting +than you." Bitterly, "I owe her a debt, and she--I wonder if she has +forgotten what she owes me?" + +After a considerable pause, with some more impatient tapping of the +little high-heeled boots on the fender, Rea decided that upon second +thought, perhaps it would not do any good to any one, and beside be a +great punishment to herself, to remain away from this entertainment. It +had been so extremely nice of Jerry Hopkins, (the Honorable Jeremiah, +but dubbed "Jerry" by his intimates), to give this yachting party to his +friends. The gentlemen all declared it would be just the thing, and the +ladies, why they were charmed. Then, above all, on their trip they were +to visit one of H. M. steamships. The officers, who were all well known +to the Hon. Jerry's guests, had invited them to a dance on board the war +ship, lunch afterward, and then row by moonlight back to the yacht. + +Rea Severn was delighted; but when she heard that pretty Dolores, the +eldest daughter of Edward Litchfield, Esq., the genial and portly +ship-builder, was one of the invited guests, she was so angry that on +the impulse of the moment, in a burst of temper, she had flown to her +bosom friend, wealthy Arial St. James, and declares her determination to +refuse to go. + +"And another thing, Rea," Mrs. St. James goes on in her soft, smooth +tones, "you have surely heard of the arrival of Lady Streathmere and her +son. To be sure I remember distinctly when I went to school with him, +what a perfectly horrid little boy he was. Such a coward; beat all the +little boys and girls smaller than himself, and run when one of his own +age and size approached. But for appearance sake, and the hope that he +has improved with his years, we must be civil. Then it must be +remembered, a match like he would be, with I forget how much income a +year, is not to be picked up every day for the asking. Perhaps if you +are favored by Fate, and try hard enough, you might make an impression." + +Rea was prevented from a replying by the door being opened and a servant +announcing Mr. Gordon Aubrey. Mrs. St. James arises to welcome him, and +Rea's pouting lips become radiant with smiles. Mr. Aubrey was tall, +slight and fair. He had a great habit of continually looking at you +through an eye-glass, which to some of his friends proved decidedly +embarrassing. When the eye attachment proved wearisome he took to +stroking a slight moustache, of which he was extremely proud, which was +a very good thing, because no one else considered it worth noticing. +They talked about the approaching yachting cruise, last night's concert, +the theatre of last week, the people in town, the merits of the latest +novel, and the last new song. Then Rea happened to glance toward the +window, to behold the rain pouring in torrents. Mrs. St. James presses +her to remain, but she declares it is impossible, that mamma will wonder +what has happened to her. So Gordon Aubrey jumps up to offer Miss Severn +a seat in his covered carriage waiting at the door; and Rea, thinking of +her thin shoes and the probable fate of the costly suit she is wearing, +is not inclined to refuse to be driven home in Mr. Aubrey's or any one +else's carriage. She likes him quite well, and so smilingly consents to +go with nice looking but fickle Gordan Aubrey, who falls in love with +every pretty new face he meets. + +"And you will not refuse Jerry's invitation?" Mrs. St. James says, in a +whisper; and Rea, as she stands in the hall, draws her tall figure to +its fullest height, replies: + +"No; I shall not refuse Jerry. As for Dolores Litchfield, I will snub +her." + +"My dear child," Mrs. St. James says quickly, "as I told you before, her +going should not influence you, and why worry about imaginary evils; it +is quite time enough when they appear, so be sensible; it is not your +nature to despond." + +As Rea turns to say good-bye, she cries impulsively, "Oh, Arial! what +would become of me without you? I should get discouraged and give up +altogether." + +Gordon Aubrey calls out that he will have no more whispering, for who +can tell but what it might be something about him. Then Rea takes her +place in the large roomy carriage, while the footman climbs up in his +seat beside the coachman, where in a united way they call down devout +blessings on their master's head for his extreme thoughtlessness in +letting the horses stay out in the rain for a good half hour. Such were +the woes of Gordon Aubrey's Jehu. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +A YACHTING PARTY. + + "Broken friendship may be soldered, but never made sound." + + --German Proverb. + + +Out over the clear blue waters come floating sweetly the music of the +band on board of Her Majesty's flag ship, the "Keepsake." Since five +o'clock the war ship's dainty boats had been plying to and fro between +the shore and the steamer, laden with gaily attired guests, for there +was a dance being given on board by the officers. The little luxurious +yacht, belonging to the Hon. Jeremiah Hopkins, anchored not many yards +from the steamer, was left to itself, save for the crew and servants, +for the Hon. Jeremiah and his guests were all over attending the +gorgeous entertainment provided by the "Keepsake." A bright-hued awning +covered the deck where dancing was enjoyed. The whole vessel had a gay +holiday appearance; then everything was so spotlessly clean, why one +could eat one's dinner off the very decks. + +Mrs. St. James is here, looking superb. Her husband never accompanies +his clever wife; she was much younger than he. Another thing, he was too +much engrossed with his busy business life to care for gaieties; so he +left her to go her own way, enjoy herself after her own fashion, nor +ever complained if his dream of having a cosy home, with a bright +pleasant companion to discuss his affairs with, and be his household +fairy, had vanished. It certainly was nonsense to fancy such a life for +Arial. Why, she was a mere child when he married her; she was of the +world, worldly. So Mr. St. James kept his own counsel, his temper and +his tongue. She is now standing by the railing, watching the little +waves lapping against the ship's side. She is laughing too, in that lazy +fashion so peculiarly her own, while the pretty boyish looking fellow at +her side thinks that if ever he had a friend in the world, to whom he +would confide his secrets, that woman is Mrs. St. James. No one knew +exactly who Ned Crane was; he had no friends or relatives; at least no +one knew if he had any. He was a young bank clerk. Mrs. St. James was +very proud of him, made a pet of him, while Mr. St. James liked the boy, +and said "the lad would make a fine man if he lived." Every one liked +him, for he was a jolly good fellow, beloved by one and all, as all +sunny-dispositioned persons are, welcomed everywhere for the pleasant +brightness their presence throws around. + +"Do introduce me, Mrs. St. James. I will do any thing for you if you +will. Come, before the next band." + +Mrs. St. James does not reply, but the lazy smile leaves her perfect +face, as she looks into the boy's dark, earnest eyes. Arial has good +places in her character. She pities the young man at her side; it will +not be without an effort, to save him further pain, that she refuses to +do as he asks. + +"Look here, Ned," she says gently, "why do you wish to know this Miss +Litchfield? There are lots of the girls here whom you know; it is more +than probable were you to ask for a dance she would refuse you, on the +ground that all her dances are promised; so it would only be another +case of the 'moth and the candle.' See, there is Florrie Silverstone +just over there, waiting for you to ask her. Ah! Gordon, you promised to +show me over the vessel; shall we go?" and Mrs. St. James places her +dainty hand on Gordon Aubrey's arm, calls Rea to join them, and turns +away. + +"Well! of all the cool acts I ever heard of, that was done the neatest." +Ned looks after the retreating trio with a comical mixture of amusement +and vexation. Then he sees Jerry Hopkins, and when Mrs. St. James +returns to dance her promised waltz with a lieutenant of the flagship, +who had gone down without a struggle before her charms, she glances +across the deck, while a look--is it displeasure, or what?--crosses her +face, for what she sees is Ned Crane pacing to and fro, and beside him, +in a marvel of a white lace dress, is Dolores Litchfield. She has +removed her white lace and satin hat, and Ned, looking too utterly happy +for anything, is carefully holding a huge white lace parasol above her +pretty dark head. Arial St. James never loses her temper at trifles; if +Ned will be so headstrong, to get himself into scrapes, he will have to +get out again the best way he can. However, she goes over, with her +prettiest smile, and taps Dolores on the shoulder with her fan. + +"Can it be possible, Miss Litchfield, that you have forgotten me?" + +Dolores starts, turns pale, then a hot, burning blush dyes her smooth +young cheek. It is very evident Mrs. St. James and Miss Litchfield are +not entire strangers to each other. Ned Crane, standing there, never +remembers having felt so guilty ever in his life before; not that there +was any reason for feeling so, but it was decidedly annoying to have +Mrs. St. James lift her large blue eyes to his face, with a look that +said so plainly, "You know her in spite of me, don't you?" Then the pink +flush leaves Dolores' pretty face, and she looks Arial straight in the +eyes. + +"Yes, Mrs. St. James, I remember you perfectly. Our past knowledge of +each other could scarcely allow of my forgetting you. As for your +recognizing me, to be candid, I never dreamed you would do so." + +For once Mrs. St. James almost loses her presence of mind. She looks as +if it would do her good to shake the girl standing before her, looking +so beautiful and defiant. + +"Why should I not recognise you, Dolores? You will allow me to call you +so still, will you not?" + +Dolores' heart beats under the pretty lace dress almost to suffocation, +the deeply hidden fiery blood inherited from her Southern mother, up to +this moment had slumbered; now it broke forth. + +"Mrs. St. James, I allow no one, only my friends, to call me by my +Christian name. If you consider yourself my friend, I think otherwise. +Had I treated you as basely as you have done me, who never harmed you +knowingly, would you consider me other than the deadliest enemy? No! you +shall not call me Dolores, never, never again." + +Dolores stamps her little slippered foot with decision; she is trembling +with passion. Surely something has touched quiet, lazy, languid, sweet +Dolores very deeply, to arouse such a tirade of passion and feeling. +Mrs. St. James laughs lightly. + +"Ah, you have not forgiven me yet? Well you know, dear," she goes on, +not heeding Dolores' averted face, "you know, dear, what I said was +true. I meant you no harm when I spoke of your mother's nationality. You +would not listen to any explana--" + +But Dolores interrupted her. + +"You called my mother a negress. You said a man in my father's position +was worse than a fool to marry a penniless negress. Some one said you +were mistaken, that Mr. Litchfield's wife was a Creole; and I heard you, +with my own ears, say there was not a shadow of difference; one was the +same as the other. But," and Dolores comes down from her towering rage +to a wonderfully quiet tone, "I forgive you for all the pain you may +have caused me--you know for whose sake, and the reason why I do +forgive, even though I shall never forget. Will you shake hands with +me?" + +Of course no human mortal could bear to refuse to take the girl's +outstretched hand. But Ned Crane was perfectly dumbfounded to see proud, +haughty Arial St. James eagerly clasp Dolores' hand in both her own, +and, can it be possible? yes, there are tears in the large blue eyes +that people say look as if the owner had no feeling. + +"Ah, Dolores, you are and have been an angel. My pride makes me forget +sometimes; but I should never quarrel with you, should I, Dolores, +should I?" Mrs. St. James passes her white handkerchief across her eyes. + +"We won't talk about it any more," the eldest Miss Litchfield replies. +"Pray don't make yourself miserable; your secret is safe with me." + +Then Dolores turns to Ned with a grave, earnest look in her pretty dark +eyes. "I trust you will pardon my unhappy interview with the lady who +has just left us." + +And Ned declares that of course he never thought anything about it; then +immediately condemned himself by saying Mrs. St. James was a fiend. +Dolores laughs softly. + +"You should never take up the cudgels for other people, Mr. Crane. I did +the same thing myself one time, and found it would not work." + +The gong sounds for luncheon, and Gordon Aubrey comes up hurriedly. + +"You promised I should take you down, Miss Litchfield. I hope you have +not forgotten." + +Gordon forgets, in the excitement of the moment, to adjust the gold +eye-glass, to stare at Mr. Crane as he reluctantly furled Dolores' white +parasol and placed it carefully in her hand. + +The dance was a grand success; the officers did all that lay in their +power to make it so; and as the party from the yacht took their +departure, floating dreamily across the smooth moonlit waters, all felt +perfectly contented with the day's pleasure. All but pretty, restless +Rea Severn; her peace of mind was sadly disturbed, and why? Well, +perhaps Dolores Litchfield, sitting there, leaning over the side of the +pretty little row-boat, idly trailing her white fingers in the cool +water, with Gordon Aubrey apparently utterly unconscious of everything +else, sitting beside her, trying to be as entertaining as possible. +Perhaps that had something to do with Rea's coldness to Jerry Hopkins, +who is talking to her now, and who, chatty people say, is not +indifferent to Miss Severn's good looks, or her forty thousand pounds. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +A STRANGER. + + "He lived at peace with all mankind, + In friendship he was true; + His coat had pocket holes behind, + His pantaloons were blue." + + --A. G. Greene. + + +"Zoe, come in out of the hot sun, child; do you hear? Sitting out there +in the full glare, bless my soul, without even a hat on your head." + +Miss Adeline Litchfield, the monitress of the Litchfield establishment, +stands in the pretty front porch, overhung with fragrant blossoming +honeysuckle and sweet climbing roses. She looks with wrathful eyes upon +her niece, curled up on a chair on the veranda, her book on the top +railing, with her elbows beside it, her head buried in her two hands. +Zoe was lost to the objects around and the world in general. She was far +off, taking a far deeper interest in the pleasures and trials of her +friends in the book spread out before her, than in the everyday +employments or household duties in which "auntie" wished her to excel. + +"Zoe! do you hear me? Come in directly." + +"Let me alone, Auntie; I am all right. I just have two chapters more, +and then I'll come." + +Miss Litchfield retires discomfitted, but not conquered. After a few +moments she again appears, bearing a large white sun hat, daintily +trimmed with muslin, and a small oval basket. Going over to the guilty +party, she quietly shuts the book up and puts it under her arm. + +"Zoe, put on your hat; I want you to go an errand for me, down to Mrs. +Haley's. Tell her I was so well pleased with the rolls of fresh butter +she sent, that I will take two more." + +Zoe's eyes blazed; it was on the tip of her quick tongue to say, "I +won't;" but an inward sense of politeness forbade her to do so; for +though "Auntie" had a sharp tongue and a strong sense of right, which +made her at times hard to get on with, still for all that her two +nieces, to whom she had been mother, counsellor and friend since their +own mother left them, were wrapped up in quick-tempered but kind meaning +aunt Adeline. + +People were not sure if Mrs. Litchfield was dead or not. Rumors had been +afloat that she had left her husband. No one dared question either Mr. +Litchfield nor his sister; every one knew it to be an understood fact +that the family desired the public to consider her dead. "Auntie" had +always been all-in-all to her brother and his children. + +Now Auntie hurries in to the kitchen, to see that the beautiful brown +loaves of bread, baking in the oven, are not burning. Zoe departs on her +mission; she walks down the road slowly; it is awfully warm. Goodness! +she never felt the heat so intense, with such a trot way down ever so +far. Ah! here is a brilliant chance for saving herself the weary walk to +Mrs. Haley's. Coming down behind is a cart filled with hay, and sitting +on top are three little boys in white pinafores, chattering to the old +man who holds the reins, and every little while flicks a fly off the +horses' backs with the whip he idly dangles. + +"Have a ride?" comes in chorus from the load of hay. Without a second +invitation, throwing the basket up ahead, Zoe climbs nimbly up; with the +able assistance of the three small pinafored gentlemen, she is pulled +triumphantly aloft. The heat is great, but it has no visible effect on +the three younger members of the party. After tumbling about at the +imminent peril of being minutely precipitated over the side, they +propose to bury Zoe alive. This takes some time to accomplish to every +one's satisfaction, so long, in fact, that presently Mrs. Haley's white +mite of a cottage appears in view. Zoe suggests that perhaps she had +better alight before she gets quite to the door. So the horses are +stopped by a tremendous "whoa!" and Zoe proceeds to descend as +gracefully as it is possible to do so. She is going down famously, +thinking how more than fortunate it is that she got this ride on such a +melting day. She happens to glance up the road; oh, horrors! coming +leisurely down, with his hands thrust carelessly in the pockets of a +little dark blue shooting coat, and a cigar between his lips, is a +man--a young man too--and, yes, he is looking at her. She misses her +balance, her foot slips, and, throwing her arms wildly upward, arrives +in the arms of mother earth, in any but a dignified descent. + +The "horrid brute" came quickly to see if he could assist the young lady +to arise; he takes her arm, and Zoe stands up, her face as red as the +scarlet passion flower tucked in her belt. + +"You are very kind," she stammers. "I should not have got up there; it +was very unfortunate." + +The gentleman, finding she is unharmed, lifts his hat and proceeds on +his way. + +Zoe hurries into Mrs. Haley's. Oh how silly she feels; oh heart! what +would auntie say if she knew the disgrace which had fallen upon her +niece? She wondered, with a sickening at her heart, if he had seen her +feet. Oh, dear! if he had would it not be dreadful? She looked at her +pretty slippered feet inquiringly. Of course they were nothing to be +ashamed of, but oh dear! And now come to think of it, "Auntie" had +strictly forbidden her riding on top of hay carts, ever since she had +read in the papers how some one had fell and broke their arm. Oh, she +hoped and prayed Auntie would never find out this wretched morning's +work. + +Zoe did her errand, and returned home, taking special care to "walk." +And the "horrid man," sitting on the veranda, talking so comfortably +with aunt Adeline, on being presented to "my youngest niece," bows, and +seems as unconscious of ever having laid eyes on the youngest Miss +Litchfield before, or knew what a pretty sight a young lady could make +of herself, coming to the ground in a diagonal line from half way down a +cart of hay. Yes, coming quickly around the corner, and running right up +the steps, she was astonished at finding this stranger conversing with +her aunt. Miss Litchfield rocked to and fro in the little wicker chair, +and Zoe, as she stands there holding the little basket with the rolls of +fragrant, sweet butter, covered with cool green leaves, concludes in her +own mind, this young man must be something of a favourite, or auntie +would not be so willing to be interrupted in her morning's work. + +"Zoe, how hot you are, child; your face is perfectly scarlet. What is +the matter with your skirt, child? a great rent in one side, a frill +torn beyond all mending, and the dress a brand new muslin, just made +last week. Where have you been, or what have you been about, to, +literally speaking, come home in such a ragamuffin fashion?" + +Zoe looks at her dress in dismay. Not for one instant had she remembered +to notice if her tumble had proved destructive to the pretty new suit +she had felt so proud of. Auntie was waiting for an answer to her +question. The young gentleman was busy looking at the fuschia climbing +up the pillar near which he sat. Perhaps he turned to look at the +flower, perhaps it was to hide the smile of amusement which would curl +the corners of his handsome mouth. + +"Put your hair off your forehead, do, child. The person who invented the +fashion of wearing one's hair all over their eyes should have been +banished from all civilized lands. The only thing that will keep your +father out of Heaven, Zoe Litchfield, is your persistent act of wearing +bangs, for it is the only fault in you that makes him angry." + +Just then the visitor turns around and deliberately surveys the pretty +culprit. + +"Nothing wrong in keeping along with the times, Miss Litchfield," he +says pleasantly; and Zoe casts him a grateful glance from the pretty +blue eyes, whose color no one can tell the exact shade. Any one who will +defend her pet bang is Zoe's friend. + +"I will tell you some other time how this wretched dress got torn. +Surely you will trust me enough to know I will tell you the truth, and +the exact truth about it." And Zoe turns to walk into the house, her +head thrown proudly up, with the torn frill of her white gown trailing +after her. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +FORTUNE TELLING. + + "Lady, cross the Gipsy's hand with gold, + She will to you the future unfold." + + --Mae. + + +"What a beautiful spot! how lovely if we could go on shore and +investigate." + +"Yes, Miss Litchfield, that is an excellent idea of yours. I will order +the boats out, and if the company are willing we will row over and +land." + +The Hon. Jerry goes rapidly away to give the order. Dolores is sitting +in a camp chair on the deck of the Hon. Jerry's yacht, a scarlet shawl +thrown lightly over her pretty shoulders. The yacht has glided into one +of the most charming inlets of beautiful scenery Dolores' eyes have seen +since her return from abroad. + +"Are we to really go on shore?" demands Rea Severn, lifting for a moment +her eyes from the crazy cushion she is engaged in making. She has been +industriously at work, with her eyes fixed most devoutly on the silks +and crewels, but her ears have heard every word Dolores and the Hon. +Jerry have spoken for the last twenty minutes. + +"I believe so," Dolores answers absently. She is busy gazing dreamily +across the deep, blue, shining, sparkling, rippling waters. + +"Come, ladies, let us be up and doing; the boats are ready." + +Gordon Aubrey flings overboard the cigar he has been smoking, and a +general move is made. Rea Severn hastily tosses aside her work, and puts +on the hat her maid has brought. Rea, Dolores, Mrs. St. James, Gordon +Aubrey, the Hon. Jerry, Ned Crane, and Florrie Silverstone depart. The +other members of the party are either too lazy, or have something to do +more pleasing to their minds than going to explore a place which would +in all probability be "abounding in snakes, bugs, and other venomous +reptiles," as old Lady Streathmere observed when she was told of the +intended expedition. Lord Streathmere would have gone too, and been only +too happy, especially as Dolores went, for poor Lord Streathmere was very +severely smitten with pretty, gentle Dolores; but unfortunately for him +he had gone on the tug boat to view a wrecked steamer some five or six +miles away. + +Ned Crane whispered, as he took his accustomed place by Dolores' side, +"that he was just as glad Streathmere could not come, as there was no +room for him in the boat." Mrs. St. James smiles languidly, endeavoring +now and then to stem the current of squabbling going on between Florrie +Silverstone and Gordon Aubrey. They never agree; so at last Arial gives +the attempt up in despair, and turns her attention to Ned and Dolores. +When at length the boat grates on the beach, three little children, with +bare feet, are building castles in the sand. They are well dressed +children, probably boarding here for the summer months. They gaze in +wide eyed wonder at the boat and her occupants; evidently they are not +accustomed to have their sandy domains intruded upon by strangers. The +eldest, a girl of eight or nine, accosted Gordon Aubrey. + +"Have you come to have your fortune told?" she asked sharply. + +"Will you do me the honor to tell me mine?" he answered with all due +respect to the oracle. She looked him over critically, from the toe of +his trim shoe to the top of his jaunty sailor hat. + +"People like you, with only one eye, and the other one glass, can't have +much to be told, I know," the tiny maid replies, looking at him from +under her big shady hat. + +"Who tells fortunes on this fairy island? won't you tell me, little +one?" Mrs. St. James touches the child's dark curly head caressingly. + +"Molly will; but you have to give her gold, or she won't." This +information was supplied by one of the other children. + +"What a joke if we could find some one who could tell us," Rea Severn +cries. + +Jerry Hopkins shows the girl a bright silver dollar, and says if she +will show them where "Molly" is to be found she may consider herself the +happy possessor of the aforesaid dollar. + +"Certainly, I will take you to Molly's tent, but mamma never allows us +to take money from strangers," the tiny maiden replies, as she sat down +in the sand to put on her stockings and slippers. Then she led the way +to the Gipsy's camp. Jerry Hopkins put the rejected offering in his +pocket, thinking that some children are wiser than people twice their +age. + +"Here's her tent, and there's Molly. See Molly," she cries, "I brought +you some people that want you to tell them their fortune. Will you tell +them, Molly? Will you?" + +"Ah, little Miss, you never forget old Molly, do you, dearie? Tell them +to come in." Dolores feels a shiver go over her; a nasty, creepy, +crawley sensation always seizes her at the mention of either Gipsy or +Indian. Auntie always had such a horror of all such travelling +companies. It may have been hearing her talk of them with so much +repulsion that made Dolores, who is generally so fearless, feel nervous +now. + +"You are not frightened?" Ned Crane has watched Dolores' pretty pink +colour die slowly out of her face and lips. + +"Let the others go in; we will stand out here by the door to take in all +that is going on inside." + +When she finds she is not expected to go inside the miserable hut, +Dolores brightens up, and the pink comes back to her cheeks. So they +station themselves in the doorway. Contrary to most people of their or +her profession, the Gipsy allows them all to remain; so, as each is +being warned of that which is in store for them, good, bad or +indifferent, every one hears what every one else is told. + +"She seems pretty well up in the arts," Ned whispers; Dolores nods; she +is listening intently. Mrs. St. James has shuffled and cut the cards, +she has also wished in obedience to the rule. + +"Your path has once been more rugged than that which you now tread, my +lady. There is a dark spot in your past, on which you pray, the light of +knowledge may never shine. There is one here present, who can betray you +if she chooses." + +Mrs. St. James glances toward the door; the gipsy's eyes also take the +same direction. Dolores stands there, placidly, calmly; she meets the +eyes turned on her with cool indifference; her pocket-handkerchief drops +to the ground; she stoops to pick it up, and the gipsy goes on: + +"There is a dark gentleman here whom you will have some trouble with. +There is a disappointment for you; but you will get your wish even if it +does turn out differently from what you think. You will get some money, +and there is a pleasant conversation with a light man. He has a good +heart for you; will tell you some pleasant news. You will receive a +letter within a day or two. Your life will be full of ups and downs, the +same as most of us." + +"Now, pretty lady, will you cross the gipsy's palm?" She has turned to +Rea Severn. "You are anxious about the doings of a fair man; but my +pretty one, put no faith in him; the men are fickle, the best of them. +You will be a little sick, not much, but brought on by your own +foolishness. Let me advise you to drop the habit you have contracted. If +you do not kill it, it will kill you; so be guided." + +Rea shivers; she begins to feel a little frightened; she is glad the +others are behind her; it would not answer for them to see the +expression of fear on her face. Then each of the others had their turn. +Dolores refused to have anything to do with cards; she despised the very +sight of them. She told Ned they sent a cold chill over her, and Ned +believed it. + +"How silly! What ails you, Dolores? You are generally one of the last to +back down when any fun is going on," Florrie Silverstone says +petulantly. There have been some facts told Florrie, by the gipsy, which +have made her a little cross. But Dolores is busy, and does not answer. +She has taken some tall golden-eyed daisies from the hedge row. + +"It is a much pleasanter way to tell one's own fortune, you know," she +tells Ned, the ever attentive; and of course Ned agrees--he always does +to what pretty Dolores says. + +"He loves me, he loves me not; he loves me, how nice," Dolores laughs +softly, as she flings the petalless flower in the water. + + "Will it be a soldier smart, who will storm and take me? + Or will a sailor break my heart, his figure-head to make me? + Will it be a man to preach, Even-song and Matin? + Or shall I go to school again, with Jack to teach me Latin? + Will it be a coach and four? Will it be a carriage? + Or will a cart be at the door, to take me to my marriage?" + +Sings Jerry blithely. + +"Why, Jerry, old fellow, have you just woke up?" cries Gordon Aubrey. + +"Jerry has such a sweet, fine, sympathetic voice; almost think it was a +chime of bells," Florrie Silverstone says saucily. + +Now this is rather hard on the Hon. Jerry, his voice, on the contrary, +having once been compared favourably with a bass drum. But it being his +favourite cousin, Florrie, who made the remark, it was, considering the +person who expressed the implied sarcasm, overlooked. + +"There is Lord Streathmere waving his hat to us from the deck," cries +Rea. "We must not for the world say we have had our fortunes told, +before Lady Streathmere, for she would be shocked. Now remember, not a +word." Mrs. St. James holds up a warning finger, and she expects all to +obey. + +"Well, my dears, you must be very tired, I dare say you tramped all over +that island this morning, and what reward did you get for your pains?" + +The party are all on deck enjoying the beautiful sunset. Tea has been +over for some time, the wind is blowing softly over the deep blue and +green patches of water, and makes the yacht rock gently from side to +side. + +"Do you not consider having one's fortune told a sufficient reward?" +Dolores' lazy tones inquire. + +Now it so happened that Dolores, if she did hear Arial's command, had by +now forgotten all about it. Gordon Aubrey coughed frantically; there +seemed every reason to believe that he would strangle to death. Florrie +giggled, they all did their best to cover up the effects of Dolores' +unfortunate words. However, it was Florrie who saved them all from +disgrace. + +Lady Streathmere adjusted her gold eye-glasses firmly and cautiously +upon her aquiline nose. "You seem to be prone to a cold, my dear; do you +take any remedy for it? Now something hot would, I know, be most +beneficial." And Florrie, in a voice choking with laughter, said she +thought she must. + +"Now I know just how you came by your wretched cold. Quite likely the +grass was wet on the island this morning, and your feet have got damp, +and last night you stayed out here quite late, and you know the night +air is bad for any one with a weak throat. Now if you young people won't +mind, I think I would be more comfortable where the fire is," and the +poor unsuspecting lady arose, and, escorted by Jerry to the saloon door, +disappeared. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +YOUR SISTER DOLORES. + + "Give your tongue more holiday than your hands or eyes." + + --Rabbi Ben Azai.. + + +"This is a splendid photo of your father, and this, yes this must be--" + +Zoe, sketching busily away at a little landscape she is copying, answers +"Yes," vacantly. She is devoted to her work, and after giving Mr. Glen +the three large family photograph albums to look at, sincerely wishes he +will look at them quietly, and not disturb her. But the spirit moves the +young man in an opposite direction. He suddenly becomes intensely +interested in the members of the Litchfield family, past, present and +absent. She does not notice the stop he makes now. + +"And this lady in the white dress. Who is she?" + +"With a big white hat?" Zoe enquires, looking up for a moment. "That is +my sister." + +"Your sister! So this is the peerless Dolores. Well, I will own she is +beautiful enough to command all your admiration." He studies the picture +before him intently. + +"How angry Dolores would be if she heard you say that." + +Mr. Glen looked up, inquiring so innocently, "Why?" that Zoe's heart +smote her with remorse. + +"She rather objects to having strangers call her by her Christian name, +of course," the youngest Miss Litchfield goes on cautiously. "Perhaps +she would not mind your admiring her picture. I am sure there was +nothing but perfect truth in what you said, was there?" + +Mr. Glen gazes across from his seat in the bay window, and regards Zoe +thoughtfully. + +"I suppose your sister, Miss Litchfield, has told you many pleasant +stories regarding her trip abroad," he enquires, with strong emphasis on +the Miss Litchfield. + +"Oh yes! Sometimes I almost think I am in the various places she has +been. Dolores describes persons and places so graphically." + +Mr. Glen rather winces. In the enthusiasm of speaking of Dolores, Zoe's +work is for the time forgotten. + +"Yes, she is more than clever in almost everything; she has certain +magnetic powers not possessed by us all." + +Zoe looks at him in amazement. Had a bombshell suddenly gone off at her +feet in the pretty sitting room, her eyes would not have fairly popped +out of her head as they did now. + +"Why, do you know my sister? You can't; at least she never mentioned +your name." + +Mr. Glen laughs, toys with his watch chain, and, does his face become +just a trifle red? + +"I am judging from the picture, my dear little girl." + +Zoe resents being called his "dear little girl," so she says, "Oh, +indeed," very stiffly. She goes on with her sketching, but its charm has +gone. She has a strong, very strong impression that this young man and +Dolores have met. But why has Dolores never told her? Perfect confidence +has hitherto existed between them. Surely Dolores would not have any +secrets from her. She would love to question Mr. Glen about it, but +pride forbids. If there is anything to tell, Dolores will let her know +when she thinks proper. So Zoe works on, and Mr. Glen turns the leaves +of the books over listlessly. It is evident his thoughts are far away +from the pretty room he is in, and the young girl, who looks at him from +time to time, as some one has said, "out of the corner of her eye." + +Mr. Glen had been an inmate of Mr. Litchfield's household for a week +now. Aunt Adeline was generally averse to having either small boys or +big boys around her house, but here she was wonderfully taken. Mr. Glen +was her ideal of all that a young gentleman should be. Mr. Litchfield +discussed the topics of the day with him; there was no subject but what +he was thoroughly versed in: a brilliant musician, with a fine tenor +voice, a capital hand at whist, and if there was one thing that +delighted Mr. Litchfield's heart more than another, it was to have some +one to sympathise with him in this his favorite after-tea game. And Zoe? +Well, he could paint, draw or sketch, and that with a true artist's eye +for the beautiful. One of Zoe's drawings was quite another article after +Mr. Glen had touched up and smoothed over the flaws. So in spite of +their first unfortunate introduction, Zoe has accepted his being there +as a thing to be tolerated. He lets her have her own way, and that is +all Zoe cares about. + +The soft warm breeze floats in at the open doors and windows, laden with +the heavy perfume of flowers. The tall white and scarlet lilies in the +garden nod and bob their stately heads. A bird, just outside in a tree, +is pouring forth his joyous song of gladness; it is an ideal day in +summer. Jet Glen, as he sits over there in the window, is "having it +out" with his conscience. The reason he is here is to find out all he +can, and as much more as possible. It was an anxious moment, when he got +within thirty or forty miles of the place, how to proceed further; but +fortune is good as well as fickle. He had greatly ventured, and all must +do so who would greatly win. A former school mate was in the railway +carriage; he was down with the blues. He had been invited to join a +fishing party, with a number of other young friends. Suddenly, on the +very day before they were to start, his mother, who was a woman of many +minds, commanded him to give up his intended cruise and go down to the +country to stop with her old school friend, Miss Adeline Litchfield. So, +like an obedient son, he was on his way. This was just the chance for +Jet's attaining his desired haven. Within less than an hour Jet Barry +Traleigh was passing himself off as Jet Glen, the son of her school +friend, and Miss Litchfield was delighted. And yet there was nothing, +no, not a look, smile, gesture or tone of voice that recalled the +remembrance of his mother. Poor deluded aunt Adeline, if you could see +the real Jet Glen disporting himself with his holiday friends, what +would you say? + +They had all received him so cordially Jet's conscience pricked him most +severely. But it was no use going back now; what he had done could not +be undone. + +The sun suddenly flashes full upon Zoe's work; she rubs her eyes, and +wonders if Mr. Glen has gone to sleep, or why in the world is he sitting +there, staring so idiotically at a photo of herself and Dolores when +they were quite small children? But in all probability he is inwardly +dying of laughter, commenting on the two thin little pairs of legs +dangling from the high chair, in which they are seated, and criticising +the braided pig-tails under the little round straw hats. How many times +Dolores and herself have laughed over the closely shut lips, and +demurely folded hands and short frocks. But for this young man to commit +a like action was justly unpardonable. Then she thinks she is playing +the part of hostess rather lamely. + +"Say, Mr. Glen," Zoe pushes her chair back, and proceeds briskly to +gather up her working implements. "Shall we go finish the game of tennis +we were playing yesterday?" + +Mr. Glen starts, shuts the album, and assents. + +"The sun looks like playing tennis, or any thing else; you both stop +just where you are, I am not anxious to have two cases of sun-stroke on +my hands, with all my other household cares. Another thing, you both +know the old maxim of "idle hands," so I have provided you with some +useful employment." + +Aunt Adeline sinks on a lounge, unties, and takes off the large yellow +sun-bonnet, and fans herself energetically with a huge palm leaf. The +useful employment consists of a bushel basket nearly full of green peas +to be shelled for dinner. Jet laughingly declares he is ready to do +anything to escape the two evils, sun-stroke, and the fate of the "Idle +men and boys who were found." + +And aunt Adeline replied admiringly, "Jet Glen, how much that sounds +like your mother." + +Jet looks thoughtfully on the floor, his conscience giving an unusually +sharp twinge. This was rather much for him to make any reply. How easily +we poor, frail mortals in this world are deceived. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +AT NICE. + + "We know nothing of to-morrow: our business is to be good and + happy to-day." + + --Sidney Smith. + + +A day in December, two years previous to the beginning of my story. + +"Dolores, uncle Dick is going into the town; do you care to go?" + +Dolores is reading a long home letter from Zoe, full to the very edges, +beside being crossed and recrossed with all the latest sayings, doings, +and prospective to be done, ending up with the ardent wish and longing +to be with her darling Dolores, in beautiful, bright, sunny Italy. + +"I am so sorry, Blondine, but I must write to father this morning; so, +you see, to go would be impossible." + +Beautiful Blondine Gray, a distant cousin of the Litchfields, opens her +brown eyes in horrified astonishment. + +"Why, my dear, bury yourself in the house to write a letter on such a +day as this! Come, don't talk so nonsensical; get your largest umbrella, +for the sun is scorching. You can write this afternoon." + +But no persuasions, either on the part of Blondine or uncle Dick, can +move her, and they leave her in disgust. She watches them go down the +road. Blondine walks with the ease, grace and quietness of a born native +of Tyrol. Dolores admires Blondine's style of walking very much; it is a +pleasure just to watch her movements; so different from uncle Dick's +roll. A regular sailor's swing and roll of a walk did uncle Dick Gray +possess. He was major in the army, and of course very portly, as majors +are somehow, generally. But he had retired some years since with high +honors. Blondine, his brother's child, being left an orphan, he +considered it his duty to provide her a home; so before settling down to +house-keeping, a trip abroad was considered just the nicest idea. +Blondine was sick of school, so uncle Dick sent for Dolores to go with +them on their journey. + +After reading Zoe's letter over twice, to make sure there was nothing +skipped, Dolores takes her pen, ink and paper out on the piazza. The day +is like June; the waves, dancing and sparkling in the sunlight, are as +blue as the heavens above them. The little boats rock from side to side +as they float, now in, now out, from their moorings, and far out a white +sail glistens in the glimmering sunlight. On shore children, dark eyed, +red lipped little rascals, are selling flowers--roses and orange +blossoms, with quantities of violets. Little groups are sitting or +loitering about, their chief object seemingly to see who can produce the +largest and gayest parasol. Dolores takes in all the details of the +surroundings. Probably uncle Dick and Blondine are having some fun in +town; they will sit on the promenade, after they have made their +purchases, and rest themselves. They would be back by afternoon +sometime; then Dolores would go with them to the Casino, see the people +and hear the band. Suddenly her attention is attracted by a child, +somewhere near, crying. There was never an animal or child yet that +Dolores failed to sympathise with; now she looked about for the object +of her awakened feelings. + +"Don't go, mamma; don't go an' leave Roy alone." + +A carriage is standing at the door, and a tall, handsome woman is +getting in, a woman with a proud, cold face. A tiny boy, in a white +frilled dress, is vainly trying to get away from the nurse girl, who is +in her turn vainly trying to keep him out of sight, until his mother +gets away. + +"Take the child away, Hester, and do try to stop that terrible crying. +Gracious! what a pest some children are." This is addressed to the young +lady who comes down the broad steps to take her place by her friend's +side. Mrs. St. James, with Rea Severn, are going to spend the day at +Villafranche, and no foolish whim of a child's was going to interfere +with their pleasure. + +The carriage goes off, and Dolores tries her charms on the little man +left behind. She goes over and talks to him; he is instantly fascinated +by the lovely lady, consents to sit on her lap, listens to the ticking +of her watch, and finally falls asleep, with his dark curly head +pillowed on the train of Dolores' dress. She wrote her home letter, and +did not forget to mention her latest gentleman admirer. + +Walking back and forth, in one of the garden avenues opposite, there is +a gentleman who has been a witness of all that has taken place; a tall +fair man, broad shouldered, and with a noble face--a face possessed of +everything good, kind and generous--a thorough gentleman. There are a +great many "men" in the world, some great, some small, but the +"gentlemen," of them it is to be regretted there are too few. Sir Barry +Traleigh was here at Nice on business. He was very wealthy, but he was +always employed by his business affairs. He believed in a man, whether +rich or poor, having something with which to occupy his mind. Not an +idle life did Sir Barry, the genial owner of Castle Racquette, beside +many broad acres of land, lead. Castle Racquette was one of the finest +estates in all Glengarry, Scotland, and very pardonable was the pride +which Sir Barry entertained for his ancient, luxurious home. Now as the +sun steals slyly under the large Panama hat and turns his short pointed +beard, worn after the style of a Venetian, to a golden shade, Sir Barry +is a very fine specimen of a nineteenth century Scotchman. From his +promenade he watches Dolores; and Dolores, did she know who was watching +her? Why certainly not. Well then, how was it a few minutes afterward, +as Sir Barry came past the piazza, Dolores looked up, and their eyes +met, Sir Barry's full of respectful admiration; why did Dolores blush +and droop her eyes? It is truly wonderful how much can be said in a +look. The next instant Dolores is ready to call herself a silly +simpleton. What does she know of this man, that she should care to know +who he was? Probably she would never lay eyes on him again. And yet +Dolores could not help acknowledging, rather reluctantly to her own +conscience, that a handsomer man she had never seen. + +Presently little Roy wakes up, and Dolores and he have dinner brought up +to Dolores' charming parlor, and all his mother's unkind neglect is +forgotten. They have a right royal feast; and when Hester comes to take +him, Roy goes, with the promise of again taking luncheon with his pretty +Dolly. To all his nurse's entreaties to call Miss Litchfield by her +proper name he refused; to him she was his pretty, kind Dolly; so +Dolores, with a kiss, tells him laughingly he shall call her whatever he +pleases, and the child goes for his walk perfectly satisfied. + +"Come girls, come, don't be all day fixing yourselves; come on. Hello! +there is that--no, it can't be--Traleigh!" + +Uncle Dick, issuing forth on the way to the Casino, adjusts his gold +eye-glass quickly, and forgets for the moment his anger at Dolores and +Blondine, who hurry after him, secretly praying that their veils are on +all right, for of all the fussy men in the world uncle Dick is the +fussiest. + +"Yes, but it is Traleigh in the flesh, and more than delighted to see +Major Gray." + +Dolores' handsome man of the morning is shaking uncle Dick's hand +heartily. And uncle Dick, delighted to see his friend, turns and calls +in his usual quick, blustering fashion-- + +"Say, girls, this is Traleigh, that I have told you so much about. +Traleigh, those are the girls who have been toting me around from pillar +to post for the last year or more. We are going to the Casino, so come +on, and go with us. But there is a fellow over there I must speak to; +you all go on, and I will catch up with you." + +Uncle Dick dives through the crowd of people, leaving Sir Barry to make +himself agreeable to the ladies. It is evident he has heard of them +before, as each girl was called by her proper name. Dolores remembers +this morning, and hopes he did not see her make a fool of herself over +little Roy. Sir Barry is pleased to know the young lady whose looks he +admired so much. As for Blondine--well, Blondine was always pleased to +make herself pleasant to no matter whom she was with, from the humblest +to the highest; it was always the same with her. She rather resents +Dolores' cold, commonplace answers, and secretly wonders what has come +over gentle, merry Dolores. Well, when they get back to the hotel she +will give Miss Litchfield a bit of her mind. + +The Promenade des Anglais is visited, and Blondine goes in raptures over +the magnificent horses, the jaunty equipages, and elegant toilettes. The +Casino is packed; they espy uncle Dick frantically indicating with his +arm that, as the crush is so great, he cannot get to them now, but will +get in their vicinity as soon as it is possible. Sir Barry does his best +to do his duty toward the two ladies thrown upon his tender mercies. He +and Blondine talk, while Dolores listens to the music of the band, for +music in Italy is worth listening to. + +"Dolores, for Heaven's sake let us walk." + +Blondine has nudged Miss Litchfield several times, but no notice being +paid to her efforts, she has been obliged to speak. Blondine declares +something ails her foot, a cramp, or asleep, or something, she cannot +just decide which. Sir Barry clears the way, and they go, to be +presently met by uncle Dick and two ladies. Sir Barry lifts his hat +courteously as uncle Dick presents Mrs. St. James and Miss Severn. Mrs. +St. James says they were caught in a shower on the way to Villafranche, +and when they had hurried back found the sun shining most gloriously. +Blondine bows and smiles--when does Blondine not smile?--and Dolores? +Dolores deliberately turns her back; of course it is most unpardonably +rude. Uncle Dick never notices anything wrong, he never does, poor +deluded man, but goes on talking about one thing, then another. Blondine +is shocked; the warm blood surges up in her face, covering her ears and +throat. It is the first time she has ever had cause to feel ashamed of +pretty, gentle Dolores. Poor Blondine ponders and worries; what has come +over Dolores? she must certainly be ill to act so strangely. Sir Barry +looks surprised as well as pained, but does his best to make things pass +off as smoothly as possible. The walk back to the hotel was anything but +pleasant. If there had been no gentlemen present Rea Severn would have +been sullen or sulky; her manner now, however, was something betwixt and +between the two. Mrs. St. James received the "direct cut" from Miss +Litchfield with cool self-possession and indifference. If she noticed +the insult offered to her she made no sign. A clever nineteenth century +woman was Arial St. James. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +YOU NEVER CAN TELL. + + With every pleasing, every prudent part, + Say what does Chloe want? + She wants a heart. + + --Pope. + + +"No one could expect anything better from a person of Miss Litchfield's +position. Of course you could not help noticing her manner yesterday; +the girl's bringing up must account for her actions. Any man, a +gentleman, who would marry a negress, could not but expect some flaw in +his family." + +Sir Barry Traleigh turns sharply from contemplating the reflection of +his own face in the mirror opposite. + +"Do you say Miss Litchfield's mother was a negress?" + +Mrs. St. James takes up a scarlet ball of silk from her work basket. + +"Oh, well," she answers with sarcasm, "I consider Creoles and negroes +the same. As I said before, the girl is not to blame, considering +everything. Then her mother ran away; why, surely you heard the story. +She disappeared; no one knows if she is dead or living. The deepest +sympathy was felt for Mr. Litchfield, who, I understand, is a very +worthy man. His sister took charge of his home and children. Miss +Litchfield has a younger sister home; they were quite young at the time +of the trouble, and I believe they think their mother dead." + +Mrs. St. James has waited patiently to hear Sir Barry reply, but reply +in the way she wished him to; Mrs. St. James gets disappointed. + +Sir Barry is thunderstruck. It cannot be possible that Dolores can be +connected with any one but those whom any honest man would be willing to +take by the hand. There must be some good reason for Dolores' mother +leaving her home and family; and to find that reason out will be Sir +Barry's future aim. Mrs. St. James goes on in soft, smooth tones. + +"You see it places the family in a very perplexing and awkward position. +Outside of the friends of the family, I believe no one makes anything of +them." Mrs. St. James thinks Sir Barry will appreciate her defence of +Miss Litchfield. "Of course the girls are not to blame for their +mother's strange behaviour, but you know what the world is." + +Yes, Sir Barry, in his wanderings about among persons and places, knew +the world, and felt at this moment a fierce desire to punch every head +in the world who dared to cast a slur on Dolores, or any one belonging +to her. A very great interest he takes in this girl, whom he has not +seen over half a dozen times, and who takes special pains to snub him at +every opportunity. Mrs. St. James knits on the scarlet wool, contrasting +vividly with her marble face and hands. The sunbeams, peeping coyly in +through the half closed shutters, catches her diamond rings, and throws +around them a hundred glimmering, glistening, sparkling rays. Some one, +who has been sitting outside the open window, gets up to go. Sir Barry +glances lazily out. He meets Dolores' eyes fixed full upon him--Dolores' +pretty, gentle face no longer. Until he dies Sir Barry will remember +that agonized, broken-hearted look on Dolores' face. As he turns to Mrs. +St. James, he sees--can it be--a satisfied smile on her perfect lips? +When he looks again, Dolores is gone. + +"Did you see who just passed the window, and of course heard our +conversation?" breaks sternly from between Sir Barry's clinched teeth. + +"No. Who was it?" + +But this is too much for any man to swallow. He knew the lady sitting +right by the window had led the conversation to the topic they had been +discussing, knowing perfectly well who was sitting outside, and would +hear, whether she wished or not, what was said. + +"Oh it's all right; good morning." And Sir Barry takes his hat and is +gone. Mrs. St. James bites her scarlet lips in vexation, and hopes Sir +Barry has gone to thoroughly digest what was said. And Dolores--poor +Dolores--she is in her room, sobbing her heart out. Who can realize what +her feelings are, to be thus rudely awakened to the knowledge that there +hung over their family a dark cloud, some dreadful story about the +beloved mother, whom Zoe and she had so often mourned as dead? + +To be sure no tombstone marked her grave in the pretty shady cemetery at +home. Aunt Adeline said their mother was dead, and that, to their minds, +was proof enough, for was Auntie ever known to tell them a falsehood? +Since she had grown up, the desire to have her mother, like the other +girls around, had often possessed her. But to hear this woman tell Sir +Barry that her mother had gone away and left her home and family! +Believe it indeed! No! Certainly she could never look on the sweet, +grave pictured face hanging in its massive frame of gilt, over the +drawing room mantle at home, and believe that the original could commit +any act that would make her children blush when they heard the name of +their mother. + +Probably had Arial St. James known how deeply her words had wounded +Dolores, she would have been very sorry. Not a bad woman at heart, but +she spoke without thinking. Another thing, she had but repeated to Sir +Barry the story which every one knew at the time it happened. "A guilty +conscience needs no accusing," as has often been said before. When +Dolores turned her back on being presented to Mrs. St. James, it was +because she could not bring herself to treat with any show of civility a +woman who could treat her child so unkindly. Mrs. St. James attributed +it to a wholly different cause. Two years ago she and her husband had +come to Italy. Arial was charmed with the place, and when Mr. St. James +proposed returning home, his wife declined to go. So he, as usual, let +her have her own way, and left her and Roy, then an uninteresting, +sickly little infant of only a few months old. Arial was not much of a +person to write letters, so Mr. St. James, working away among his law +books, heard very seldom from his wife, and knew very little of the way +she employed her time. Sometimes the thought would flash across his busy +brain that he would like to see his son. But Arial never mentioned the +child's name, and Mr. St. James, thinking women were queer fish, came to +the conclusion that the baby must have died in its infancy, and as +perhaps it might hurt his wife's feelings, he never mentioned the +child's name to her. But contrary to his ideas the baby did live, grew +strong and flourishing, and little Roy was the favorite of all in the +large crowded hotel. But in spite of his beautiful dresses, sashes, +white kid slippers, dainty feathered hats, and little lace bonnets, +still, for all those desirable things, the poor Italian peasant women +followed the pretty, dark, curly headed lad, with deep pity in their +dark lustrous eyes--for the Italians love their children with a deep +passionate devotion almost amounting to idolatry. But the little white +frocked, blue sashed English boy, Roy, had no loving mother to caress +and love him. Mrs. St. James considered it time wasted to make a fuss +over children. She never talked to her little son, nor played with him; +she was proud of his beautiful face, and was not ashamed to call him her +son. She considered she was doing her duty by him in providing a +suitable nurse; he had everything he wanted, what more was required? And +yet night after night he has cried himself to sleep, because his mother +has passed his nursery door, and never "come to kiss Roy good night." +Every one knew in the respect of affection she did her son a great +wrong. + +This was the conclusion Mrs. St. James came to--somebody had told +Dolores that she neglected her child; and, be it said, Arial respected +this girl, who dared to show her feelings. A good many older people than +Dolores did not approve of Mrs. St. James' actions, but they held their +tongues, made much of the lively English lady, and Arial enjoyed her +power in her far Italian home. + +Out on the beach, romping among the dancing waves, and having a good +time generally, are Dolores and little Roy; much to Blondine's +amusement; she is too lazy to take any part in the programme; all +Blondine can do is to sit on a high boulder and laugh gaily at the two +sea nymphs disporting themselves to their evident satisfaction. Roy and +his "Dolly" are fast, firm friends; he cannot enjoy anything unless +Dolores is present. Mrs. St. James, as long as the child keeps out of +her way, does not take the bother to care who he is with. So many +pleasant hours are spent in each other's company. Blondine says "Dolores +cannot say she never had one staunch champion," and Roy declares he is +going to marry his pretty Dolly as soon as ever he gets to be a "big +man." + +Coming along the sands, with his dog at his heels, is Sir Barry. He +greets the ladies, and sends the dog in the water, to Roy's delight. +When he appears Dolores immediately freezes. It is a never ending source +of wonder to Blondine, what in the name of sense has Sir Barry ever done +that Dolores treats him as she does. + +"They are arranging a party to go and spend a couple of days or so at +Monaco. Are any of you going?" Sir Barry asks, in his cheery voice. + +"How delightful!" cries Blondine, starting up from her seat and brushing +the sand off her blue flannel dress. Very bewitching she is looking in +her blue gown and scarlet cap; and Blondine has the gift to know she +looks pretty. "I do wonder if uncle Dick will go? I hope, oh how I hope +he will; I am dying to go." + +Dolores throws sticks in the water, to see the dog bring them out. + +"Dolores, don't you hope uncle Dick will go? Did you hear what Sir Barry +says?" + +Dolores does not answer; perhaps the breeze carries Blondine's voice in +an opposite direction, perhaps Roy's childish talk proves more +agreeable. + +Presently Hester comes to take Roy away, and Dolores saunters idly back +to Sir Barry and his fair companion. Blondine is highly delighted; Sir +Barry has seen and asked uncle Dick if he would join the party, and of +course uncle Dick had said yes. Any affair Traleigh approved was in +uncle Dick's mind commendable. + +"Will it not be splendid! Dolores, are you not pleased?" + +And Sir Barry laughs lightly at Dolores' answer. + +"Blondine, you would think it splendid if a shower of rain should +descend this moment and drench us." + +Blondine is watching the white clouds float across the azure sky, and +wishing the sun may shine as brightly for the next couple of days. Sir +Barry looks at the massive gold watch in his pocket, and says by the +time they lunch and get ready it will be time to start. So Blondine +unfurls her large white cotton umbrella, tucks Dolores' unwilling hand +under her arm, and laments the smallness of the parasol's compass. If it +was possible she would offer a part to Sir Barry; as it is she advises +him to pull his hat well over his face, for freckles on a man's face is +something Miss Gray detests. + +"But some people consider them a mark of beauty; that is the reason I am +trying to cultivate some," Sir Barry says solemnly. + +Dolores gives one swift side glance at the handsome face of the man +walking the other side of Blondine. He happens, at the same instant, to +be looking at her. Dolores is angry at the blush she feels rising to her +face. The idea of his watching her that way; it is too bad he cannot +find some one else to gaze at all the time. + +"I do wish you would hold the umbrella a little on my side," she says +coldly to Blondine. + +Sir Barry bites his moustache savagely; he has never been so +persistently snubbed in all his twenty-eight years. + +Ten minutes later Dolores, sitting at her parlor window, happens to +glance out, to see Sir Barry strolling leisurely down the garden, with +Rea Severn at his side, in all the glory of a fresh effort of Worth's--a +dress which every girl in the hotel would give anything to possess. It +was made so marvellously, no one could tell just how--and so Miss Severn +feared no imitation. + +Dolores watches them pace up and down, to and fro. Her heart is +throbbing with an angry, passionate feeling against Sir Barry. He was +very anxious to get Blondine and her back to the hotel, so he could walk +and talk with Rea Severn. She wished uncle Dick would take Blondine +and her home, away, far away from the place where Sir Barry Traleigh is, +and all belonging to him. And yet if such had been the case that uncle +Dick should leave Nice, probably Dolores would feel most sincerely loath +to go. Rea has a cluster of magnificent pink and white roses in her +hand. Dolores sees her select one and give it to Sir Barry. He takes it, +and Dolores waits to see him fasten it in his coat. But Sir Barry seems +to forget how much more effective it would have looked there, but +carries the frail blossom between his gloved fingers. Dolores wonders +what they are talking about? Probably the intended trip; no doubt they +are planning numberless blissful moments together. Rea talks on, and Sir +Barry listens, and ponders if Miss Litchfield will allow him to drive +her in his stylish dogcart and span of fine horses. The others are all +going in those jaunty little donkey carts which are so plentiful in +Nice. Probably Rea is not only very much interested in Sir Barry on +account of his good looks, but also has an inward longing for an +invitation to a seat beside the owner of the handsome bays. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +SHALL WE NOT BE FRIENDS? + + "The time I've lost in wooing, + In watching and pursuing, + The light that lies + In woman's eyes, + Has been my heart's undoing." + + --Moore. + + +"Miss Litchfield regrets that she must refuse Sir Barry Traleigh's kind +invitation to attend the excursion this afternoon." + +Sir Barry feels very much hurt and disappointed. He had done nothing to +merit Miss Litchfield's displeasure, and yet to his pleasantly worded +offer of a seat in his dogcart, she has sent him back those few coldly +formal words of refusal. + +In Dolores' parlor Blondine and Dolores are having what is approaching +the most serious unfriendly words that have ever been exchanged between +them. Blondine, who has at first laughed, then pleaded and coaxed, and +scolded, finally sits down and cries. Dolores pays no attention to her +cousin's entreaties. She had said she would not go to Monaco that +afternoon, and she meant to keep her word, no matter what any one may +say to the contrary. + +"You had much better get ready, and be in time," Dolores says quietly. + +"I never saw any one change so in my life as you have done lately. +Whatever has got possession of you? We were going to have such a +charming time," sobs Blondine, who is utterly cast down at the prospect +of not having Dolores go and enjoy the beauties of the place with her. + +Now any one may coax, scold, plead or pray, and Dolores is immovable; +but when tears are called into operation Dolores is lost. So she takes +Blondine's pretty dark head in her lap and pats it soothingly. + +"Never mind, dear; do not spoil your pretty eyes with crying over me, +but when I tell you that I would not enjoy myself, that I should be +wretchedly unhappy, were I to go to-day; and that for you and uncle Dick +to go and leave me behind, would render me a kindness more than anything +else, then you will believe me, dear, will you not?" + +Blondine is silent for a moment. + +"I wonder if Mrs. St. James is going?" she asks presently. + +"Why no, certainly not; little Roy has been so very ill lately, I should +think it would be the last thing to leave him with none but that little +nurse maid," Dolores answers decidedly. + +Blondine thinks differently. As she came up the stairs she heard Mrs. +St. James tell Sir Barry that she hoped there would not be many hills to +go down, or they would certainly be dumped out of those funny little +carts. + +At two the party start, and Dolores sits up stairs, listening to the +merry talk and laughter going on below. She will not so much as look out +the window to see who are going. No one but herself knows just how much +she wants to go; but she crushes the longing that arises in her heart; +she will not give in now, she will keep her word. Uncle Dick has +accepted her decision with strange quietness; the usually fussy uncle +Dick had laughed softly, and, rubbing his hands together remarked, + +"Well, my girl, if you choose to be left behind, it will not be uncle +Dick who will force you to go anywhere against your will." + +Then at the last moment, just before starting, Blondine had ran up to +say good bye, and actually Blondine was laughing as if she had never +regretted leaving her dear but rebellious Dolores behind. + +After they had gone Dolores does some fancy work; she plays a melancholy +tune on the handsome Steinway piano, and sings an absurdly sentimental +little ballad. She reads a little, and passes the afternoon. After tea, +in the evening, she throws a white fleecy shawl around her shoulders, +and strolls down stairs and out in the garden, the sweet, flower-scented +garden. The pretty stars twinkled brightly in the clear evening sky, and +the fair young moon, just rising, casts a silver lustre over the whole +scene. The trees bend and whisper to one another; the sound of voices +comes dimly to Dolores' ears, and a strange wave of home-sickness sweeps +over and almost overwhelms her. It is such a new, strange feeling that +Dolores does not quite know what to do with herself. If Zoe were only +here, with her bright words of cheering, if she were only here to talk, +perhaps that strange lonely feeling would pass away. + +"Pardon me, Miss Litchfield, but what have I ever done to offend you? +Why do you avoid me? You might have gone this afternoon in perfect +safety; you see I did not go." + +Dolores is so surprised to find Sir Barry here at her side, her heart, +in spite of her, gives a glad throb. But of course she would not +acknowledge it, even to herself, that it was his presence which made it +do so. Now she looks at Sir Barry with a most bewitching smile curving +her pretty red lips, and Sir Barry goes down before that pretty, piquant +face without a struggle. + +"Why, Sir Barry, I am sure you are rather visionary. I hope, if I have +hurt your feelings, you will forget, and forgive me." + +Dolores gives her hand to Sir Barry with a sweet impulsive gesture not +to be resisted. + +"And you will not 'cut' me any more, no matter how your temper runs?" + +And Dolores, with a relieved feeling at her heart, consents. + +"We shall be friends, Dolores, for the future?" + +Any other time Dolores would have been shocked that a young man should +dare to call her "Dolores." But then she had heard so much lately about +Sir Barry, and she has been so much in his thoughts, that neither notice +how naturally the name slips out. It is so nice to have some one to talk +to, Dolores thinks, as she and Sir Barry walk around and around the +sweet old garden, with everything bathed in the bewitching moonbeams. +Some one is singing in the hotel, and the song floats out on the clear +night air, and comes down to the ears of the young couple walking there. +The words were sweetly pathetic, and stirred Sir Barry's heart with a +wild impulse to end all further nonsense, and ask Dolores then and there +to marry him. + + "Never to know it, never, + Never to know, ah never; + Never to know the heart that's aching + All for our sake, and almost breaking; + Never to know, never to know, + The heart that we love is aching, aching, breaking." + +The song ends in a piteous wail that makes Dolores shiver. + +"How dreadful that song, 'Never to know,' ends," she says, never +thinking what an excellent opportunity she is giving the man at her side +to declare himself. But Dolores never thinks of this, however; and +anyway, all further confidences are over, for suddenly a little figure +appears before their astounded gaze. + +"Oh, Miss Litchfield, would you please come in and quiet master Roy? His +mamma has gone away, and he is so ill, Miss, I don't know what I shall +do." + +The little figure wrings her hands and looks piteously to Dolores for +help. + +"Surely Mrs. St. James did not go and leave that sick child with a +little thing like you?" Sir Barry says sternly. + +Goodness knows what would have been said, but for this timely +interruption, and Sir Barry feels annoyed to find his opportunity gone. +But instantly Dolores returns to see what can be done for her suffering +little friend. + +"You will come out again?" Sir Barry asks, as Hester is seen whisking in +the door. + +"If I can leave," Dolores answers, and Sir Barry gives the little hand +resting on the balcony rail, a gentle pat, and Dolores, with a very red +face, hurries in doors. + +Poor little Roy, he is sitting bolt upright in his little iron bedstead; +the sweet pretty face is flushed and burning in a high fever; his eyes +are dull and heavy; but he holds out his arms when he sees Dolores. + +"Dress an' take Roy away from here, Dolly; take and carry Roy down where +the sun shines," he says; and poor Dolores is terribly frightened; +little Roy is very ill. She tells him he will go to sleep now, as it is +dark, but in the morning they will go and see the sunshine dancing on +the water. She sends Hester for the doctor, but Sir Barry, who is +watching, meets her and says to go back and remain with Miss Litchfield, +and he will go for the physician. + +All night, and all the next day, and the next, Dolores sits by the +little iron bed; she never leaves the child's side. Not for a single +moment will he allow his Dolly out of his sight. The case was very +serious. + +"I should think, if his mother wants to see him again alive, she had +better be here to-day." + +Mrs. St. James loves her child after her own fashion, but she loved +pleasure and her own comfort more. + +"He is surely not so very ill," Dolores says, regarding the doctor's +face in alarm. + +"Miss Litchfield, the child is dying; I can do nothing more for him." + +Dolores is shocked. What will she do? Dear, gay, merry little Roy dying! +Oh! it cannot be possible! What can his mother be thinking of to leave +him so cruelly alone? But he never once mentioned his mother's name. +"Dolly" was there, and that was sufficient. It was useless to try to +send for Mrs. St. James; it was doubtful if they could find her if they +did; anyway, they would be back within a day or so. So it was in +Dolores' arms he died. Dolores closed the white lids over the tired +eyes, folded the tiny waxen hands upon the little breast, and bitter +tears fell upon the still peaceful baby face of her little lost friend. +Then when all was over, Dolores waited with bitter feelings for his +mother to come. + +She came the next day, in the afternoon. They were a merry party, and +much pleased with their trip. Mrs. St. James, on going up to her rooms, +finds Hester, her eyes red and swollen with weeping, every blind and +shutter closed, and the child--where was he? Then she heard her boy was +dead; she would not believe it; nothing, until she stood beside the +little silent form, would convince her. + +"Oh, Miss Litchfield, can I ever forgive myself, can I ever forget that +you did for him while his own mother left him? Surely now, in my deep +trouble and sorrow, you will believe me when I say I am sorry for those +careless words you heard me speak about your mother." + +Dolores is sitting beside the little white casket, and on the floor, +clasping Dolores' hands, is the child's mother. Dolores wonders if her +sorrow is real, or is she so polished that she can deceive people? +Sometimes the awful suspicion does actually flash through Dolores' mind. +Yes, it is to Dolores she goes in her trouble, nor is it in Dolores' +nature to refuse any one her sympathy. + +"Will you have a dispatch sent his father, Mrs. St. James? We would have +sent before, but did not know the address." + +"No, no?" Mrs. St. James answers hurriedly. "I shall have him buried +here." + +Dolores opens her pretty eyes in shocked astonishment. Then Mrs. St. +James rises from her kneeling posture, draws the black shawl over her +handsome shoulders, and paces the long room hurriedly; then stops in +front of Dolores, and says, with a half smile: + +"Miss Litchfield, if I entreat you to silence, and entrust to you a +secret, will you help me, for my dead boy's sake, to keep it?" She draws +an easy chair beside Dolores, and goes on. "Yes, yes, you will promise, +for the child's sake, will you not, Dolores? will you not?" and Dolores, +with tears in her eyes, promises. + +"You may have wondered why the child never spoke of his father, and I +suppose, when I tell you his father believed him dead three years ago, +you will be still more surprised. I was jealous of my husband's love for +Roy. I never have been to Canada since we came here, three years ago. At +that time the child was sick, and after Mr. St. James went home I never +mentioned Roy's name, for my letters were not very frequent. Of course +he considered the boy had died. If he had had the slightest fancy the +infant lived he would have had him home, and I would hold but a +secondary place in my husband's heart; that would never do. I know it is +selfish in me, but I must have all the love of my husband; it cannot be +divided, not even with my own child. Now he must never be any the wiser +about the child having died, for if he should find out I have deceived +him so long, I should never be forgiven. I do not profess to love my +husband passionately; I never could love any one or any thing very much; +it is all owing, I suppose, to my selfish disposition. There is not the +slightest doubt but that I am wholly beloved by my husband. I do not +deserve so much goodness; I am utterly unworthy of him. Promise me, +Dolores, that if ever we meet again--Heaven only knows if we ever +shall--but if we do, never breathe of what has taken place here. Your +face tells me I have merited your disapproval, but try and pity me, for +I never had any one to teach me better, or instil good principles in my +mind. When you judge me, remember a spoilt child, brought up by nurses +and teachers, has not had the benefit of home discipline." + +Dolores does not know what to say, she has heard such a cruel story. +Contempt and pity struggle together in her heart. She buries her pretty +face in her pocket handkerchief and weeps--weeps for the little child +lying there, who has no fond mother's heart to mourn over him, and for +the far off father who will never see his little son now, and whose +heart would no doubt be well nigh broken if he knew no parent's face was +present to catch the last glimpse of the fast dimming baby eyes. And +seeing Dolores cry, Mrs. St. James does likewise; probably she is more +touched than she has ever been before in her life. + +"Mrs. St. James, I have promised," Dolores says presently, "and no +matter what my feelings are, I shall not go back on my word." + +She takes no heed of her companion's words of gratitude, neither does +she accept or notice the outstretched hand, but hurries from the room, +to find Sir Barry in the parlor opposite. + +"My dear little friend, how wretchedly tired you must be, and then +bothering with that woman. Why can she not humbug someone else beside +you?" he says, hurrying forward and taking her hands in his. Probably +Sir Barry was rather cross at not having seen Dolores more often during +the past few days; and Dolores, despite her independent spirit, is very +thankful for his thought for her. + +"I have done all I can," she replies sadly, and Sir Barry, terribly +afraid the next thing she will do will be to cry, goes on quickly. + +"Did you know Major Gray was talking of leaving here very soon?" + +Now those are the very words Dolores has been dreading to hear. She +knows perfectly well things cannot go on forever as they have been +lately, and now her heart goes down into her boots, if such a feeling is +possible. + +"I must go immediately and ask about the arrangements," she says +faintly. + +"And there is something I want to say to you. Can I see you this +evening?" and Sir Barry waits for her answer. + +Dolores' pretty face flushes; she looks past Sir Barry, down the long +hall, and out to the blue sky beyond. + +"Not to-night; some other time," she answers gently. Then, before Sir +Barry can plead more, she leaves him. But he is far from unhappy, as he +strolls down to the hotel office to smoke a sociable cigar with the +Major. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +I WONDER WHO SHE CAN BE? + + "The woman who deliberates is lost." + + --Addison. + + +"I wonder who that pretty girl is Sir Barry Traleigh is talking with so +earnestly down by the gate?" Blondine saunters into Dolores' pretty room +to wait for her cousin to go down to tea. + +"Any one you know?" asks Dolores, from the mirror where she is busy +twisting her back hair up and sticking silver pins here and there +through it. + +"They have just hailed a carriage, and are driving off," Miss Gray says +excitedly, from the window where she has seen Sir Barry and his pretty +companion disappear. + +"I suppose he has the liberty to go driving with, or talk to whom he +chooses," Dolores retorts crossly. + +She wonders who this fair unknown can be, and wonders still more why Sir +Barry should be so interested in her--for interested he must be, if he +would leave his tea. Still she is relieved to know she will not have to +meet him again to-day anyway. She would like to tell Blondine that she +and Sir Barry were good friends; but a feeling comes that Blondine will +only laugh triumphantly at her and say "I knew it would be so." She is +wakened from any further wonderment by Blondine. + +"Hurry, Dolores, uncle Dick won't wait all the evening for you to get +that bang of yours just fixed without a hair out of place, so come +quick. I am as hungry as, as--who was the hungriest person you ever +heard or read of, Dolores?" + +"I am afraid I cannot say, dear. You plunge too deep for me to follow +you," is Dolores' quiet answer. + +The second tea gong sounds; they hurry down, to find uncle Dick emerging +from the gentlemen's parlor, and just in time to hear his loud jovial +voice remark to his companion--"I wonder, in the name of Olympus if my +girls intend to come to their supper to-night?" + +It is morning--a bright, deliciously warm morning--with light yellowish +white clouds floating in the sky, and a soft, light wind coming in, +bringing the scent of the salt waves to heal the diseases, and warm or +thaw out the cold English tourists who are here seeking the heat of a +warmer climate than their own. Dolores and Blondine are sitting on the +pretty green bank, in sight of the remains of what the peasants call the +"Bath of the Fairies," a Roman amphitheatre. Blondine is supposed to be +sketching this picturesque spot; at least it is for that purpose that +they have walked two long miles to Cimella this delightful morning. But +the sketching is not progressing very rapidly; Blondine loses herself in +a day dream. Sitting there under the old elm tree, resting her dark head +against its friendly trunk, Blondine forgets the Abbey, likewise all +other things worldly. The white lids droop lower and lower over the dark +eyes, the breeze whispers a soft, gentle lullaby, all is stillness +around. Dolores looks up from her book to ask how the abbey is +progressing under Blondine's skilled fingers; but Dolores may save +herself the trouble of speaking, for Miss Blondine is asleep. Then a +wandering fit seizes Dolores; she wonders what is down yonder; perhaps +some pretty cottage hidden from view by those jealous hedges of +hawthorn; she will go and see. On and on, over the narrow beaten track +goes Dolores, charmed onward by she knew not what; up little hills and +down little paths she goes, and yet the ideal cottage she is hunting for +fails to present itself. + +Suddenly voices make her pause to listen. She is startled, for surely +the tones are familiar. Only a hedge of cedar divides her from them, and +unintentionally she is forced to listen to a conversation not intended +for her ears, or else betray her presence, and Dolores would sooner do +anything than stir. + +"Do go back, Jantie, do for my sake: you will never regret it. Do make +up your mind, for you cannot think how you worry me. I promise you +faithfully I will publish the marriage in all the leading journals as +soon as I can do so discreetly. Now, dear, you will go back to Scotland, +to please me, won't you?" Sir Barry Traleigh's voice is full of tender +pleading. + +"Never again shall the finger of scorn be pointed toward me. No! I +refuse to return home until I am an acknowledged wife. I say no! I shall +never be despised for a sin of which I am innocent." + +The girl's clear voice is raised in a passionate flow of rage and +sorrow. They pass out of hearing, leaving Dolores pale and trembling. + +Sir Barry here; and of course it is the girl Blondine had seen with him +the previous afternoon; his wife, of whom he was ashamed. Of course she +is his wife, and he is persuading her to go home, and promises to +acknowledge her before the world some day. Ah! some day! And meanwhile +he has been winning her--Dolores--heart; he, the husband of another +woman. May Heaven forgive him; she never can. The sun dazzles her eyes, +the day has lost its charm; she gets back somehow, to find Blondine +awake, and wondering what had happened to her. Blondine's careless laugh +is hushed at sight of the utterly wretched, hopeless look on Dolores' +face. + +"My dear! what is it?" she cries, springing to her feet, and taking +Dolores' cold hands in both her warm ones. But Dolores turns her +miserable face away from Blondine's enquiring glance. + +"Oh, Blondine, Blondine; would to Heaven we had never seen this place. +If I were only home--home, where there is no treachery or deception. Oh, +Blondine, Blondine!" + +Nothing can be more perplexed than Blondine's mind, as she has often +thought there was no accounting for Dolores' conduct lately. Blondine +hurries her sketch book into the little willow-basket. + +"I suppose we had better get back," she says as calmly as her confused +feelings will allow, and Dolores wearily assents. Certainly the bright +day which promised so much pleasure is falling most woefully short of +its fulfillment. + +"Tell me what ails you, dear; are you ill? Come, tell me all about it, +won't you, Dolores." But Dolores shakes her pretty head; she does not +seem inclined to tell any one anything. Blondine gives her up in +despair. She is beginning to think herself, perhaps it would have been +better not to have come here; and yet what was there, here in bright, +pleasant, sunny Nice, that the most fastidious could object to? Poor +Blondine gives this second problem up as hopeless as the first. + +"I suppose you are pretty well packed. You know we start by the +five-fifteen coach this afternoon; so look lively, my dears." + +Uncle Dick's pompous figure is standing in the gateway, and uncle Dick's +merry grey eyes look enquiringly at Dolores' pale face. + +"What's up now? Too much high jinks seems to use you up soon, young +lady." + +Major Gray goes in for pink cheeks and red lips, like blooming +Blondine's, for instance. He admires Dolores immensely, but she might +have been a marble statue now, for all the pink there is in her face; +she looks positively 'chalky.' + +"Uncle Dick, we are surely not off so soon?" Blondine exclaims. + +"Yes, my dear, but we are; we have been gone a good round year now. See, +we have done Marseilles, Naples, Cannes, Monaco, Mentone, San Remo, +Pegli, Genoa, Spezia, Lucca, Pisa, Leghorn, Serrento, Capri and Nice, +and I feel as if I should enjoy the sight of home faces again. So hurry +now, so we won't be late." + +Uncle Dick rolls off down street at a dashing pace, full of glee at +having got over the question of departure. He had expected to be +assailed by an avalanche of refusals at leaving Italy for a long while +yet. It has all been gotten over with so smoothly, that Major Gray could +at this moment have shaken hands with his greatest enemy--if such a +being existed, which was doubtful--and said "hope you're well," with +genuine warmth. + +Passing through the hall Blondine sees Mrs. St. James seated in her +parlor, the doors open, with dear Florrie, dear Bessie, dear Nattie, and +all the other dears, sitting about consoling the bereaved lady. Arial +looks exceedingly handsome in her dress of deep crape. An interesting +looking woman at all times, just now she is doubly so, receiving the +sympathy of endless numbers of friends over her recent loss. Blondine +steps in the room to tell Mrs. St. James of their going, and to say +farewell. Not so Dolores; she hurries to her rooms, gives her maid all +due instructions concerning luggage, and then speeds away to the pretty +burying ground, to pause beside a tiny grave; a broken pillar of +granite, with the simple words "My son Roy," marking the resting place +of her little lost friend. + +Dolores gathers a few forget-me-nots from around the mound--flowers that +in after years will remind her of this tiny grave in Italy. Here her +resolution is taken to forgive--she cannot forget--two persons whom she +firmly believes are at war against her; then with a long, last, +lingering glance around, she goes. + +Blondine hails the sight of Dolores with joy. Will she just lend a hand +for a minute, to see if all is ready? Poor Blondine would never get over +the world with doing her own packing is very evident, from the sight +that meets Dolores' eyes. Things always contrived to get mixed up so +queerly; her best bonnets and boots, the desk with the ink and mucilage +bottles, generally reposed calmly upon her most dainty pair of gloves. +Now she cannot find her pearl-handled knife, the ivory opera glasses, or +her silver nut crackers. Dolores searches around with the eyes of a +professional detective, and at length discovers the missing articles in +the pocket of Blondine's riding habit; the knife was found in the window +sash, where it had been put to keep it from rattling the night before +when the wind blew. + +The last trunk is strapped, the hasty search around for farewell words +to friends (of which there are shoals); the coach is at the door; they +are off, going by the famous Cornice route for the last time. Its many +scenic beauties will scarcely ever fade from Blondine's admiring eyes; +her memory will never fail on that score. Much disgusted is uncle Dick +at not having seen "that boy Traleigh," and wonders if he will "turn +up," ere they leave; but Traleigh fails to "turn up," greatly to Dolores +satisfaction. + +Uncle Dick is in high glee, to find that a steamer sails the following +morning, and Blondine turns pale when some one suggests to Major Gray +that they may look forward to a pretty "tumbly" voyage, as gales seem +the proper thing during the past week. + +Dolores cheers up at the mention of home, becomes absorbed in purchasing +numerous foreign trifles for Zoe, talks learnedly on the wretchedness of +foreign cooking, and altogether appears the cheerful, but not gushing +Dolores of old. + +The passage across was, as predicted, rather inclined to be "tumbly," +indeed, at times most uncomfortably so. Blondine declares if Heaven will +ever spare her to get on land once more, never would human persuasion +entice her across old Atlantic again. Uncle Dick was delighted with the +pitch and toss and knock down of the angry waters, and Dolores +laughingly declares, "uncle Dick you were born for a sailor but became +spoilt in the drilling." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +TROUBLES OVERTAKE THE BEST OF MEN. + + "He is miserable once who feels it, + But twice who fears it before it comes." + + --Eastern Proverb. + + +"Well, Edward, what in the world are you going to do? Why, I never heard +of such actions in all my forty years of life. A man of your honorable +principles to be in league with such men as you have just described; why +it just takes my breath away with astonishment, it certainly does." + +Aunt Adeline gives the white head-dress on top of her head such an +excited rap that its position lent to her face a peculiarly fierce +expression quite foreign to her general air of amiability. + +"Perhaps some means may present itself that will tide us over safely, +but it is very dark looking just now, very dark indeed." + +"Well, they cannot do anything with you, can they?" aunt Adeline +inquires excitedly. + +"No, my dear sister; only to have an old firm like ours go down seems a +pity. And, Adeline, I hope you will not be very much displeased at what +I did to-day." Mr. Litchfield speaks nervously. + +"Now Edward, what have you been about again? You know how many imprudent +actions you commit. Tell me what is the thing now you think I won't +approve of?" + +"This morning young Fanchon asked me to sign his note for three months." +Aunt Adeline stiffens visibly in her chair. + +"What was the amount?" she asks coldly. + +"Only three hundred dollars; and he said it would oblige him, as at the +end of three months he would get some money owing him. Of course it will +be all right you know," replied her brother in an off-hand tone, which +he is far from feeling, for the man Fanchon has long been losing ground +in public favor; and rumor said, if it were not for the senior partner, +Litchfield, the business would be done. + +Miss Litchfield looks out the window, as she says slowly: + +"You may be sorry, some day, that you did not take my advice. You know I +warned you about your marriage; you scorned my advice then; you know now +how it has turned out. All I can say is, it will be your own fault +either way, good or otherwise." + +Mr. Litchfield gets up from his seat at the table. + +"Adeline,"--his face is very pale as he stands before his sister--"let +what has passed rest. You have been a most faithful, affectionate sister +to me, and aunt to my girls, but from you, nor no one else living, shall +I take a word of disrespect about my wife." Then Miss Adeline hears the +door close, and she is alone. + +"Well," she says, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle in her apron, "I am +terribly afraid Edward is getting a softness in the head; any man that +could feel no reproach against a woman who has wronged any one, as +Estelle Litchfield has wronged my poor brother, beats me more than words +can express." + +The white curtains flap idly in and out at the windows; a white and +yellow butterfly comes in to light among the pink roses and white lilies +in the glass dish on the table. Zoe's voice comes from somewhere in the +garden, scolding her pet kitten for disgracing himself by persisting in +chasing imaginary flies over the flower beds. Jet Glen is whistling "The +girl I left behind me," somewhere near. Aunt Adeline hears the happy +young voices and sighs. Her brother's business has not gone altogether +straight lately; she does her best to keep his spirits up, but sometimes +her own heart nearly fails with anxious forebodings for the future. + +"Edward seems to lose the use of all his faculties," Miss Litchfield +soliloquises. "There was that wealthy Mrs.--I won't say her name--but +any one could see with half an eye--was only waiting to change her name +to ours. Her money would have done wonders for Edward, but no one knew +what had become of Estelle, and so for the sake of her my poor brother +must needs lose all the chances that appear, and lose his health +worrying over his business affairs, seems too bad entirely." + +An enquiring fly lights on the tip of Miss Litchfield's aristocratic +Roman nose. Now this is something appalling; never does she allow a +single poor stray fly to remain in those cool, shady rooms. The next +half hour is spent in ousting the enemy, and after that length of time +the viper is finally vanquished. + +"Auntie, do you notice how very pale father looks?" + +The dim shadows lie in long dark lines across the quaint old room. Zoe, +curled up by the window, is trying to catch the last faint rays of +daylight; but the dim light grows dimmer, and the words on the page are +no longer discernable. + +"Yes, child, of course I've noticed it; who would not? and what the end +of it will be is more than my knowledge of the future can penetrate; I +have not the least idea." + +Dolores' pretty grey kitten jumps up in Miss Adeline's lap. + +"Get down, you nuisance," she says crossly. + +"Come here, Moody, you dear, pretty thing, to Zoe." + +Moody obediently goes sedately, with a look of injured dignity; she rubs +her glossy head against Zoe's arm, and plays with the tassels on the +window curtains. + +"I will have to marry old Mr. Vacine after all, and his money bags will +restore the house of Litchfield to its former glory." + +Miss Adeline is quick to take offence when one of her old friends are +being spoken lightly of. + +"Mr. Vacine is too old for a child like you to jest about. Youth should +always respect old age," she says severely. + +"Well, I never could see any sense in him living up there all alone in +that great gloomy mansion, when other people--any quantity of +them--would be willing to share the goods the gods have given him." + +The little silver and marble clock on the bracket ticks the minutes +hastily away. + +"I am glad to hear that; would you, my dear little friend, be 'one' of +the 'any quantity' you just spoke of?" + +Both Zoe and Aunt Adeline are startled by the grave voice behind them. +Mr. Blois Vacine, past sixty years of age, and owner of the finest +properties in the town, seldom leaves his home of gloomy grandeur; and +Zoe mentally calculates, as Miss Litchfield goes forward to greet the +visitor, that something more wonderful than usual is about to take place +after this. + +"Father home?" Mr. Vacine inquires, coming over to the window where Zoe +is standing. Evidently the power of speech has deserted the ever +ready-tongued young lady. + +"No sir; yes--that is--I don't know," she stammers. She feels horribly +ashamed of herself for having spoken as she had done; and yet it was in +her own house, and if people can't say what they wish in their own +house, pray where would they? and another thing, it was decidedly mean +to come into a house without first ringing the bell to announce one's +coming. + +"Oh well, probably he will not be gone long, and meanwhile you and I can +have a little friendly chat," Mr. Vacine says cheerfully. + +Zoe politely asks if he will not take the easy chair aunt Adeline has +just vacated. + +"And so you don't believe in people being mean and stingy with their +worldly gifts. But even wealth, after a time, grows monotonous; we very +seldom find the pleasure we expect, even in the success of our highest +ambitions. I am a lonely old man, my dear; once I had a dear nephew, of +whom I was too fond; I said something passionate; he took offence at his +old uncle, and left me. But never mind, I would be only too glad if you +would look upon my house and grounds as your own, to come and go in at +your pleasure." + +Zoe's eyes dance, and her heart beats with delightful anticipation. The +dream of her life has been to be allowed to pass beyond the heavy iron +gates, with their fantastic guardians of lions' heads, and wander at +will in the dim, unknown depths of the paradise of flowers beyond; and +the house, the dear old rambling castle of which she has heard so much. +Poor Zoe, for some minutes she is unable to speak. + +"Ah, you have thought differently since you first spoke. Well, it is all +right; there is not so much to interest one, perhaps, as I imagine." +There is a ring of disappointment in the old man's voice, and Zoe +hastens to say, + +"My dear Mr. Vacine, believe me, I am not ungrateful to you for your +goodness, and will take much pleasure in your kind offer," the girl +says, with a choking in her throat. + +Aunt Adeline comes in with lights, saying Mr. Litchfield was feeling so +unwell, that he had retired. So Zoe accompanies Mr. Vacine to the door, +watches him walk down the little path to the gate with a step as firm +and elastic as a boy of twenty. + +"Well little one, is this the latest victim your charming self has +brought down?" Jet Glen's tall figure stands before her, and Jet's brown +eyes are full of lazy laughter, as he stands and watches Zoe straighten +her slim figure in virtuous indignation. + +"You are like a toad, Mr. Glen, always cropping up when least expected," +she says, with what is intended to be withering sarcasm. + +"Allow me to offer a thousand thanks for your kind sentiments on my +appearance, Miss Litchfield." The young man doffs his white straw hat +gallantly. + +"No need for thanks; it is the simple, unvarnished truth; it is nothing +to me if you get offended." The little foot, clad in its dainty wigwam +slipper, taps the door step impatiently. + +"Never mind, dear, don't get angry; you and I should understand each +other by now. You are such a little wildfire, I like to see you get +excited. But come, tell me what the old gentleman said." + +Zoe's anger is never very long lived; now, under Jet's conciliatory +tones, it vanishes and fades like the mist in the morn. + +"Of course I'll tell you, you old goose," Zoe exclaims, coming down +toward him. + +"Well, let us walk around the paths, and we can talk better," suggests +the 'old goose,' persuasively. + +"He asked me over so nicely, to come and go in his beautiful house and +grounds, and make myself at home there. Ah, I felt like hugging the old +dear." Mr. Glen pokes the grass thoughtfully with his cane. + +"Indeed," he says drily. "It is a pity you could not expend your surplus +affection on a younger man." + +Zoe stops short in her walk. "You are very impolite, to say the very +least; in fact I am rather surprised at you," the youngest Miss +Litchfield says loftily. The wind blows in chilly gusts, suggestive of +rain; it is very cold for a night in August. + +"Shall I run in and fetch a shawl for you?" Jet asks in a protective +sort of way. + +"No thanks, I shall never accept any service from your hands sir, or in +fact from any one who would dare speak disrespectfully of my friends." + +But Zoe forgot the old but true proverb about "pride having a fall." +Suddenly the young lady seems to be seized with a panic of despair. + +"Oh! oh! oh!" she cries, in frantic tones. + +"What in the name of the stars is the matter now?" inquires the young +man, looking about him to the right and left. + +"Oh, kill it; kill it, quick." White dresses are a great magnetiser for +June bugs; caught in the lace of her sleeve is an immense--as Zoe calls +it--'horny bug.' + +"He's dead; come look at him," Jet adds; but Zoe retreats to the front +door in haste. + +"Come in, come in, quick, till I shut the door; surely the wretches +won't chase us in the house." + +The door shuts to with a defiant bang, while the agitated young lady +once more recovers her tranquility of mind. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +TOO CONFIDING. "YES, IT IS MY HUSBAND." + + "I never judge from manners, for I once had my pocket picked by + the civilest gentleman I ever met with." + + --Lord Byron. + + +The bright sunlight played coyly through the half-closed shutter, and +fell across the table, brightening up the dusty old books, slates, and +every other article which helped to make up the furnishing of the +private office of Fanchon, Litchfield & Co. + +"The note falls due to-morrow at the bank, for the three hundred you +accommodated me with; but no matter, that will be all right; you go and +transact the business abroad for the firm, and I will attend to lifting +your note." + +Mr. Litchfield looks steadily at the young man sitting opposite, and +says quietly, "I shall be thankful, yes, more than thankful, when it is +lifted, for never again will I put my name on any man's paper. However, +some one will have to go, and I had better be the one." + +Cyrel Fanchon laughed lightly. "Every business firm is obliged to run on +paper; why feel worried that ours should do the same?" + +The little alarm clock on the shelf struck two. Mr. Litchfield pushes +back his chair. + +"It will be nearly three weeks before I can return, so you can write me +if anything new arises," he says, taking his hat from the peg. + +Cyrel Fanchon takes a slip of paper from the desk, writes a few lines to +a leading daily paper, and slips it in his coat pocket. If Edward +Litchfield could have seen those few words, so hastily written, he would +not have gone home to prepare for his journey on the morrow with so much +freedom from coming care. The next day found Mr. Litchfield still in his +office, a paper in his hand, his face like ashes. Before him is a notice +from the Bank, to lift a note, bearing his signature, for thirty +thousand dollars--money he had never had. Where was Fanchon? He would of +course explain the meaning of this strange business. To be sure he never +thought to notice the amount when he hastily signed his name to the +note, for he had no glasses with him at the time, but trusted to +Fanchon's honesty when he said three hundred. Of course it would be all +right, but his sister's warning words come back to him with double +distinctness, that does not help to relieve his feelings. Adeline could +always discern further than he. If he had only heeded her words this +trouble would not have to be faced. But Fanchon was nowhere to be found; +he told some one he intended going away for a few days. What was to be +done? He dared not stay; he could, but would not, borrow money, to repay +those with whom he had never had any dealings. He would leave the +country, his home and family, of whom he was so fond. The drops of agony +stood deep on his face. Cyril Fanchon had deceived his old friend, the +man who had put him in the position he held to-day, and in return had +ruined him. Yes, he would go to-night, and to-morrow the city would ring +with the news of the sudden departure of him, whom all respected and +trusted. Oh, it was bitter to think of, but more bitter to remain. "Ah, +Estelle, Estelle, thank Heaven you are not here to-day to share my +disgrace." Edward Litchfield bowed his head and wept bitter tears of +self-reproach. He went, and no one knew but Aunt Adeline, and the blow +almost broke her heart. + + * * * * * + +The boat had just come in; the passengers crossing the ferry hurried +ashore. A girl, lonely and tired looking, came slowly, feebly up the +floats. She was neatly dressed, and had a look of refinement, that +prevented the men lounging along the railing from passing the usual +slang remarks so common to their idle profession. Well may she look +tired and weary, for many a mile has she travelled over land and sea. + +"Can you tell me where I can get a night's lodging?" she asked of a neat +old woman who kept a tidy little grocery store at the corner. The woman +was kind hearted; she pitied the girl's desolate look, and kept her for +the night. The old woman questioned her with motherly solicitude. Was +she married? "Yes, there was the ring on her finger." "Was she a widow?" +"No," the girl said; "she was searching for her husband." The woman saw +her go the next day, with a lunch and a blessing. All day she walked up +one street, down another, looking keenly at each passer by, but always +with the same hopeful look. Toward nightfall, when she was again seeking +a place to lay her weary head, a mist, almost rain, began to fall. She +turned her lagging steps up a street lined by beautiful, costly houses. +One especially caught her fancy. The windows were open, lights streamed +out on the dreary wet road. She crept up and looked in. She saw a room +with everything lovely and costly; a lady sat at the table, two pretty +children at her side. + +"Here comes papa to kiss us good night, mamma," the eldest girl cried. + +A gentleman came in, and hastily kissing the children, turned to the +lady. + +"My dear wife, what nonsense; no one could be looking in the window; you +are whimsical. A woman's face! what next will you see?" Then he goes out +smiling and down the road. He sees not the strange, wild figure flying +after him, nor hears the faint voice calling his name. + +"Cyril! Cyril Fanchon! Ah me! Husband! speak to me, your wife--your +Jantie!" + +The wind sweeps down the street in chilly gusts; the woman wraps her +jacket around her; she stumbles on, on, blindly. A railing, enclosing a +dark, grim building, comes in sight and looms up in the darkness; she +struggles with the weakness that overtakes her; she falls, but she is +conscious, only unable to move. All her weary journey has ended here; to +find the man she believes to be her husband, with a wife and family. She +loves him too well to expose his crime; for the gentle looking wife's +sake she will give him up; she will lie here and die, and he will never +know of the sacrifice she made. Ah yes, she has only her poor old +mother, and by now she no doubt would think her better off if she were +dead. Then a deadly faintness takes possession of her; she must be +dying; then all is blank. A policeman, passing, does not notice the +figure lying almost at his very feet. He buttons his waterproof coat up +tighter and shivers, as he thinks of his comfortable home, and pities +all who are so unfortunate as himself, to be out in the cold. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +THE CONVENT OF ST. MARGUERITE. + + "Paradise is always where love dwells." + + --Richter. + + +Tingle, tingle, tingle, chimes the tiny silver bell, and down the pretty +newly swept gravel path file the pupils, two and two; the plain black +dresses, and black hoods looking strangely quaint on the smiling faces +of the girls going to early service. The sisters, with folded hands and +devout downcast eyes, follow. Suddenly a moan or gasping sound makes +sister Christine pause in her silent march behind the others. She looks +about, then her eyes take a startled, anxious expression; she steps +hurriedly forward to kneel beside a woman lying among the fragrant +mignonette. With sister Christine to think is to act. She felt the +faintly beating pulse; her first anxiety is over; the woman has but +fainted. At first the sister, glancing at the set, white face, feared +she could render no assistance on earth to this creature flung on her +path. A tiny silver whistle hangs at her side; lifting it to her lips +she blows a shrill toot; a mulatto boy, in a coat bright with silver +buttons, runs down to her. + +"Oh massey," exclaims this little black diamond, standing off, with his +mouth open so wide that sister Christine fears he will have the +lock-jaw. + +"Woolly, run quickly to the house and ask the Mother Superior to come +here to me. Now hurry; and Woolly! shut your mouth." There was a sudden +scamper, a vision of bright shining buttons, and Woolly was gone. + +A few minutes later the still unconscious figure was borne into the +house, tenderly attended by the mother and good sisters. + +The first face Jantie Mackeith saw when she awoke was the tender, +pitiful face of Mother St. Marguerite. + +"Where am I? Who are you? Ah, yes, I remember, they told me this was a +convent, where there was rest for all who were weary. I crept in by the +gate, to ask if I might stay here--stay where my heart would find peace; +then I grew dizzy, everything seemed black; I tried to call some one, +then all was dark. May I stay here--may I?" + +Mother St. Marguerite's eyes are full of tears; she takes the pretty +small white hand, stretched out so imploringly, into hers. Sister +Christine, just entering, has never seen the mother so moved before. + +"Yes, poor lamb, stay--stay; no questions will be asked you. If evil has +come, no doubt punishment has followed; if you are wronged, Heaven will +give you a free, light conscience to know that you are doing what your +God would approve. Heaven bless you! We are all weak, erring sheep." + +The school was dull that bright, cheery morning; rumors have got afloat +about the strange lady; the pupils wanted to know all about it. The +sisters' lips were sealed; the only speakable person on the premises was +Woolly. He was bribed by every imaginable luxury, all the way from a +bright yellow handkerchief--the color which was dear to Woolly's +eyes--to a lump of barley candy--dear to the lad's mouth. He drove +enough bargains that morning, during recreation, to last a boy of his +age a whole year. Meanwhile the patient up stairs, in sister Christine's +room, was improving. As was promised, she was asked no questions, and +she gave no information. The name Sister Jean was given her. No one ever +regretted the care bestowed upon the stranger, so eagerly did she strive +to please. The school was large; many pupils occupied the attention of +the sisters sister Jean was given charge of the smaller girls, and right +loyally did they love the pale, quiet, gentle teacher. Mother St. +Marguerite, a wonderful woman herself, took a particular interest in the +new found sister. The sick were visited, the poor watched over, by the +mother's watchful eye and helpful hand. Many homes learned to bless the +good, angelic work of sister Jean. + +Over a month after sister Jean's admission into the convent of St. +Marguerite, a note was received by Sir Barry Traleigh, at Castle +Racquette, Scotland. + + "I have given up ambition for the future. Do not try to find + me; I am leading a peaceful, useful, happy life. My heart, + though broken, is as peaceful as is possible again in this + world. JANTIE." + +But in her haste she forgot the name of the convent was stamped on the +paper. However, Sir Barry's mind was set at rest by those few words; he +knew the more than headstrong, pretty daughter of one of his tenants was +safe. Pretty, foolish Jantie Mackeith had been persuaded into a secret +marriage with a young man, a stranger to Scotland--Cyril Fanchon. He was +a nice, gentlemanly looking fellow; and Jantie--silly child--her head +was turned by his attentions. However, the deed was done, and a week +later Cyril Fanchon suddenly left Scotland, without a word of +leave-taking. In a fit of remorse the girl confessed her marriage to Sir +Barry, and Sir Barry, who had teased and petted the pretty child since +she was out of her baby frocks, was shocked and surprised. + +"You should not have done it, Jantie; you know anything secret is bad, +child. What will your mother say?" + +Sir Barry feels almost a paternal interest in this girl, and her own +father, were he alive, could feel no deeper pity for her than he does +now. + +"Oh sir, mother must never know. You, who know her, can see it would be +madness to say anything to her about it. I expert he grew tired of me, +and yet he used to tell me he would never tire of his pretty Jantie. Oh +yes, my punishment has quickly fallen." + +The girl, standing by Sir Barry, folds her white hands behind her back, +and the honest, truthful brown eyes look vacantly into the distance. The +warm breeze lifts the curly locks from her low white forehead; the +sunbeams kiss the cheeks once so blooming, now pale with anxiety. + +"But, Sir Barry, mark what I say. I shall move all creation but what I +shall find him. Stay here and be talked to death by mother, and mocked +by all? No, I won't! Heaven help me to make him endure just the anguish +that is tormenting me to death. Can you blame me, Sir Barry, can you?" +And Sir Barry, leaning against the arched gateway, looking at the pale, +drooping face, from out of which all the pretty rose bloom has fled, +cannot blame Jantie for what she says. + +Mrs. Mackeith loved this, her only daughter, passionately--the only one +she had to love; mother and daughter were inseparable. As passionately +as she loved, so could she hate; if her love turned to displeasure it +was bitter as death. Her own husband, to whom she was devotedly +attached, displeased her by selling a farm without her consent. He took +cold one morning, while swimming across a swollen ford where the bridge +had been swept away; she took excellent care of him, did all in her +power to save his life, and failed; he died; but she never forgave him. +Sir Barry knew, and so did Jantie, only too well, that her mother's +reproaches would be more bitter than anything else to bear. So Mrs. +Mackeith never knew what had taken place. She wondered, even grieved +with motherly anxiety, over Jantie's pale face and strange freaks of +listlessness. But one morning it all broke upon her unawares. Without a +word of farewell, Jantie left her safe, quiet home among the Scottish +hills, to seek for him who had left her so basely. Cyril Fanchon had +gone; Jantie was gone. Mrs. Mackeith put two and two together, and it +slowly but surely dawned upon her mind that Jantie--her Jantie, of whom +she was so proud--had run away with that fellow Fanchon. The neighbors +thought it a just judgment upon her, for her hard words to her husband +on his death bed. But they offered their consolation with warm, hearty +sympathy. Every one was fond of cheerful Jantie, whose pretty lips +always had a pleasant word and smile for everybody. Her daughter's +conduct, to all outward appearances, seemed to make no difference +whatever to the tall, bony, hardy Scotch woman. Her step was just as +elastic, her eye as keen, as though no trouble had crossed her path in +life. She went about her daily duties the same as when Jantie blithely +sang and cheerfully worked about the house. Mrs. Mackeith showed herself +to be a woman of well-controlled feelings; she told her sorrow to none, +and none knew how nearly broken her faithful, loving heart was. + +Had Sir Barry been home, things might have been different; she trusted +him implicitly; why would she not? She had known the lad all his life; +had she not nursed him in her arms when he was a tiny infant, and +watched the little bonnie laddie grow up to be the fine, good, generous +gentleman she was proud to see he had become? Ah, no; there were few men +who could come as near perfection in Mrs. Mackeith's eyes as brave Sir +Barry Traleigh. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +TRYING TO BE ECONOMICAL. + + "Check your passions, learn philosophy. When the wife of the + great Socrates threw a teapot at his erudite head, he was as + cool as a cucumber." + + --Newell. + + +"Where is father? Is he sick?" It is breakfast hour, and the head of the +house was not in his usual seat at the head of the table. To Zoe's +knowledge this is the first morning she has failed to see the familiar +form sitting in his big chair, glasses on, reading the morning papers. + +"Your father was called away suddenly on business," was the short reply +from aunt Adeline, who looks as if she had not closed her eyes all +night. Jet Glen, lazily reading down the columns of the paper, almost +springs from his seat, as his eye rests on a certain paragraph. + +"Lend me the paper a moment, please." Zoe's voice awakens him from his +trance of surprise. + +"In one minute," coolly taking the scissors from the window sill. "A +trifle here I want to cut out." Zoe looks curious. + +"Let me see, won't you?" she persists. + +"Really, Miss Curiosity, it would do you no good, and I am not going to +give you my reasons for everything I do," is the playful reply, as he +goes out the low French window. + +"What is the trouble with this house anyway? Everything seems upside +down. Tell me, aunt Adeline, where has father gone?" + +Miss Litchfield hesitates for a moment, then she says quickly, + +"Perhaps, child, I had better tell you than strangers. There has been +some trouble about your father's business, and--and he has been obliged +to go." Aunt Adeline bows her head on her folded arms and weeps. + +"Go where? I don't understand why that should make every one in the +house so horrid," Zoe says snappishly. + +"Child," she cries, lifting her wretched face, "don't you hear what I +say? Your father is ruined, but not disgraced, thank Heaven. Though he +has gone, yet he deserves no blame; always keep that in your mind. Your +father never committed an action that would make us ashamed of him." + +Zoe is utterly confounded; surely aunt Adeline is certainly losing her +senses. Then it all dawns upon the girl's mind. Her father--her dear +father--had been obliged, through the deceit of another, not his own +fault--she must always remember that--to leave them all, all whom he +loved on earth. She sipped her coffee thoughtfully, and stared absently +through the clear, thin china saucer. Jet had seen the account of her +father's absence in the paper, and tried, by cutting it out, to spare +her feelings. She had heard that people in reverses of fortune had the +very roof sold over their heads. She looked around the pretty, quaint +oak dining room, opening into the very charming conservatory, and +wonders if it will be the case with them. Ah, she hopes not, for the +memories of the pretty, cosy home were very dear. + +"I wish Dolores were here," she says gravely. + +"Tut, child, Lady Streathmere has taken Dolores home with her; let the +child enjoy herself while she can." + +Aunt Adeline has had her fit of low-spiritedness, now her own energetic +self asserts itself. She bustles around, and when Jet puts his head in +at the door to ask Zoe if she will ride over to the mill with him, aunt +Adeline insists upon her going. And never a word is mentioned about what +each knew the other to be thinking of. Down the shady lane the two +horses slowly walk; the wind blows soft and pleasant in the faces of the +riders, and tosses the manes helter skelter over the horses' pretty +arched necks. + +"I am off to-morrow, little one." Jet Glen settles the fore-and-aft cap +on his head, and surveys the deep blue sky above, as if he is doubting +the settled state of the elements. Zoe takes her foot out of the +stirrup, then puts it in again, settles the folds in the skirt of her +riding habit, and says slowly, + +"Are you?" She is not paying particular attention to anything going on +around; she is wondering what is to be done, in fact is learning that +life is not all sunshine, but full of a great many shadows. She wonders +vaguely if her friends will "cut" her, as she read last week in a story. +Well, it did not matter if they did; there were none she cared enough +for to regret, if they were civil or otherwise. + +"You will be sure to know I will do all that lies in my power to sift +this--this dreadful matter." + +This is sufficient to arouse the wandering Zoe to what he is talking +about. + +"Thanks; you are very kind, I am sure," she says stiffly, and wonders if +this is what any one else in her position would have said. + +"I am sure there is something behind it all," the young man goes on. "I +blame him for going; he should have remained, and made the man confess +to his guilt." Zoe blazes. + +"How dare you speak so of him?" Then extending her pretty gauntleted +hand towards him, says gently, "Forgive me; I know you meant kindly when +you spoke, but I cannot bear to hear him spoken harshly of." + +Jet takes the proffered hand, and gives it a gentle squeeze. He admires +Zoe all the more for the faith she sustains in her father. The old mill +comes in sight, with the sound of rushing water and whizzing of +machinery. An old woman comes to the door of one of the cottages. Zoe +talks to her while Mr. Glen rides on to speak to some man. The villagers +whisper among themselves what a fine looking couple Miss Zoe, bless her +dear heart, and the strange, handsome young gentleman make. + +Some two or three days later Mr. Glen goes away, with the promise to +search for good news to send back to them; and Miss Adeline is perfectly +confident if there is any way to manage, Jet will be the one to arrange +everything. Zoe has accepted the position of organist at the pretty +little Episcopal church; to be sure the salary is small, but as aunt +Adeline said, every little helped, so she took it. Rather dubious at +first was her attempt, not being accustomed to an organ, but a splendid +piano player. Mr. Vacine said there were two organs up at the house, and +no one touched them from one year's end to the other; so the largest and +best was sent down and placed in the corner of the cheery sitting room +at Mr. Litchfield's, where Zoe practiced to her heart's content. Very +kind and thoughtful was Mr. Vacine in those days. Not a single day +passed but what he sent over fruits, or game, or some choice vegetables; +and aunt Adeline fully appreciated his kindly goodness. + +"You see there is more than we know what to do with," he said, when aunt +Adeline expostulated with him for his generosity. + +It was about this time that Mr. Vacine first awoke to the fact that Zoe +was fond of pictures. He found her one morning standing before a picture +in the gallery, lost in admiration; it was then that he declared she +must take some lessons, if it was only to please him. So it happened +that the youngest Miss Litchfield attended the classes held in the Art +Gallery twice in the week, and Mr. Vacine smilingly footed the bills. + +Zoe has gone down to the church this lovely afternoon, to practice over +the hymns and chants for the services on Sunday. She opens the grand old +organ and plays piece after piece, hymn after hymn; then the parson +comes up the cool dim aisle; he shakes hands with the pretty young +organist; he is very fond of Zoe, but still more so of her charming +sister Dolores. A very romantic affair had happened last summer. A party +had gone on a fishing excursion. Dolores somehow or other missed her +footing and slipped into the water. The parson gallantly came to the +rescue, while the other members stood spell-bound. Ever since they had +kept it for a standing joke, and Dolores would laugh, and blush, but +took all the banter in good part. + +"When do you expect your sister home Miss Zoe?" + +The sun comes in slanting rays through the stained glass of the chancel +window, and fell in a myriad of colored shapes, lighting up the bright +trimmings of reading desk and pulpit, and softening the sombre darkness +of the heavily carved doors and window frames. + +"We had a letter day before yesterday; she said they were invited to +join another yachting party, but did not know if she would accept. But +we never can tell anything about what she intends to do. Sometimes she +comes home when we least expect her." + +Zoe rolls up her music, and smiles as the parson says with poorly +disguised unconcern: + +"It would be very beneficial to me, if she would return. When one loses +such an excellent voice as your sister's out of the choir, it makes the +rest sound flat." + +Mr. Wimbleton proceeds to close the organ, and Zoe goes on down the +choir steps; she is obliged to turn away for fear the smile she cannot +conceal will offend Mr. Wimbleton, and she is certainly far from wishing +to commit an offence so great as that. Zoe goes home, and in the hall, +three big trunks meet her surprised eyes; she hears a musical voice +talking to Aunt Adeline in the dining-room. + +"It must be, it is Dolores!" she exclaims delightedly. + +Yes, Dolores has returned more beautiful than ever, with a quiet, grave +look, befitting the trouble for which she thought it her duty to come +home and share with Zoe and aunt Adeline. Dolores was deeply pained, she +put so much confidence in her father; she thought his discernment +incomparable, he always stood so high in her estimation, far beyond +reproach. + +"My poor darling, how you must have suffered, and I enjoying myself; how +utterly selfish I am." There is a mingling of tenderness and reproach in +Dolores' tones. + +"You foolish child, how could you do differently, when you did not know +how often we wished for you? Don't blame yourself child, we will all +bear it together." Aunt Adeline hates to see the pretty faces of her +darlings clouded by care, and she strives to bear all the cares on her +own willing shoulders. + +"I play the church organ," Zoe announces with well pleased promptness. +"And I like it very much, and I am getting quite fond of Mr. Wimbleton; +if he is a little bashful, I like him just the same," the youngest Miss +Litchfield says between the bites of currant cake she is helping hungry +Dolores make way with. Dolores raises her eyebrows, but says nothing and +her sister rattles on. + +"I suppose you will stay home now for the remainder of the summer, will +you?" She thinks she might have a chance to visit around once in a +while, and feels rather inclined to be crabbish. + +"Yes, dear; my finery is so far exhausted, I am afraid it will be +necessary for me to refuse any more invitations. Have you heard from +Blondine while I was away?" + +Zoe puts the last bite of cake in her mouth before she replies. + +"No, she never writes to me. Did you see my latest sketch Dolores?" + +"Why, my dear, how you have improved. I am so glad." Dolores looks +admiringly at the pretty drawing. + +"Oh, yes, Jet Glen helped me fix my scenes up finely." Dolores never +bothers to inquire who "Jet Glen" is; someone probably Zoe has picked +up, because he had a mania like herself for pictures. Zoe sees the +peacock eating the buds off her pet fuschias out by the door, and she +darts off to chase the offender. Dolores saunters through the hall, and +into the pretty, cool, sitting-room. She looks around, at the things +there, thinking how nice it is to be home again. "Ah, a strange picture; +who are you, sir?" She takes the panel photo, in its green plush frame, +from the table. + +"Heavens! how like the eyes, features, all but the whiskers." The face +looking at her so steadily from out the pretty frame, was the face of +the man whom she loved better than her very life. Only a heavy moustache +shaded the grave, tender mouth, but evidently he had shaved his beard. +But how came his picture here in their own pretty room at home? Zoe +finds her gazing intently at the photo. + +"Where did you get Sir Barry Traleigh's picture?" she asks, and Zoe, +with all the plainness, which was one of her chief characteristics, +replies with a groan for her sister's ignorance. "Sir Barry Traleigh! +your grandmother's ducks! that's Jet Glen, who I told you helped me with +all my precious sketches, and who is the best and dearest fellow in the +world." + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +AN ACCIDENT. A BEAUTIFUL FAMILIAR FACE. + + "You never can make a crab walk straight." + + --Aristoparus. + + +Two years have rolled past since men in business circles had been called +upon to lament the departure of Edward Litchfield and his ill gotten +gains. + +"What makes Nellie so restless? Is the harness on them all right?" Cyril +Fanchon surveys his span of beautiful black horses rather anxiously. + +"She's all right, sir, just a trick that of hers." + +Fanchon gets in and slams too the door. Certainly he never remembers the +horses to act so before; the carriage rocks wildly from side to side. +Heavens! they are beyond the man's control, they are running away. Loud +cries of "stop them, stop them," rings in his ears, there is a sudden +plunge, a crash, and all is still. Fortunately there was a doctor on the +spot, he orders the unconscious man to be taken into the convent just +opposite. The sisters were good at nursing, it could have happened +nowhere more desirable. The dead leaves lay thick and yellow on the +ground around the convent of St. Marguerite, the cruel winds have lately +robbed the trees of all their pretty green foliage, leaving them grim +and leafless, tossing their gaunt limbs sadly with the autumn's blast. +The air is chilly; there is a decided sense of frost in the atmosphere. +Sister Jean hurries in at a small side door; she is very tired, for she +has been sitting up all night with a sick woman. + +"Sister, there has been an accident; a man is hurt, he is here in room +five; will you watch by him after you have rested?" says the Mother +Superior, meeting her in the hall. + +"Is he very bad?" + +"Yes; but of course we cannot say just yet. We will do all we can; if it +is useless the fault will not be laid at our door," answers mother St. +Marguerite, selecting a certain key from a string hanging at her side. + +Sister Jean hurries to her room, removes her long black cloak, and sits +down for a moment to collect her tired senses. No, she will not rest +now, there may be something she can do for the sufferer down stairs. She +goes down, opens the door softly, and enters. The room is so dark, that +for a minute or two nothing is discernable. Then mother St. Marguerite +steps out from the shadows, and says in a whisper: + +"Just sit by and watch for any movement." Then she and the doctor pass +out, and Sister Jean approaches the bed where her patient lies. + +"God help me," she cries, falling on her knees beside the bed. "Dare I +stay here? Can my strength sustain me, to remain? Oh! will it? Has +Heaven indeed at last avenged me?" + +The eyes of the sick man are upon her, she holds her breath, then the +room seems to swim around, as the weak voice says distinctly: + +"Jantie, is this my Jantie?" The eyes close, and Cyril Fanchon is again +unconscious. When five minutes later mother St. Marguerite enters, she +finds the sister in a dead faint near the door. + +Two months later, on a cold December afternoon, when the snow is piled +up in high drifts around the convent of St. Marguerite, a man, muffled +in furs, is walking up and down impatiently in the parlour or visitors' +room at the convent. From the next room comes the music of a violin, it +is evident one of the pupils is taking lessons. The door opens, he turns +abruptly. + +"Sir Barry Traleigh." + +"Jantie!" sister Jean's hands are clasped warmly in the man's. "The same +pretty Jantie of old, only a litter paler. Why did you run away, little +one, and leave us all?" Sir Barry asks playfully. + +"Oh, Sir, I could not stay there after--" + +Sir Barry gets up and walks hastily to the window, and, coming back, +says gently: + +"You will pardon me for asking you something painful?" Jantie raises her +pale face. + +"Oh, Sir, nothing hurts my feelings now; sometimes I forget I have any +left." Sir Barry laughs. + +"A girl like you talking such nonsense; why child, your life has +scarcely begun." He feels so sorry, so unutterably sorry for her. + +"Tell me Jantie, have you any idea where your--where Cyril Fanchon is?" + +The fire in the grate crackles and snaps cheerily, Jantie looks at the +glowing coals, then she asks: + +"Why do you come here to ask me that, Sir Barry?" + +"My dear, you may be sure it is not from idle curiosity. A very dear +friend of mine has been almost ruined by his partner; his name was +Fanchon, but he is here in this house, so ill he can neither confess his +guilt, if he be guilty, nor defend himself, if he is innocent. Tell me +honestly, Jantie, do you know the man here sick?" + +The falling snow outside comes in spiteful little flakes, and slaps +against the heavily curtained window. Jantie shivers; surely she can +trust the man beside her, who has always proved her friend. + +"Sir Barry, he is my husband, the man for whom I left home and +everything," bitterly. "But, Sir Barry, he wronged me; for when I found +him he was already married. Yes, he had a wife and two children." The +voice is low. Sir Barry looks incredulous. + +"Impossible, the villain." + +"Ah, but I saw them, I knew it was true, so I came here; I have long ago +forgiven him, Sir Barry, and I want you to do the same." + +The door opens, and mother St. Marguerite enters. Sir Barry starts to +his feet. Good Heavens! who was this? + +"Sister Jean, it is your hour to watch by your charge." The door closes, +but Sir Barry's eyes seem fascinated. What makes him feel so strangely? +Where had he seen that face before, where? Why, has it stirred the very +depths of his heart? + +"That was the Mother Superior, Sir Barry, the best and noblest woman in +the world. She gave up home and friends to found this convent, and there +is no need to say she has succeeded in doing Heaven's work among all who +are in need or trouble. Every one blesses the name of mother St. +Marguerite. But will you excuse me now, Sir Barry, I am sorry it is +impossible to remain longer away from my patient." + +Sister Jean has nursed the man most faithfully, who had so basely +deceived her. She has spared neither time nor rest; she will do for him +all she can. + +Sir Barry takes his leave; he is haunted by that face; he is scarcely +himself; it is imperative that he should act, or he will lose his +senses. His ears are caught by a voice that sounds familiar. Just ahead +are a lady and gentleman. The man, Sir Barry immediately decides he does +not know. + +"Just wait here for a moment and I will inquire," Sir Barry hears him +say to his companion, as he darts into a store. + +Surely Sir Barry knows that perfect figure with its pretty suit of +velvet and fur. + +The lady turns her head and sees him. + +"Why, Sir Barry, is it really you?" + +"Miss Grey, I was sure I knew you, the back of your head had such a well +known look." + +Yes, it is stately, pleasant Blondine Grey, every whit as charming as +when Sir Barry saw her last in Italy. + +"And Miss Litchfield, how or where is she?" + +Blondine's pretty face clouds. + +"Poor Dolores, they have had such a trying time; of course you have +heard about the trouble, Sir Barry." + +Sir Barry looked grave, and said he thought he had heard something about +it. + +"I am going to see Dolores, as soon as Uncle Dick settles up some +affairs; there is a very nice place, quite near where they live, that I +want Uncle Dick to buy, and erect a summer residence, or winter either, +if we should like the place very much." + +Sir Barry sees Miss Grey's escort looking daggers at him, so raises his +hat, and bids Blondine good-bye. He is gone; and Blondine had so many +questions to ask him, oh dear; she wishes she could call him back again, +but the corner hid Sir Barry's retreating form from Blondine's wistful +eyes. + +Then the remembrance of the face in the convent comes back to Sir Barry +Traleigh, and he remembers where he has seen that wonderful face before, +knows why it has raised such a flood of remembrance in his heart, and +almost set his brain on fire. His mind is fully made up, that he will +lose no more time in beating around the bush, he will do according to +the dictates of his heart. "Faint heart never won fair lady," and Sir +Barry determines he will be no coward. He set himself a task, and now +when he is about to succeed, is his pluck going to desert him? he thinks +not. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +TRULY, VENGEANCE IS MINE. + + "Sit down and dangle your legs, and you will see your revenge." + + --Italian Proverb. + + +It is a broiling day, or has been, but toward evening the same dense, +lurid heat reigns over everybody and everything. The Australian sunset +is going down in all its fiery glory. The sandy wastes stretch out far +and wide, looking in the glowing heat like beds of living ashes. The +miners are all out by their hut doors, vainly endeavoring to catch a +reviving breath of fresh air, which seems very loth to lend its +invigorating presence. + +"Jim wants to see the American paper we got last night; here's a +Canadian one, too." The man addressed took the pipe he was smoking out +of his mouth. + +"No, lad, there's nothing in the papers to interest me; lend it to some +of the other chaps, there may be something to please them." He puts his +pipe in his mouth and finishes his smoke. "May I see them a few moments, +please?" asks the man whom no one dares approach with other than +respect. He had come there and been very successful with his mine; the +men said he was making money fast. He never drank, nor told long yarns +with his fellow workers, and they at first feared, then grew to respect +his solitude. Through the day no one worked harder than Ned Field, and +it stood to reason that at night he was too tired to remain talking when +sleep and rest were so much needed. He takes the paper in his own little +cabin, spreads the sheet out on the table, and pores over the contents +with eager eyes. + + "SERIOUS AND SUPPOSEDLY FATAL ACCIDENT.--As Mr. Cyril Fanchon + was being driven home from his office, the horses became + startled, ran away, upsetting the carriage, and throwing him + out immediately in front of the convent of St. Marguerite. The + injured gentleman was carried into the convent, where he now + lies in a critical condition. Mr. Fanchon is of the firm of + Litchfield & Fanchon, whom the reader may remember as + Litchfield being the defaulter for thirty thousand dollars, and + who left the country with that amount. It is supposed Mr. + Fanchon, who is well and favorably known, will die." + +The paper lies unheeded on the table, the minutes and hours pass +unheeded likewise, but the man sitting there in the little rudely +constructed cabin never stirs. The clock strikes five and the man +springs to his feet. + +There is quite a surprise among the miners, when they start to work the +next morning, to see their old chum departing with his few worldly goods +for parts unknown. He took passage in the next steamer, and his heart +rejoiced as each mile brought him nearer the completion of his hopes. + +Sir Barry Traleigh has started out for a walk. All day he has been +unsettled, anxious, worried; he cannot define the feeling which +oppresses him, as he expresses it; he feels as if "something unusual was +going to happen." Very tired and often very discouraged was Sir Barry +during those two years. He had tried with untiring, unwearied patience +to find Mr. Litchfield's whereabouts, no expense of time or money had he +spared, and yet not a word of hope could he send to the anxious, waiting +family. All he could do was to buoy them up with hopes, and those were +almost failing him. He had written a letter to Miss Adeline, telling of +his assumption of another name, and pleaded for her to forgive the +deception he had practised upon them, but saying she would be sure to +forgive, when he could explain personally. All this he had written, and +much more to the same effect. Dolores answered the letter for her aunt. +A letter full of bitter reproaches, refusing to hear any explanation +from him--words which stung Sir Barry's proud spirit to the quick. Any +other man would have thrown up the whole business, but not so Sir Barry. +He could not understand Dolores' strange actions. He sent a postal card +saying he was going to see them, and named the day. But he received a +curt note, saying they were not at home to strangers; so Sir Barry would +not force himself where he was not wanted. He had certainly done wrong, +but then Miss Adeline might have been a little more charitable. He was +sure it must be Dolores who influenced Miss Adeline, and what he had +ever done to be under the bane of Dolores' displeasure, was more than +Sir Barry's keenest discernment could fathom. It entirely disheartened +his efforts, this fruitless search, from day to day, week to week, and +month to month, seeking among strange faces. The cabs and busses rattled +along, up and down, in a ceaseless clatter of wheels and rumbles, that +make him wonder if they tried to see how many scurrying foot passengers +they could knock down in their progress along. He stands a minute to +watch the whirling, pushing mass, then enters the station house, as the +train is coming, in to watch who comes. And the first man he meets is +the one man whom he would give the best thousand dollars he had to meet, +just when and where he does. In spite of the heavy beard and deep +sunburn, Sir Barry is not to be deceived; he recognizes immediately his +old friend Edward Litchfield. Sir Barry rushes forward, extending his +hands, and greeting him joyfully. + +"Ah, Jet my boy, the first home face I have seen; it does my heart good +to look at your face, lad." Edward Litchfield looks haggard and worried. + +"How are things working?" are the first words he utters after the +welcome is over, and they have taken a cab for Sir Barry's apartments. + +"Of course Fanchon got the money, and used it; you disappeared, and of +course he let you carry the blame with you; the business is going on +with Fanchon at the head. It is the second rather steep affair for which +he will be called to account. Of course I could do nothing, but now you +are here, we will have a general sifting up of affairs," Sir Barry says +with satisfaction. + +"How is Fanchon getting? Poor fellow, I feel so sorry for him, but it is +my duty to clear my own and my family's name from dishonor." + +"We will go to the convent to-morrow, and see if he can say anything, +clearly," Sir Barry says. + +He is very anxious that all this miserable affair shall be cleared up as +soon as possible. + +The reports next day of the patient were much better; there was no +question but that he would die, but as far as clearness of mind went, +why he was perfectly capable of settling any affairs he wished. Sir +Barry secures the services of a prominent lawyer and an officer of the +police force, and with the physician visited the convent the next day. +They took down Fanchon's written confession. He had knowingly obtained +the missing money, for purposes he did not state; he professed himself +sorry for having wronged his partner, but seemed utterly unaware of what +punishment he would be called upon to suffer for his crime. Then Sir +Barry says clearly: + +"It is an understood fact that Cyril Fanchon is accused and found guilty +of default of trust, is that true gentlemen?" Sir Barry looks around the +room inquiringly. + +"The man's own words declare himself guilty," is the reply. + +"And I accuse him of another crime, that of bigamy." + +"Sir Barry you must surely be mistaken," interrupted Mr. Litchfield, +gravely. The silence for a moment is almost unbearable. + +"That man lying there went to Scotland, won the affections of a pure, +innocent girl, the pretty daughter of one of my tenants. He married her +when he was already married here. He left his little Scottish bride, and +she left her home, followed him here and found him a married man with a +wife and family. She gave up all worldly ambitions; she is here in this +convent, the girl who has tended him so faithfully during his +illness--Sister Jean, once Jantie Mackeith. Are you listening? Is it not +so?" + +If Cyril Fanchon were dying, Sir Barry could not help feeling that +Jantie Mackeith's hour of triumph had come. From pale to red, from red +to purple, turned the face of Cyril Fanchon. + +"Is that true?" Mr. Litchfield's voice is stern and reproachful. "Can it +be possible this young man can be guilty of so much dishonor? +impossible." + +The doctor gives Fanchon some brandy, and he says sullenly: + +"Well, if I did, whose business is it but my own?" + +"Scoundrel," comes from Sir Barry's clenched teeth. + +"In those two cases my friend, you are in my charge." The police officer +steps forward. + +"Cannot arrangements be made to let him remain here? You see death is +not far off." Mr. Litchfield feels so sorry to see his late partner +reduced to such distressing circumstances. + +"Pity does more harm than good to such men as him," Sir Barry declares. +All inducements were unavailable, and Cyril Fanchon was removed to +prison. His wife, utterly heart-broken, took her children and went home +to her father, and Edward Litchfield was proclaimed a free man. Old +friends gathered around, glad to find their friend had not been unworthy +their esteem. + +"Aunt Adeline, you had better go right in the kitchen, for Zoe is in the +preserve kettle, and I am afraid your plums will be scarce if they are +not looked after, by some one less fond of tasting them than she is." + +Aunt Adeline is out in the garden gathering fruit: peaches, ripe and +luscious, and pears, rich and mellow. + +"There, give me the basket, and I will finish." Dolores daintily holds +up her white skirt, and climbs up the stepping stones, the better to +gather those aunt Adeline could not reach. + +"Say, Dolores, please throw me down that big, ripe peach up there, just +this side of your head. Oh dear." Dolores does as requested. + +"Zoe, child, what is it now?" she asks anxiously. + +"I burnt my tongue, that's what's the matter, if you want to know. I +wish I'd let the old preserves alone." She stands there leaning her +pretty plump arms on the fence and watches her sister. + +The train whistle blows shrilly, and is the only noise that disturbs the +sweet drowsy stillness. Then the youngest Miss Litchfield saunters +idlely off, vainly trying to coax the burnt tongue with sundry ripe +peaches and pears. + +Dolores laughs and works on; and as the sunlight glances through the +boughs of the trees, lingering with a loving touch on her pretty hair, +and sparkles and glistens in the tiny diamond earstuds, which had been +Blondine's last Christmas gift. Dolores loved these, her only valuable +trinkets, and wore them constantly: she even slept in her pretty +eardrops. The little gate in the vegetable garden clicks, but the young +lady perched on the wall never heeds it. She goes on placidly gathering +her pears and peaches. Occasionally a more tempting one than the others +finds its doom in her pretty mouth, but then the picker is always +privileged. + +"My eldest daughter is, as usual, busy, and where is my other daughter?" + +It seems so natural that she should hear that voice; and those very +words have been repeated so often that Dolores laughs softly, then she +gives herself a little pinch to make sure she is awake, and not +dreaming, then she looks down. + +"Father." Slipping down into his arms. + +"Hurrah! Aunt Adeline, father's home." Shouts the brilliant Miss Zoe, +rushing up to fling her long arms around that beloved neck. She has +witnessed the arrival from the very highest limb of a sweet bough apple +tree, and has come down as quickly as possible, to the utter destruction +of her dress sleeve, which looked now utterly innocent of ever being +dignified by the name of sleeve. Nevertheless, her greeting was just as +sincere, for Mr. Litchfield loved this, his youngest daughter, fondly; +in fact, considered her a queen among women, no matter how she looked in +other people's eyes. The fatted calf was certainly killed that day, in +honor of the master's return. Aunt Adeline piled the tea-table with +everything good, every imaginable luxury, to tempt her brother's +appetite. And Zoe had a right royal feast, having three different kinds +of preserves, and every variety of pie and cake, in which her longing +heart delighted. It was a truly gala day. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +BLONDINE COMES OUT VICTORIOUS. + + "He who builds according to every man's advice will have a crooked + house." + + --Danish Proverb. + + +"Now uncle Dick, you promised, you know you did, and I will be so +disappointed if you don't." Blondine's pretty red lips are curled up in +a naughty pout, and her red cheeks are two or three degrees redder than +their wont. + +"People have said I could find a nicer, prettier place, and, my dear, I +intend to settle this matter myself," decidedly. + +"All right, uncle Dick, if you do not you will be sorry, now mind." + +Blondine takes her place at the foot of the long table, and makes much +unnecessary clatter among the fragile cups and saucers. Uncle Dick goes +on calmly eating his tapioca pudding; he enjoys exciting Blondine's +anger, but this time he wants her to understand that he knows his own +business best. He thinks that at his time of life he knows where to or +where not to build a house for the summer. Blondine, during her visit to +Dolores, had found the most delightful spot, to her mind, for them to +settle on; but some one had told uncle Dick that the place was the +dullest hole he ever had occasion to poke his nose into. And if there +was anything uncle Dick hated, it was a place where there was not +something always on the move, to enliven things up once in a while. + +Blondine toys with her napkin ring; she is too cross to finish her +dinner; sometimes uncle Dick tries to see just how horrid he can act. + +"Sir Barry Traleigh is in the drawing-room, shall I show him in here +sir?" the servant announces at Major Gray's elbow. + +"To be sure, to be sure; fetch him in," and Blondine looks up to see Sir +Barry's pleasant face entering the door. + +"Now, Sir Barry, won't you try to induce uncle Dick to do as I say? You +have been there, and is it not delightful?" Sir Barry strokes his silky +moustache in his lazy way, and contemplates Miss Gray for a few moments +in silence. + +"Traleigh knows next to nothing about it at all, so how can he tell?" +uncle Dick puts in hastily. He is afraid if Blondine secures Sir Barry +for her side, the case will go rather hard against him. + +"Excuse me, Major Gray, but I do know something about it, and if you +will permit me to express my opinion, I should say you could not do +better than acquiesce to Miss Gray's wishes." Blondine claps her hands. + +"Now then, uncle Dick, what do you think of that?" she cries, +delightedly. + +"Two against one is not fair," uncle Dick says, in a tone intended to be +argumentative. + +"Say it shall be as I wish," Blondine demands, holding the Major's face +between her hands. + +"We will see; perhaps after I smoke my cigar, I will think it over," and +Blondine knows that the victory is almost won. + +"I had a long letter this morning from Dolores," Blondine says, as she +and Sir Barry go out on the south balcony. "They are so glad their +father has come home, and all that affair cleared up to every one's +satisfaction." + +Major Gray is off, down in the garden, wending his footsteps in and out +among the late autumn flowers. + +"Were you ever through the convent of St. Marguerite, Miss Gray?" Sir +Barry asks, suddenly. + +"No. I never have been, but Dolores, in her letter to me, spoke of one +of the sisters there, who was treated disgracefully by the man Fanchon, +who caused Mr. Litchfield so much trouble." Blondine is very much +interested. + +"You saw her, Sir Barry; is she very pretty?" + +Sir Barry puts his hands in his pockets, and whistles. Blondine looks +surprised. + +"Will you go through with me next Thursday? I believe that is the +visitor's day? Perhaps I can introduce you to Sister Jean; that is the +girl's name Miss Litchfield referred to." + +Blondine declares herself delighted to go. Then out there where the +glimmering sunshine turns everything into a golden hue, with the flowers +nodding their bright, cheerful heads, Sir Barry tells the girl by his +side something, which causes Miss Gray to open her large brown eyes in +bewildered astonishment. + +"Why, I can scarcely credit it," Blondine says, when she has recovered +the use of her tongue. + +"If you agree with my impression, we will see what can be done. You are +the only one I have said anything to about it." + +Blondine would like to tell uncle Dick, but the dear old major could +never, to save his life, keep a secret five minutes, so it was decided +better not to tell him. + +Thursday afternoon, Sir Barry and his pretty companion wend their steps +toward the convent. One of the sisters, whose duty it was to show +strangers around, informs them at once, that Sister Jean is well, but +has gone out to the prison, where she goes twice a week to sit with one +of the prisoners. Sir Barry and Blondine exchange glances, they both +understand who "the prisoner" is, whom forgiving Jantie goes to visit +when everyone else has forsaken him. + +"What pretty flowers," Blondine exclaims, going over to a space in the +hall, divided off by a little wicker railing. Sir Barry slowly follows. + +"Are they not arranged beautifully?" she asks, turning to Sir Barry. + +Coming down the long corridor, on her way to the school-room, is Mother +St. Marguerite; she smiles her gentle, pleasant smile, when she sees the +visitors; she always welcomes everyone with that grave, tender glance. + +"Merciful heavens! the very image; of course you were right; how very +wonderful," gasps Blondine. Sir Barry looks pleased. + +"Then you and I agree on that point?" he asks, bowing to the sister who +politely conducts them to the outer door. + +"Agree with you! why no one could have the least doubt. The features, +why her movements, smile, all are the same." Blondine declares she has +never been so worked up in all her life before as she has been this +afternoon. + +"I must certainly tell uncle Dick," she says, decidedly, and Sir Barry +consents. + +At the end of the month, Cyril Fanchon dies, a very remorseful death; +business men were sorry he did not live to bear the punishment he so +richly deserved. But he was bidden to answer before a more powerful +Judge than any on earth. About six weeks previous to his death, Sister +Jean had heard they could find no one to sit at night with him, so she +begged Mother St. Marguerite to allow her to take the night-watch by +Cyril Fanchon. The mother knew it could not be for long, so she +consented. Now her mission was over at the jail; she had kept her watch +faithfully, she had nothing to regret. The girl looks white and +miserable, after her long night vigil. Surely she has had her revenge +doubly. But revenge is the last thing the gentle, faithful woman thinks +of; far be it from her desire to have her worst enemy suffer. + +There has been an application at the convent for one of the sisters to +go to the country to take charge of a sick child for a few weeks. Mother +St. Marguerite determines that Sister Jean shall be the one to go. + +"The country air will brace you up for your duties here, when you +return," were the Mother Superior's parting words, as she kissed the +sweet face, and bade her bear up. + + * * * * * + +The gas and pretty wax candles are lighted, throwing a pleasant, soft +radiance over Major Gray's daintily furnished drawing-room. It was +rather chilly, and near tea-time; Blondine has ordered a fire to be lit +in the white marble fire-place. + +"Well, well, to be sure; of course I never heard the full particulars of +the story, but of course Traleigh may be mistaken after all, and then +you would both feel pretty foolish; but what does he purpose doing?" +Major Gray inquires, helplessly. + +"Oh, uncle Dick, certainly Sir Barry knows what he is about. I had not +the slightest doubt, nor have I now, as far as the likeness goes. +And--and--why he will fix it up all right." Pretty, stately Blondine +sinks in her low chair of plush and satin, with an air of perfect faith +in Sir Barry's mode of unveiling this little mystery, which has caused +so much excitement among those three persons. The Major gently rubs one +slippered foot over the other, and watches Blondine thread her needle +with yellow floss. It is very evident he has something to say, that he +finds rather difficult to express. + +"My dear," he says, toying with his spectacle case, "I had the papers +drawn up this afternoon, and the architect engaged, and they intend +commencing work on the new house immediately." + +Blondine lays down her fancy work, and looks at Major Gray. + +"Where?" she asks. + +"I have Traleigh's word for it, that the place you spoke of could not +answer better." + +"You dear, you gem of a man, I knew you would change your mind and do as +I asked you to." + +"There, there, my dear, that will do," gasps uncle Dick, as two fond +arms are twisted about his neck. + +"Get me my shoes, my dear; I have to go to see a man about, about--ah, +some business," the Major declares. + +Blondine runs up-stairs, singing, to get a letter for uncle Dick to put +in the post-office for--well, perhaps it would do no one any good to +know to whom that dainty little letter was addressed. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +A WOMAN ONE DOES NOT MEET EVERY DAY. + + "Gone--and I always loved that girl so well, + Gone--like the old proverbial fair gazelle; + Or like the piece of toast so broad and wide, + That always tumbles on the buttered side." + + --Anon. + + +"Burpee, my dear son, be careful in your choice of a wife; it is an +event in life which every young man should look into with all possible +keenness of judgment; and, my dear boy, I beg of you to be very +careful." + +Lady Streathmere taps her silver-headed cane on the deep piled, plush +carpet. She is very anxious about the person who is to be the future +bride of her wayward son. + +"Yes, mother, you are very good about giving your advice, but I hope I +have sense enough to understand what I am doing. I know my own mind, +too, although you seem to think I don't." + +Lady Streathmere feels hurt; she looks past her son, out the window into +the garden, where the pretty flowers have faded and died by the frost's +bitter, chilly blast. + +"'In buying horses and taking a wife, shut your eyes and commend +yourself to God,' is an old Italian proverb, often quoted by your +father; it contains all that is necessary, my son. I will leave your +choice in hands higher and better than mine." + +Burpee, Lord Streathmere, laughs gaily; he has become so accustomed to +those little lectures from his mother that they go in one ear and out +the other. + +"Well really, mother, I actually believe my fate is sealed, at last; the +girl I have selected, is a woman you don't meet every day." + +The sweet perfume of mignonette and roses float through the long, +handsome rooms, from the lovely vases fixed around in such sweet, +artistic profusion. Lady Streathmere sighs. Whatever is she to do if +Burpee brings home a wife whom she will blush to present to her friends? + +"Who is she?" she asks, faintly, after a moment's reflection. + +"She is a sister in the convent of St. Marguerite, one of the best and +noblest of women. I know, when you know her goodness, you will say the +same." Lord Streathmere leaves the mantel, where he has been standing, +and goes over to the table, where his mother sits. + +"Oh, my son, my son," she moans, "is it so bad as that? You surely are +trying to jest with me." + +"No, mother, not jesting. If she will have me I intend to marry her, +although I have never spoken to her." + +"Heaven grant you never may," groans Lady Streathmere. She is in an +agony of doubt; it is even worse than she had expected. + +"I was so sure you would take a fancy to Rea Severn. Such a nice, pretty +girl; although there was none I should have liked better for a daughter +than charming Dolores Litchfield. I think you are very cruel, Burpee, to +treat your poor old mother so." + +Burpee is busy selecting a fragrant rose to pin in his coat; it is more +than probable he has not taken in all his mother has been saying. + +"I never saw any girl looking so wretched as Rea Severn; I wonder what +ails the girl?" asks Lady Streathmere. + +"I should be very thankful, if I were you, that my son had enough +discretion not to marry a girl who is killing herself by eating opium," +Lord Streathmere says, deciding on a cream instead of a pink rose. "As +for Dolores, she did me the honor to refuse me, but in such a nice way +that, 'pon my word, I forgot to feel bad over it." + +Burpee, Lord Streathmere, possesses a good, though rather effeminate +face, and now, when lit up by enthusiasm, he looks the ideal of an easy, +good-tempered fellow, of whom any mother might well be proud. Certainly +Mrs. St. James must have exaggerated when she had described him as a +"horrid, quarrelsome little boy"; for a better, nor a more peaceful +young man never existed. + +"Burpee, how dare you speak so unkindly of Rea Severn, who has always, +to my knowledge, been beyond reproach," Lady Streathmere says, sternly. +"Mrs. St. James is a friend of mine, and I am sure Arial never mentioned +such a thing." To be sure, she had heard many people remark about Rea's +complexion, her scarlet cheeks and the feverish looking sparkle in her +eyes, but the girl was always in such high spirits, she never seemed +ill, and Lady Streathmere always understood opium eaters were nervous; +altogether it all seems very perplexing. Burpee strides over to the +piano and fusses around among the music. + +"Everyone knows it, and I dislike Mrs. St. James most heartily." Burpee +dashes off into a breezy little ballad that used to be a favorite of +Dolores, and Lady Streathmere leaves the room. She has no patience with +the boy when he is in a mood like the present. Lord Streathmere dislikes +being left alone, so he goes down town, and meets Sir Barry Traleigh. + +"Look here, Sir Barry," he says, taking the Scotchman's arm, "Will you +get me acquainted with Sister Jean? I am going to marry that girl, if +she will have me. Day after day I have watched her go on her dreary +visit to the jail to see Fanchon. Such devotion I never heard of. I want +you to plead my cause for me, to my mother. Tell her the girl's story; +you are more plausible about such things than I am." Sir Barry looks +amused. + +"What will Lady Streathmere say?" he asks. + +"I want you to tell her, and get me acquainted as soon as you can; will +you?" Sir Barry looks at his watch. + +"I am afraid it will be no use Streathmere. Her first taste of married +life has been so bitter, it is very doubtful if she would care to try it +a second time." Lord Streathmere looks distressed, and Sir Barry goes +on. "Of course I don't want to discourage you, but you will do well to +be prepared for a refusal." + +The pretty little Bijou Theatre is ablaze with lights, brilliant jewels +and handsome women. And over there in a box sits Lady Streathmere, and +leaning over her plush chair back stands handsome Sir Barry Traleigh. +Many pairs of bright, eager eyes are levelled upon this society +favorite. But alas for them, Sir Barry is too deeply interested, by what +he is saying, to be conscious of the flattering scrutiny. He is relating +Jantie's sad love story to the high bred looking lady. + +"What a brave, forgiving, sympathetic girl." There are tears in Lady +Streathmere's kind eyes. She feels deeply interested in the story of +this girl, whom Sir Barry Traleigh has been telling her about. + +"She it is whom Burpee has decided to select for his wife." Sir Barry +has been ordered by Lord Streathmere to tell his mother, and this is the +way he tells her. + +The music and acting go on, but Lady Streathmere, sitting there in her +beautiful silk and lace dress, waving the feather fan she holds, pays no +heed to anything but the words Sir Barry is uttering. No one could have +told her better, for she had Sir Barry's word for it, that the woman who +was to bear their old ancient name, was a woman faithful, honest, and +true. So she thanked heaven Jantie was as good as Sir Barry said she +was, and Lady Streathmere had to make up her mind to do the best she +could with her future daughter-in-law. + +"You will never have cause to feel ashamed of her, Lady Streathmere. +Jantie is a lady in every sense of the word, but I feel rather certain +that Burpee will find it a difficult matter to cage his pretty bird." + +"Why?" Lady Streathmere asks, coldly. She is at a loss to see why +anyone, let alone a poor, friendless girl like Miss Mackeith, should +have the audacity to hesitate a moment when considering a match like +Burpee, Lord Streathmere. + +"Do not misunderstand me, Lady Streathmere. When you come to consider +that the girl knows nothing of the honor in store for her, you will see +there is some weight in my remark," he says, stiffly. He is not going to +allow Lady Streathmere to snub him in that tone. + +"Silly boy," she says playfully; going on earnestly, "you will pardon a +mother's pride and anxiety. I did not wish to wound you, Sir Barry; you +have told me very kindly, but I cannot help wishing that Burpee could +have trusted his mother enough to have told me, what you have done, +himself." + +So when Burpee comes in later his mother greets him with a smiling look, +and the faint-hearted lad knows Sir Barry has overcome all his +difficulties for him, as far as Lady Streathmere's anger was concerned. + +The next day, when Lord Streathmere, accompanied by Sir Barry, called at +the convent of St. Marguerite, they heard that Sister Jean had been +called away, to take charge of a person who was ill. Nothing could be +learned about her farther. She had gone, and it was against the rules of +the convent to give information to strangers concerning the habits or +whereabouts of the inmates. Lord Streathmere was disconsolate. She was +gone, and he had loved her so well. Now what was to become of him? It +required Sir Barry's deepest chaffing powers to be called into play, in +order to keep the disappointed boy from falling into despair. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +A REVELATION. + + "I am as I am, and so will I be, + But how that I am, none knoweth truly; + Be it ill, be it well, be I bond, be I free, + I am as I am, and so will I be." + + --Wyatt. + + +Sir Barry Traleigh's parlour, at his bachelor apartments, is lit only by +the flickering firelight. It chases the dark shadows out of the dim +corners, and throws a cheerful brightness over the pretty crimson and +gold satin furniture. Sir Barry's little dog "pug" lies on the tiger +skin rug in front of the cheerful blaze, keeping watch over his master's +slippers. Mr. Litchfield and Dolores sitting there, awaiting Sir Barry's +return, are not slow to enjoy the luxuries spread so lavishly about +them. It is nearly five o'clock on a December afternoon, and the short +day is almost gone. The woman in charge of the rooms had brought in +lights, but Dolores had refused to have them lit, saying the fire light +was so very pleasant. Sir Barry had sent to Mr. Litchfield to know where +he could secure a good boarding place for a few weeks for sister Jean. +She had a persisting, little, hacking cough, that worried Sir Barry, and +made him persuade her to try a change of air. Aunt Adeline, in her +goodness of heart, said the girl should come to them. And Dolores was +sent with her father with a special invitation. They had gone to the +hotel on their arrival, and afterward drove to see Sir Barry. He was +out, but they awaited his return in his pretty fire-lit parlour. Dolores +has slipped off her seal skin jacket and gloves, and is sitting on the +rug patting the little grey coated, brown eared dog, when the door +opens. + +"Mr. Litchfield, why, this is a pleasant surprise; have you been waiting +long?" Sir Barry says, coming forward. Then his eyes fall on the girl +crouched there by the fire, with the dog in her lap. "Dolores, Miss +Litchfield." + +There is an eager, expectant look in Sir Barry's pleasant eyes, he has +longed so to see the girl's face, to hear her musical voice; now she is +here, here in the room where he can talk to and hear her talk. Dolores +rises leisurely and puts the dog down. + +"How do you do, Sir Barry Traleigh?" she says coldly, not offering even +to shake hands with him. She does not, she can not yet trust herself to +look at the man standing before her, and Sir Barry turns to Mr. +Litchfield. + +"You got my letter; have you gained a place for my little friend yet?" + +"My Sister sent us to take her home with us." + +"Miss Adeline was always kind; I hope she has overlooked my deception +ere this?" + +Sir Barry glances across the room where Dolores stands beside a cabinet +of rare old china, her blue velvet and silk dress making a pleasant +rustle as she moves about the pretty room, admiring the pictures and the +ornaments. Sir Barry lets her be, he will not force his company upon +anyone. + +"Oh yes, long ago, my lad; we laugh at your masquerade now as a fine +joke. I explained away all the difficulties. Now when can we see this +sister Jean? Mr. Litchfield's voice breaks in upon Sir Barry's +meditation. + +"We can go now; ah!"--The door is thrown open, and Blondine's pretty +face, radiant with welcome, appears. + +"I just thought I would come over; I got your telegram, uncle Edward, +and as you were not at the hotel I came here. I hope you will pardon me, +Sir Barry, for invading your room in such an unceremonious way. Dolores, +my darling, how are you?" + +"We are going to the convent, Miss Gray, will you come?" asks Sir Barry, +as he assists Dolores on with her coat. + +"Do, dear," Dolores says, drawing on her fur gloves. "I hate to go, yet +I want to." + +Blondine is always ready and willing to go anywhere for a change, so +consents. Sir Barry had said he would arrange some plan for taking Mr. +Litchfield to the convent; this must be the way, and Blondine begins to +feel a great excitement creeping around her. They arrive and are +admitted by a sister, who takes them up-stairs to the Mother Superior's +parlour, where a cosy fire burns in the polished grate. + +"Will you see the mother St. Marguerite? as sister Jean has just come +home and is too tired to see anyone to-night," asks the sister. This is +just what Sir Barry wants, so he said if it were possible he would see +mother St. Marguerite. Sir Barry is very restless; he walks up and down +the pretty, homelike little room, until Blondine thinks she will go +wild, if he does not sit down. Blondine's eyes are full of suppressed +fire; she and Sir Barry are soon, any moment, to be either rewarded or +mistaken in what they have long been patiently planning. There is a +sound of approaching footsteps, Sir Barry wheels around his face in deep +shadow; the door is opened softly, and mother St. Marguerite stands +within the room. + +"Estelle, my wife? Thank God I have found you at last," Mr. Litchfield +cries, springing forward. + +"Edward," gasps mother St. Marguerite. + +"Blondine, what does it all mean?" Dolores demands. + +"It means that you have found your dear mother." + +"Surely this is Dolores." Mother St. Marguerite takes the trembling girl +in her arms. "And my little, spirited baby, my Zoe, she is well? Ah! the +good God has preserved my dear ones until this happy day." Blondine's +eyes are full of happy tears. + +"Are you not glad, dear Sir Barry? Dolores will never be able to thank +you enough. If it had not been for you, she would never have found her +mother." + +Sir Barry feels glad that so much happiness had been brought around for +all hands concerned, but feels most woefully forlorn himself. It seems +now they are all united, that he is left entirely out in the cold. +Blondine's voice awakens him. + +"Yes, I suppose so," he says, absently. + +"Dolores is going to stop a few days with me; come in and see us any +time, when you are lonely," Blondine says, cheerfully. She intends +giving naughty Dolores a good scolding for her persistent coolness to +Sir Barry. "And at one time I imagined they were getting so fond of each +other," Miss Gray thinks, ruefully. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +REA'S ATONEMENT. THE NEW MOTHER SUPERIOR. + + "When little girls tell tiny fibs, + We turn all roary tory; + And tell how lions ate the child, + Who told one naughty story. + But when the girls adorn themselves, + With hair dye, paint and chignon; + They look so nice, that in a trice, + We alter our opinion." + + --Anon. + + +The rain comes down in a dull, ceaseless pour, making the icy streets +still more dangerous to walk safely on. A regular January thaw, after a +freezing spell of bitterly cold weather. Rea Severn, sitting in a large +invalid chair, looks out on the dreary scene. She is thinking long, and +hardly, and bitterly on her past life. No one would recognize the bright +vivacious Rea in the distressed looking creature sitting there, in her +white dress, the dress no whiter than the wearer's face. Her eyes look +as if she had cried all the brightness out of them. Rea has been very +ill; at one time it was understood she could not recover. The habit of +eating opium had taken full possession of her, and now she is but a +skeleton of her former bright self. She had eaten only a little at +first, because it put color in her otherwise colorless face. It helped +to brighten her eyes; made her high spirited. But after a time its +deadly work began. She could no longer exist without a double portion of +the deadly drug. The habit, of which she had been warned against by the +Gipsy, during her visit to the Island, with the other members of the +party which were on board the Hon. Jerry's yacht, was certainly doing +its best to kill her, if she did not kill it. And Rea felt almost +powerless to battle any longer. People said she most certainly must put +something on her face, it was such a strangely, pinkish-creamy tint. Rea +denied it to all but Arial St. James, and it was to be said to Arial's +credit, that she was shocked when she discovered the girl had recourse +to such means. She persuaded her to stop, but Rea persisted, and made +Arial promise secrecy. During her spells of low-spiritedness, the only +one who could sympathize with her was Mrs. St. James. During the past +three years, no one but the girl herself knew how she had suffered; how +many battles she had tried to fight against it; how many prayers she had +offered up, but all seemed of no avail; and at last, when death had +almost claimed her, she seemed ready to lay down the weapons at the +enemy's feet and give up all further efforts in despair. + +When Sister Jean came to take care of her, she it was who changed the +whole current of Rea Severn's life. She offered to help her daily; she +told of the quiet, peaceful convent life; of the good waiting to be +done, if there were any to do it. She braced Rea's spirits up and +brought her to see that there are more things in the world to live for +beside one's own selfishness. And the Heavenly hand she had almost began +to think had failed her, was stretched out to Rea to assist her future +life, to guide her steps into a safer path than she had been treading. +For the first time for many months and years her mind was calm and +satisfied; she found a peaceful calm and quiet settle around her after +hearing Sister Jean's gentle voice, telling her of the helpfulness to +many of the convent sisters. The wind howls around the house dismally. +Rea shivers and looks from the dreary outside to the cheerful fire +roaring in the pretty room within. There is a peal of silvery laughter +comes floating up-stairs, followed by Mrs. St. James' lovely self. She +could not wait any longer for the storm to clear, but had taken a cab +and come over to cheer up her invalid friend. She comes into the pretty +room, smilingly serene as usual. + +"Arial, how good of you to come to me, and on such a miserable day, +too." Mrs. St. James takes the easy chair opposite Rea. She looks over +toward the other window, with a very scornful smile on her very +beautiful lips. She has no smile, no word of greeting for the other +occupant of the room. It is quite foreign to her to take any notice of +the charity sister, whom it has been Rea's fancy to make so friendly of. +Most decidedly Mrs. St. James does not approve of Sister Jean. Does it +ever enter the scornful lady's mind that she may and would live to see +the day when she would do anything reasonable or otherwise to be +recognized by the girl over there in the window, who never raises her +sweet, pale face from her sewing? Perhaps not, we do not know, in these +days of possibilities, what is likely to happen within a short period. + +"Have you heard about Gordon Aubrey, my dear? What will you say when I +tell you? Prepare for a shock to your feelings." Rea smiles languidly. + +"Poor Gordon, what has he been up to now?" she asks, indifferently. She +has always been fond, very fond of Gordon. And Gordon? Well, the path he +has marked out for himself now, goes to show how fond he was of charming +Rea. + +"He went somewhere with some friends, fishing; they came across some +girl, and Gordon, of course, as usual, was immediately captivated with +her pretty face; he only knew her a week, when, to use Whitehead's +words, + + 'In short she blushed, she looked consent, + He grasped her hand, to church they went.' + +And Gordon is lost to us all forever and aye." Arial is hardly prepared +to see Rea take her words so coolly. + +"And so he has been and gone and done it? May every happiness follow him +and his pretty wife, whoever she be," are Rea's gracious words. + +"I should not like to be her; in a week he will tire of her. You know he +is not one of the constant sort." Mrs. St. James shrugs those beautiful +shoulders of hers. She is really quite disgusted at Gordon's lack of +taste. A girl with no education whatever, and in those days, too, when +every person has a chance to learn, if they so please. She hopes he will +repent, and that bitterly, in the bargain. + +"Such a nice fellow young Lord Streathmere has become; they say his +mother and he, accompanied by Sir Barry Traleigh, were at the ball last +night. Sir Barry gets nicer every day; what a pity he does not marry." + +Sister Jean's spool of thread falls on the floor: she stoops to pick it +up and then glides from the room. This is the first time sister Jean +heard of Lord Streathmere, but her heart beats with grateful affection +at the mention of Sir Barry Traleigh. + +"I cannot understand how you can have that girl here, Rea; she would +give me the chills to have her gliding so noiselessly around. Another +thing, you are nearly well now; I don't see why you need her any +longer." + +The clouds are breaking away, the storm is over, and a glimmer of +sunlight, peeping from a rift in the sky, falls on Rea's pale face, and +lights up the tired eyes. + +"What makes you so prejudiced against her, Arial?" she asks, looking at +Mrs. St. James' cold, handsome face. + +"I have no patience with that class of people; my advice to you is to +get rid of her as soon as you can." Mrs. St. James feels she has not all +the confidence of Rea. She used to tell her everything, but since sister +Jean's arrival, Rea never has any confidence to make, and Arial feels +she is gradually being rivalled, and by a charity sister. It is all very +bitter for Arial to believe. + +Some days later, the cosy library at Mrs. St. James is bright with +light, and warmth. + +"Something to interest you, my dear," Mr. St. James says, passing his +wife the evening paper. Very quietly Arial looks up from her book. She +takes the paper, and a red, deep crimson spot burns on both her perfect +cheeks as she reads. It has come to pass what she has been dreading. + + "It is to be regretted by all who have known her worth of + goodness, that mother St. Marguerite, the sympathetic Mother + Superior of the Convent of St. Marguerite, is about to give up + the position she has begun and succeeded with so famously. Her + place will be supplied by one whom we all hope may prove + herself as worthy of esteem as her valuable predecessor. The + new Mother Superior is a lady who lately adorned the most + brilliant and fashionable society circles--MISS REA SEVERN." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +NED CRANE. THE ONE AND THE SAME. + + "Stolen sweets are always sweeter, + Stolen kisses much completer; + Stolen look are nice in Chapels, + Stolen, stolen be your apples." + + --Leigh Hunt. + + +It is Sunday morning, a bright, beautiful, peaceful Sabbath. The pretty +church is warm and comfortable. The sunlight, creeping in through the +gaily painted stained glass windows, tinge those sitting in its +brilliant rays, with every vivid hue of the rainbow. The service has +begun when Mr. Vacine enters, and with him a tall, pleasant looking +young fellow, who, as he takes his seat, looks eagerly up to the choir. +Dolores, sitting up there in her own special corner, starts and looks a +second time at the stranger, who is regarding her fixedly. + +"How in the name of sense has Ned Crane come here? And with Mr. Vacine, +too--Mr. Vacine, who never entertains, from one year's end to the +other." This is what Dolores is saying in her mind. "And then just +look at Mr. Vacine's face. How wonderfully happy he looks; surely +something very unusual has happened that Mr. Vacine should wear such a +very beatific expression." A little boy in the next seat dropped his +cent on the floor, then he looked at the elderly gentleman and by him in +awe; all the small children stood in great dread of old Mr. Vacine. The +child expected either a stern look of disapproval, or else a poke from +Mr. Vacine's gold-headed cane. Contrary to the youngster's expectations, +he saw Mr. Vacine actually smiling at him--smiling after he had let his +cent drop on the floor with such a click. The little boy was so +astonished that he was quiet during the remainder of the service. +Dolores has only arrived home this morning from her visit to Blondine. +She had got ready as soon as she arrived, and gone to morning service, +for the parson was anxious that she should take her place again in the +choir. She has not seen Sister Jean yet, and Dolores is very anxious to +do so. Zoe, from her high seat at the organ, is "taking in" the young +man with Mr. Vacine. He is quite nice in Zoe's sight, and the youngest +Miss Litchfield listens to the sermon and determines that she thinks she +will like him very much. At the door, Mr. Vacine invites Zoe and her +sister up to take dinner. Dolores demurs, but Zoe says promptly, "Of +course they will;" so Dolores goes. Over the prettily arranged dinner +table Mr. Vacine tells the two astonished girls all about the dear +nephew who had left his uncle's home in a passion, vowing never to +return. But something happened that made him feel remorseful for having +deserted the kind old uncle, who had always been as a father to him. So +the prodigal had returned, and Mr. Vacine cannot disguise his gladness. + +"I never imagined we should meet here, Ned," Dolores says, as they +saunter through the warm, pleasant drawing-rooms. + +Zoe has gone up stairs to play some hymns for Mr. Vacine; in the cosy +music room. + +"It is queer now, when you think of it, and, by jove, what an awfully +pretty girl your sister is," Ned says. He has always admired Dolores +immensely, but Zoe--Zoe was so entirely different. In fact Ned is sure +he will grow to be awfully fond of Mr. Litchfield's pretty wilful +daughter Zoe. + +The sun shines brightly on the clear, white, glistening road, covered +with snow; the icicles glitter in the limbs of the leafless trees like +crystal; everything is bright, cold, and sparkling. The bells are +ringing for Sunday-school, and the little and big children troop along +in response to the bell's call. + +"I was awfully glad you found your mother. How was it you did not know +where she was before?" Ned asks, as they stand at the window, watching +the passers by. + +Dolores silently contemplates the gold fish swimming around and around +in the huge glass globe. + +"She said a feeling she could not resist, made her think it her duty to +leave home and found a safe, calm retreat, by which much good could be +done for the sick, poor or suffering, of a large city like Montreal. She +knew aunt Adeline would take excellent care of the house, and my sister +and I, so she went. You know the rest, how she has instituted a convent, +that all declare had done more good than any other institution of a like +kind. Now she has consented to give up the name of Mother St. +Marguerite, and come back to us all at home. You cannot fancy, Ned, how +too good it seems, after all those years, to have my mother again. Just +think of Rea Severn taking mother's place. What strange things happen." + +"I guess she felt pretty cut up about Gordon Aubrey's marriage," Ned +says, his heart beginning to beat, as light footsteps are heard running +down stairs, and a clear girlish voice calling Dolores' name. + +"We must really go, Dolores, I have brought your coat and hat," Zoe +announces, dropping the articles on a chair, as she speaks. + +"Mr. Crane, what a good time you must have, if you are fond of pictures; +why this house is a paradise," says this precocious child, going over to +one of the mirrors to put on her hat. + +"Sir Barry Traleigh is a beautiful painter," announces the youngest Miss +Litchfield proudly. It has occasioned her much pride to tell her girl +acquaintances, how a real, live "Sir" had initiated her into the +mysteries of painting. + +Ned looks deeply amused, the girl is so original, so different from any +other girl of her years. The corners of his mouth twitch in a highly +suspicious way; he would enjoy vastly to laugh, but politeness forbids, +and he turns to Dolores. + +"When did you say this very beautiful cousin of yours, Miss Gray, was +expected?" + +Dolores laughs, her sweet, silvery tones filling the handsome old room +with sweet music. + +"It is doubtful what day. I shall expect you to fall in love with +Blondine the first time you meet," she says archly. + +"Perhaps," Ned answers, watching Zoe fastening up her roll of music. + +"Have the girls gone?" asks Mr. Vacine, coming in from a brisk walk +around the snow covered garden. + +"No, but just going," Dolores says, smiling. + +"Give my love to mother and father, and be good girls, both of you," and +Mr. Vacine goes into the library and shuts the door. Ned puts on his +overcoat and walks down with the girls to the gate. He offers to escort +them home, but Dolores will not listen to such an arrangement, much to +the youngest Miss Litchfield's disgust. It is a bitterly cold afternoon; +the sun looks out sullenly from behind dull, grey clouds. + +"The days are certainly very changeable," Zoe declares as they hurry +home, the snow creaking beneath their feet. "This morning has been so +bright, and now just see how dull it has become." + +Dolores removes her seal jacket and hat by the stove in the hall, and +Zoe says she will carry them up-stairs, as she is going up. Dolores +pushes open the drawing-room door and goes in. The cosy fire looks very +cheerful and inviting. Drawing up an arm chair, Dolores sits down to +enjoy the warmth. The folding doors are on a jar. Presently someone +comes in. + +"Ah, Sister Jean, you are reading yet? Your Bible chapter has been +rather lengthy, if it is not yet finished." Mrs. Litchfield's pleasant +voice says. + +"I had finished reading some time ago, and was indulging in a day dream +when you came," is the reply. Dolores sits upright in her chair. Surely +she has heard that peculiar voice before. + +"I have not seen your other daughter yet. I wonder if she will be very +angry with me for asking her a question? Sir Barry Traleigh, the last +words he spoke to me were to find out, if I could, why Miss Dolores +treated him so unkindly. Sir Barry is very fond of your eldest daughter, +and he feels her unkind conduct to him very keenly." + +Dolores springs from her seat to the door and looks through the opening +into the next room. Oh! Why was I so quick to jump to conclusions, might +I not have known I could have trusted him? Sister Jean is, yes, the same +girl I saw talking to him that wretched day in Italy. She looks again. +Yes, she has snubbed Sir Barry all this time, and now will he, will he +forgive her? Dolores is dreadfully put about. Sister Jean's next words +almost finish her anguish of mind. + +"I understand he proposes returning to his home in Scotland, almost +immediately. He says there is no excuse for his remaining away any +longer. If Miss Dolores would only consider what a wrong she is doing +herself by throwing away the love of a good man like Sir Barry, she +would be lifting a weight off more than one mind." + +There is a silence for a space, then Mrs. Litchfield says, quietly: + +"I am sure my Dolores would have told me if there had been any trouble. +She certainly cannot know that he cares for her in the way you mean, +or--" + +The curtains are thrown unceremoniously aside. + +"Mother, I did, I do know. What if he has gone before he knows +differently? Will he ever forgive my coldness toward him? What shall I +do? What am I to do?" Sister Jean's face is bright with gladness. At +last she has done something for Sir Barry in return for all his goodness +to her. She, or, at least, her words have done more to turn Dolores' +wilful, yet loving heart, than anything else could do. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +LORD STREATHMERE'S SUIT. SIR BARRY'S CONQUEST. + + "Mortgages and great relations, And Indian bonds, and tithes + and rents, What are they to love's sensations?" + + --Praed. + + +"Oh mercy! A real, live Lord to be in town, and I declare if Sir Barry +Traleigh is not here, too. Hurrah for our side!" + +The breakfast room is cheerful with fire and sunlight. Zoe is reading +the list of hotel arrivals. + +"What is the child talking about? Zoe, I trust you are not growing +profane. What is that you are saying about Lord?" Aunt Adeline is busy +with the breakfast arrangements, and has only caught a stray word of +Zoe's exclamation. + +"Father," calls the youngest Miss Litchfield, at the top of her far from +low voice, "Did you know Sir Harry was here? My dear old Jet, how glad I +will be to see that man." + +"Not so loud, my girl," her father says from the fire where he is +warming his hands. "I saw them last night, and invited them here to +dinner this evening." + +Aunt Adeline sniffs in an ominous manner. The Litchfield household have +got to look upon that sniff of aunt Adeline's as boding no good to any +new project of which it is doubtful if she will approve. + +"Chickens are eighty cents a pair in the market, are you aware of it, +Edward?" she asks tartly. Mr. Litchfield laughs. + +"Well, my dear sister, we need not encourage their heinous demands." + +"Lords and Sirs always expect every luxury, whether reasonable or +otherwise, but as you have already asked them, I will have to do the +best I can." Miss Adeline stalks from the room with a stern look of +disapproval on her face. "Lords and Sirs indeed," she mutters. "Pray is +it not all owing to Sir Barry that is making her dear Dolores go around +looking so disconsolate?" She never for a moment takes into +consideration that it is all Dolores own wilfulness that has made Sir +Barry stay away so long. + +A telegram arrives during the forenoon from uncle Dick Gray, announcing +their coming that very afternoon. Dolores drives over to the station +with her span of grey ponies, to meet and bring them home. + +At dinner Lord Streathmere is presented to Sister Jean. Blondine, merry +Blondine, his right hand neighbor at dinner, is nearly beside herself +with merriment, as she watches the covert looks of admiration he casts +across the table at the convent sister. Sister Jean has improved +wonderfully since her arrival; gay and charming, she is almost the +pretty Jantie of old. Poor Burpee, Lord Streathmere, is very badly hit; +more so, perhaps, than he himself thinks. Dolores has a bad headache, +and does not put in an appearance. Zoe is rather disappointed in Sir +Barry, he seems so much changed since he left; not the same genial Jet +who had petted and teased the youngest Miss Litchfield almost to +distraction. He seemed to Zoe older and graver. After dinner Dolores +comes down to the pretty drawing-room. She is looking most wonderfully +sweet and gracious. Lord Streathmere is making great strides in his +friendship with Sister Jean. He suddenly manifests a strong inclination +about finding out the ways of life in a convent, and the wants of the +poorer classes. To all this Sister Jean gives her patient attention and +information. + +Sir Barry is standing by the little Gipsy table, where Dolores is busy, +daintily dealing out cream, and sugar, and coffee, in tiny shell-like +cups. Dolores is very gracious this evening, so much so that Sir Barry +is completely dazzled, and he can scarcely realize she can mean it all +for his own benefit. She is wearing a dress this evening, the identical +kind of a one she wore daring the last tender interview they had held +together in far off sunny Nice, when Dolores had strayed down to the +clear moonlit garden, and Sir Barry had almost declared himself. Dolores +talks on, her soft, pleasant laugh filling up the spaces, when Sir Barry +forgets to answer. A marble jar standing near is laden with mignonette +and candy tuft, filling the rooms with their sweetness, making Sir Barry +almost positive that the present is a dream, and that he is back in the +pretty Italian garden, surrounded by the old-fashioned sweet-smelling +flowers, walking by Dolores side, and listening to her gay, young voice. + +"Now stupid, try, do, to keep still until I can undo this tangle you +have made," says the youngest Miss Litchfield to Ned, who sits most +patiently, adoringly, by Zoe's side, assisting, or detaining, the young +lady to wind a skein of wool. + +In spite of all aunt Adeline's corrections, her niece very frequently +falls into the error of raising her voice to what Miss Adeline considers +a most unladylike pitch of clearness and highness. Staring at people was +another grave offence that called forth all aunt Adeline's attempts to +put down. Zoe would open those wonderful grey green eyes of hers and +stare at you for, it would be impossible to say what length of time. +Habit, of course, but a habit that aunt Adeline's gentle "Zoe, my dear, +drop your eyes, dear," failed to mend. + +"I see St. James is selling out, and going to live abroad. I wonder what +he purposes doing?" asks Lord Streathmere. + +"I believe this climate does not agree with Mrs. St. James' health," +Blondine answers quickly. + +Dolores looks across the room at Ned; he catches her eye, and smiles. + +"Handsome woman, I have heard," Mr. Litchfield says, from the hall where +he is walking up and down. + +"Who do you mean? Ah yes, Mrs. St. James; a most peculiar woman," says +Sir Barry, as he comes back, after giving Mrs. Litchfield her cup of +coffee. + +A very great favorite is Sir Barry of Mrs. Litchfield's; she is so +grateful to him for all his past goodness, and, knowing Dolores tender +secret, she looks forward to Sir Barry some day gaining his heart's +desire. They are a very gay party; Blondine is greatly interested in +Sister Jean. She has taken a great fancy to this girl, of whom she has +heard so pitiful a history. This lovely morning Blondine and Sister Jean +are driving into the town to do some shopping. Pretty Blondine is always +needing "trash," as she calls the hundred and one odds and ends her +fancy decrees. She has declared her intention of visiting the furrier's +store this particular day. + +"Why, Miss Gray, what do you want of another seal jacket when you have +such a beauty already?" Sister Jean asks, as the man displays the goods +before Blondine's critical eyes. + +"My darling, I want it for you." + +"For me?" Sister Jean's pretty lips ejaculate. Nothing that she could +say would make imperious Blondine change her mind. + +"To please me, dear, you will take it, won't you? I have so much money I +do not know how to spend it. You will not feel insulted and refuse my +gift, will you?" Blondine argues in her coaxing tones. + +So the gift was accepted. Sister Jean is very happy, everyone is so good +to her--to her, a poor charity sister. But as far as being intimately +connected for the future with the convent, they will lose one of their +most staunch and zealous workers. For Lord Streathmere had very humbly +and in great trepidation, asked Sister Jean to marry him. + +It all seemed very impossible, but true, nevertheless, and Sister Jean? +well, she was so grateful to him, and then another thing, she had +learned to be very fond of impetuous, handsome Lord Streathmere. So as +there was no need for delay, one pleasant sunny morning in May, pretty +Jantie Mackeith became Lady Streathmere. And Burpee's meaning was very +tender as well as sincere, when he whispered in Jantie's dainty ear: + + "Huntingtower is mine lassie, + Huntingtower is mine Jeanie; + Huntingtower an' a' Blairgower, + And a' that's mine is thine lassie." + +No one among all the throng of invited fashionables knew the bride's +origin. All they knew was that it was a purely love match, very unusual +in those all-for-money-days. But the poor, sick and suffering, of the +convent of St. Marguerite are losing a gentle, sympathetic friend. An +anonymous gift of several hundred dollars, was received by the new +Mother Superior, which went to show Jantie's influence had already +begun. Lord Streathmere's mother was not present at the marriage; she +was in the south of France, and she dared not risk her health in our +clear, cold Canadian winter. The happy couple went away immediately on +an extended European tour. + +"I am off to-morrow, my dear, for far off Scotish home; will you not say +farewell, Miss Litchfield?" + +The sun is streaming in, in all its full, glorious tints through the +stained glass windows of the pretty sitting room, and falls and lingers +lovingly on Dolores' head, bent over the table writing. She starts as +Sir Barry speaks. + +"To-morrow," she repeats, gazing at him as if his words were some +foreign tongue, to her meaningless. She loves this man standing there, +but her proud heart is too lofty to let such a feeling be fancied, let +alone proved. And so she hides her feelings behind an icy exterior. And +Sir Barry has given Dolores, his own Dolores--as he calls her +passionately to himself--up almost in despair. + +"Yes, it is a long time now since I have seen the dear old place, and I +dare say they are requiring my presence there. I have done all I can do +here, there is no need for my remaining longer, there will be no one to +be sorry I am gone. Good bye, Miss Litchfield, I am sorry I have always +seemed to displease you, very sorry, but when I am gone, then perhaps +you may sometimes think of me kindly in my far off lonely home." + +Sir Barry's voice breaks in a highly suspicious way. He is holding his +hand out to Dolores; but Dolores' eyes are full of tears, she cannot see +the outstretched hand. What makes her sit there, feeling so silly? What +will Sir Barry think of her? She tries to throw off the strange feeling +that is stealing over her senses, but Sir Barry's words were so pathetic +they struck direct to Dolores' rebellious, loving heart. She drops her +head on the table and weeps. + +"Dolores, my darling, do you care so much that I am going?" He steps +over to her side. "Is it go or stay, Dolores?" Sir Barry asks, with a +peculiar catch in his clear, firm tone. + +"Stay," comes the reply from the bowed head on the table, and Sir Barry +stays. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +ZOE'S SOME DAY. + + "There's something undoubtedly in a fine air, + To know how to smile, and be able to stare; + High breeding is something, but well bred or not, + In the end the one question is, What have you got?" + + --A. H. Clough. + + +The sun is shining brightly, pleasantly, over all London, England, even +penetrating into the dim, dirty alleys, and tenements; but is also +shining, with all its wealth of golden, cheering gladness, into the +long, handsome gallery of art at the great London exhibition. Pictures +and pictures of endless variety and beauty are here displayed. There is +one especially that fascinates the eyes of all the thousands of curious +visitors. It is hanging in a perfect light, in a heavy gold frame. +Offers to purchase it have been innumerable, but a little tag on the +corner announces to the would-be purchaser that it is already sold. The +scene is a beautiful Italian garden. Seated in a swaying chair, on the +pretty terrace, is a lady whose face people rave over, as being the +image of Dolores, Sir Barry Traleigh's beautiful wife. The lady is +engaged in writing a letter. The trees almost immediately opposite the +terrace, conceals the indistinct form of a man watching. By the lady's +side, lying with his dark curly head resting on the train of the lady's +white lace dress, is a little boy, in a white embroidered frock, +sleeping. The Prince of Wales, who opened the exhibition, was so struck +by the merits of the picture, that he desired an introduction to the +fair young painter. And Zoe was duly presented to our future king, who +shook the girl's hand warmly, and wished her all good success in the +future. Surely Zoe's "Some Day" had come with a wealth of splendor and +glory. It had been at Sir Barry's direction, that his sister-in-law +painted it, and he had bought it at a princely price to hang in the +exquisitely furnished drawing-room at Castle Racquette. As Zoe expresses +it, "Everyone and his brother are here." Sir Barry and Lady Traleigh +have run down from Castle Racquette to London, to be the proud witness +of Zoe's triumph. Dolores is charmed with her beautiful Scottish home, +and is loved by everyone, as she deserved so well to be. + +Jantie, Lady Streathmere, is the pride and delight of the husband's +life. She rules her elegant home with a firm, but gentle hand, and +though Burpee, Lord Streathmere, is not her heart's first love, still +she honors and respects him thoroughly. The dowager Lady Streathmere is +very fond of Jantie; she was very agreeably disappointed in the girl, +and now she speaks to her friends in loud terms of "my daughter Jantie's +excellence." While they were in Paris, they met Mrs. St. James. She was +very gracious to Jantie, and made much of Lord Streathmere's pretty, +demure wife. But her overtures were not at all successful. Lord +Streathmere never liked her, and Jantie could not help remembering how +coldly cynical Mrs. St. James had been to "Sister Jean." Gordon Aubrey +and his pretty wife are living very happily, though not endowed very +richly with this world's goods, still she has won her husband's love, +and knows how to keep it, and Gordon has certainly not repented of his +bargain, as Mrs. St. James had predicted. The Hon. Jerry Hopkins is +still unmarried: he declares himself as "not a marrying man." People say +he felt very badly at Rea Severn entering the convent. But sometimes +people say a good deal that is not quite true. The convent of St. +Marguerite is in a flourishing condition, everything works on serenely +and calmly. Uncle Dick Gray has his new house completed and is charmed +with its beauty. Blondine declares that he thinks more of the house than +he does of her. + +It is Winter again, a cold December afternoon, and Ned Crane has just +"happened in," as he very often does now, to have a chat with Zoe, and +to hear over and over again about her lovely visit abroad with Sir Barry +and Dolores. Mr. Vacine is very anxious that Ned will marry Zoe, but +like her sister, the youngest Miss Litchfield, is very refractory. She +is really very fond indeed of gay, good-hearted, adoring Ned. But it is +far from her to give him the satisfaction of knowing. She knows Ned +intends asking her to marry him, and, perhaps, after a good many years +from now, he will. Ned stops and talks so long that at last the pretty +white and gold clock strikes five, and they hear Mrs. Litchfield and +Aunt Adeline preparing tea in the dining hall. + +"Say Zoe, when are you going to say 'yes' to what I asked you the other +day?" Ned says, as he pokes the fire in the brightly-polished grate. + +"Nonsense," Miss Litchfield answers, crossly. She heartily wishes Ned +would not allude to that "other day," when he had stirred up her +feelings so remorselessly. She smiles grimly and clinks her knitting +needles together viciously. She even goes so far as to give "Duff," the +unoffending kitten, an angry poke with her toe. + +"Won't you tell me when, dear?" Ned urges, tenderly. And Zoe throws the +crimson and white smoking cap she is making on the sofa. + +"I must go and see if the supper is nearly ready," she says, standing by +Ned's side, in the red glow of the flickering firelight. + +Ned takes the pretty hand hanging by her side. "Say, Zoe, when will you +marry me?" + +With a clear, mocking laugh she twists her hand away. And the +tantalizing words he has heard so often ring through the pretty cosy, +fire-lit room, echoing wilful Zoe's words, as she floats out the door +toward the dining hall, for she is most unromantically hungry for her +tea. The answer to Ned's earnest question was one of Zoe's clear, sweet +ripples of gay laughter, and the mocking words, "Some Day." + + +THE END. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Zoe; Or, Some Day, by May Leonard + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ZOE; OR, SOME DAY *** + +***** This file should be named 36364.txt or 36364.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/6/3/6/36364/ + +Produced by Robert Cicconetti, Mary Meehan and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by the Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions +(www.canadiana.org)) + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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