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diff --git a/41932-0.txt b/41932-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ad5c2de --- /dev/null +++ b/41932-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,21348 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41932 *** + +Note: Images of the original pages are available through + Internet Archive/American Libraries. See + http://archive.org/details/fairmystery00bramiala + + +Transcriber's note: + + Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). + + In the numbering of chapters, XIV was omitted in the + original book. + + Inconsistent hyphenation, punctuation, printing and spelling + errors have been corrected silently. + + The author of this work, Charlotte Mary Brame, was known + under the pseudonym Bertha M. Clay in North America. + + + + + +A FAIR MYSTERY + +by + +BERTHA M. CLAY + +Author of "Dora Thorne," "Beyond Pardon," "Love Works Wonders," etc. + + + + + + + +New York +International Book Company +17 and 19 Waverley Place + + + + +A FAIR MYSTERY. + +_THE STORY OF A COQUETTE._ + +BY CHARLOTTE M. BRAEME. + + + + +CHAPTER I. + +A VOICE AND A FACE IN THE NIGHT. + + +"Hush! For the love of mercy, hush, I cannot bear it!" + +But that which called forth this protest was only the lisping prayer of +a little child at its mother's knee. + +Patty Brace lifted the white-robed figure to her lap, and rested the +brown head on her bosom. + +"Mark!" she said, in mild remonstrance, looking at her husband. + +"I say I cannot bear it. You have her pray, 'God bless my home.' It is +too much." + +"But why not? On this wild, stormy night, when other little ones may be +out in the dashing rain and moaning wind, is it not right to pray, 'God +bless our home?'" + +"But how long will we have a home, Patty? Think of to-morrow! oh, Heaven +help me to-morrow! Ruined, disgraced, going out from the home where I +was born, and forced into exile. I cannot bear it. We shall never have a +home again, and our child will grow up homeless!" + +"Dear Mark, you cannot go out disgraced when you have done no wrong; and +homeless you will not be, for home is where the heart is, and in any +land we three will be together, and Heaven over all." + +"I cannot feel as you do, Patty. I am not gentle and good as you. I +blame myself that by going security for that smooth-tongued rascal, whom +may a curse----" + +"Hush!" said Patty, with sudden authority. "Mark, you shall not curse +friend, neighbor, nor enemy. It is not your nature; it is wrong. If you +curse any one how can you look to have prayer answered?" + +"Prayer!" said Mark, bitterly. "I begin not to believe in prayer, or +goodness, or any such thing. You have prayed, and that innocent little +victim on your bosom has prayed, in her baby way, and has Heaven heard? +No! We lose our home, and I was born here!" + +Heavier grew the round brown head of the two-year-old child on Patty's +breast, the little tanned hands fell apart with a sleepy grace, and the +plump, sunburnt face took the moist flush of childhood's deep rest. + +Patty looked at her husband. He leaned against the wooden mantel-shelf, +the ruddy light of the fire leaped across his sorrowful face, and the +wife saw his bronzed cheek wet, with not unmanly tears. + +Beyond him, in the range of her vision, was the window looking toward +the garden, and between the bushes of lilac and guelder-roses, Patty had +a swift vision of a tall woman, robed in black, a thin white face, +looking eagerly into the cheerful farm-kitchen. + +She leaped to her feet. But the vision had faded; only the wind swept +the wet lilac boughs against the pane, only the guelder-roses looked +like tall, dark, draped forms in the stormy night. + +"What is it?" said Mark, as she started. + +"Nothing," said the wife; "little Mattie sleeps; I must carry her up to +bed." She chided herself for her fancies. + +"Nothing!" said Mark. "I have become nervous and womanish with my +misery. Do you know, Patty, even now I keep looking for some one or +something to come and save me." + +"It is never too late," said Patty. "Heaven could save you now--save you +even by so frail a thing as this baby child." + +She passed to the upper room, and left Mark still in his misery hastily +retracing his past, in gloomy thought. Patty returned and stood +wistfully, her hand on his arm. + +"Don't despond, Mark. We are young, strong, loving. We will give honest +work for honest bread." + +"It is not right for the innocent to perish with the guilty," cried +Mark, vehemently; "for you and baby Mattie to perish with me." + +"You are not perishing, and how have you been guilty." + +"I seem to have been guilty, somehow, all along. My father left me this +farm in fairly good order, the lease for my life and one after me. I +could not rest content. I must improve the land, and improve the +outbuildings, and improve the breed of my cattle and sheep, like a +fool." + +"No, like neither a knave nor a fool; like an enterprising farmer, +wanting to improve his prospects and grow with the age. Did not the Duke +of Downsbury say you were one of his best tenants, and that you were a +pattern of good farming and industry?" + +"And then," said Mark, intent on saying bitter things of himself, "I had +a thousand pounds, my father's savings, and instead of leaving it where +he placed it, at safe, low interest, I must let the men of the great new +Bank of Downsbury persuade me to give all to them for big interest; and +that bubble burst, the bank collapsed, swindled every one, and left me +nothing." + +"No blame to you, and you were left your good name. Are you not known, +in all the country, as Honest Mark Brace?" + +"I must be a scoundrel some way, Patty, to have such luck." + +"Go on and tell your sins," said Patty. "You married a girl without +money, Patty Leslie by name; you took care of her widowed mother till +she died; and you were so foolish as to have a little girl-child, who +can only eat and not earn." + +"Heaven bless her and you!" said Mark. "Marrying the best wife in the +world was about the only good deed I ever did----What do you start that +way for again, Patty?" + +"Hark! I heard such a strange noise--a pitiful wail." + +"Not further off than my heart," said Mark. "I heard nothing. Once +married, Patty, think how harvest after harvest has been poor, and +seasons bad, so I could not lay up a penny." + +"Not your fault----Mark, I _know_ I hear a cry." + +"No, no; my ears are keen; I hear nothing. It is the storm. Even the +wind and rain are crying after the out-going of the Brace blood from the +farm of Brackenside. Oh, Patty, why could I not let well enough alone, +and not go and sign security for that villain, Amwell?" + +"You did it out of pure heart-kindness. You thought him honest and in +trouble; you helped him." + +"And he left me with a hundred pounds to pay. He meant to do it all +along. He robbed me; I robbed you; and to-morrow my goods must be +seized. The crops will be bid off as they stand in the ground, and the +farm tools and the house goods with them, for this terrible security. I +have tried everywhere to get help. I spent all to-day seeking for some +one to lend to me. But since Farmer Dobbs holds a mortgage on my live +stock for the debt the burning of the big barn brought me into, I cannot +get any help. The lease must be sold to finish paying up Dobbs. I will +not run off in debt like that scoundrel Amwell, and, with what is left, +we can emigrate. Patty, oh, how can I go! I love every stick, and every +tree, and every sod. My mother and father lie here in yon churchyard, +and I had hoped to lie by them." + +Honest Mark Brace covered his face with his hands, and his strong, tall +figure shook with the storm of his sorrow. He loved every foot of this +land, where, boy and man, he had sung at his work and lived popular and +respected. A fine, stalwart young Englishman, intensely a home-lover, it +seemed to him impossible that other skies could be so blue, other +breezes so jocund, other fields so green, as these that blessed his +birthplace. + +Patty, in mute sympathy, clasped her arms about his neck, friend in woe +as in joy. She, too, loved and suffered. But hers was a cheerful, +hopeful, pious soul: she could not despair as Mark did. Mark had been +loudly accusing himself where he was guiltless; now, with the +inconsistency of misery, he turned to declare his own uprightness and, +by implication, the injustice of Heaven. + +"Why has this come to me? Other worse men have happier fortune. Have I +swindled men like the bankers, who carried off my all? Have I lied like +Ned Amwell? Did I ever cheat in my men's wages? Have I sent the poor +empty from my door? Have I failed to pay my tithes, or missed church on +Sundays? Do I drink? Do I swear? Do I ever go to sleep in church? Why, +then, have I such trouble?" + +The wild minglings of crimes, errors, and peccadilloes might have made a +disinterested listener laugh. It did not make Patty laugh, nor did it +call forth an answer. She turned an intent ear to the outer world and +said, uneasily: + +"Mark, listen! Other souls are in pain. It is not the wind that I +hear--not the dashing rain. I have heard sobs, and moans, and crying in +the night--a child crying--like a little baby soul that has lost its way +and can find neither earth nor heaven." + +"Your fancies make me mad," cried Mark, angrily. + +"My troubles are real, and so will yours be to-morrow----" + +Shrill and clear the cry quivered on the air. He, too, heard it. + +"It is little Mattie," he cried. "Run to her." + +And he followed Patty, fleet-footed, up the stairs. + +But little rosy Mattie slept tranquilly, and the two came slowly down. +Patty opened the kitchen window, and the swirling rain drenched her dark +hair as she leaned into the darkness. + +"Come in; there will be nights enough to face storms," said Mark, +hardly. "We are only both fanciful; or, as my old grannie used to tell +me, since we are flitting from the hearth where we have kept warm so +long, the souls of my ancestors are mourning for my sorrow. Poor old +grannie! little she knew how I should leave the old roof-tree." + +Patty sprung to her feet. + +"Mark, come with me! It is no fancy--no spirit. It is real; some human +being out in this tempest. Let us search everywhere, and give the +homeless a shelter this last night that we have a home." + +She ran from the room, and Mark followed her into the stone-flagged +entry. Her vehemence carried him away. He reached over her shoulder, and +aided her trembling hands to undo the door-bolt. + +Starless the night; no balm on the summer air; the raw chill of autumn +brooding under the beating rain; a murky heaven over land and sea; and +once again that wild, only half-human wail, coming up now from their +very feet! + +Patty sprung into the dark, vine-draped porch; the red light from the +kitchen crept fitfully to the threshold, and close beside the door-sill, +lay a bundle in the poor shelter of the latticed porch. + +From that bundle came, shrill and piteous, that miserable cry. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +A FAIRY CHANGELING. + + +"Mark! Mark! it is a child, a poor forsaken baby," said Patty, stooping +down and gathering into her womanly arms the weeping waif-fragment of +the seething sea of humanity so strangely drifted to her door. "A child! +Dear Heaven! such a very little child!" + +She hurried into the kitchen and laid the bundle on the table in the +circle of lamplight, and with careful, eager fingers, began to loosen +the wrappings. + +"A child!" said Mark, amazed and dull--"a child!" + +Then with sudden anger he cried out: + +"A child, to the homeless! A child to us, who will not be able to care +for our own--a child for forced exiles! Why did they not carry it to the +poor-house? There, at least, it might have stayed!" + +"Hush, dear!" said Patty. "God only asks of us duty for to-day. To-night +we have a home, and can take the stranger in. God will take care of it +to-morrow." + +"Not that I grudge the poor little wretch," said Mark, looking over his +wife's shoulder. + +Patty unpinned the tartan shawl, and snugly wrapped within lay a little +babe; a delicate veil covered the small face within the lace and satin +cap, and Patty lifted in motherly hands one of the most singularly +lovely infants that sun had ever looked upon. Dimpled, snow-white, with +exquisitely molded features, and neck and hands; soft rings of golden, +silken hair, a faint perfume of costly odors breathing from its +garments. + +Patty's tender heart melted at the divine innocence, loveliness, +helplessness of the little one, and raising the rosebud face to her own, +she kissed it softly again and again. + +This motion caused the white cashmere cloak to fall back, and Mark gave +a cry at some dark thing broadly pinned against the quilted satin +lining. + +As his wife kissed the babe, murmuring: "Little, lovely angel! Who sent +you? Who could abandon you?" Mark unpinned this object and held it near +the light. Then he gave such a cry that his wife, clasping the babe +closer, turned to him in alarm. In his shaking hand he held a packet of +bank-notes. He cried out: + +"Patty! Patty! Did God send this? See! Just the amount of my debt! +Patty! Patty! am I safe? Is this ours?" + +"How much is there?" she demanded, breathlessly. + +"Twenty fives! A hundred pounds!" + +"Mark, just what we owe?" + +"Just that. Oh, Patty, we are saved!" + +He staggered to a seat, white and weak, and then, first, Patty realized +what his anguish of soul had been. The strong young farmer shook like a +reed; drops of perspiration rolled over his face. + +"But is it ours?" demanded Patty, sitting down also, and beginning to +unfasten the baby's cap and cloak. + +"See if there is anything more--any message--any word--quick--oh, Patty, +Patty. I am weak!" + +Patty rose up, stroked his cheek, kissed him, said: "Courage, Mark! +Heaven has helped us!" and then she set to searching the child. + +On the lace bosom of the little dress was sewed a letter. She unfastened +it and held it to her husband. + +"You read it, Mark. I am so frightened, my eyes are dim. See, it is to +us; it says on the outside--'TO MARK AND PATTY BRACE.'" + +Mark restrained himself, and as Patty softly rocked the child to and fro +on her breast, he read aloud: + + "To you a most sorrowful mother sends this little child. You + have never seen that mother, probably you never will; but she + has heard of you--of honest Mark Brace and Patty Brace, his + kind, good wife. Oh, be tender to this little child, deprived + of father and of mother. Be patient with it; think how its + mother's heart ached at parting: think of your own little + child. Let this baby be yours, and your child's sister. It is + lovely and white as an angel. Will you try to keep its soul + white and pure, and bring it up simply, like your own, just + to be good? There is a little mark on the right shoulder--a + little red leaf. But I may never be able to claim my own + again. Then let it be yours, and rear it, as you will answer + for it to God. With the child the mother sends you a hundred + pounds, and every year will send you the same. This is a + child of noble blood and honest birth. Its mother prays you, + for the sake of mercy and pity, to make no effort to find + her. Never show this letter, never try to learn the child's + surname; her Christian name is DORIS. Will you say you have + taken charge of the child for a lady who has gone abroad? Say + only that, and night and day a heart's best prayers will go + up for you, who are good to little Doris." + +Mark and Patty looked at each other in silence. + +"Oh, Mark! you doubted--doubted God and prayer!" + +"Did I? May God pardon me--I was wild with misery!" + +"Whose child can this be?" said Patty. + +"Patty," said Mark, "if we use this money, as we must and shall, it is +part of a bargain, you know--a bargain to keep the child tenderly and +faithfully, and make no effort to discover who sends it. We must keep +faith." + +"It will be very easy to be loving and tender to such a lovely baby," +said Patty. "Look, did you ever see anything so wonderful, so beautiful, +in all your life?" + +"Fair as an angel," said Mark, gently kissing the wee white hand. "God +bless the baby, the little angel baby that saved us." + +"A hundred a year! This is very much money, just for keeping one little +child," said Patty. + +"We must pay ourselves what is fair, and keep the rest to educate the +child, or make her dower." + +"And we must keep her soul white and fair. The letter says, we are to +train her like our own, Mark." + +"Only, Patty, it is a child of noble blood, and if, some day, the mother +claims her, she must not be ashamed of the child, Patty." + +"Oh, Mark!" cried Patty, in terror, "suppose the mother is in all this +storm? Go, Mark--take a light and look for her. Do go!" + +"She cannot possibly be lingering here, Patty." + +"Oh, Mark, she is no doubt waiting to see what we will do. I am sure I +saw her looking in the window before I took Mattie to bed." + +Mark took a lantern from its hook by the chimney-side, and went out into +the storm. There was no trace of any one. The gate was fastened, no +foot-print marked the gravel walk; nothing but sighing wind and plashing +rain filled the darkness. He returned to the house. + +"There is no one. Whoever was here has done the errand and gone. I +cannot believe it yet, Patty. My debt is paid! my home is saved! I shall +live where my fathers lived, and die where they died; and all by means +of _this little child_. I feel as if I could never love it enough!" + +Patty looked at the babe on her arm. She cried: + +"How could a mother give up such a lovely creature! I would rather die! +Oh, poor mother! Mark, a heart has broken to-night in this storm." + +"I wonder if the poor soul was married?" said Mark. + +"She must have been! Look at the letter, Mark. It is the letter of a +good woman. She wants the child's soul kept white and pure. A wicked +woman would think of the body, but not of the soul!" + +The child opened its eyes--eyes like spring violets, softly blue. It +stirred uneasily. Patty went for milk to feed it. + +"There are no clothes with it, Mark. Whoever knew us to write to us, +knew about little Mattie, and expected us to let this baby wear her +clothes, and be reared just like our own." + +She went for a night-dress that had been worn by Mattie a year before, +and taking off the infant's rich clothes, put on instead the simple +little gown. About the child's neck was a gold chain, with a locket; in +the locket was a tress of curly golden hair, and one of dark shining +brown. + +"Mark," said Patty, "let us put the letter and the locket and these rich +clothes away. Some day they may be needed to show whose child this is." + +Mark folded the articles together and locked them in a strong box, which +for years had held the especial valuables of the owners of Brackenside +Farm. Never before had such singular treasures been placed among those +simple rustic relics. + +"Now," said Patty. "I shall take this baby up and put her in Mattie's +trundle bed; they are sisters now." + +She carried the wee stranger up-stairs and laid it by her own little +daughter. Mark held the light. + +"There is a great difference between them," said Patty, as she looked at +the two little ones in the same bed. "It is not only that one is two +years and one is two months, but one looks like a child of the nobles, +the other like a child of the people." + +"The people are the bone and sinew of the land, and the heart, too," +said Mark, sturdily. "I don't believe a mother of the people would give +such a baby away in this fashion. You note my words, wife; it is +_pride_, rank pride, that has cast this child out among strangers." + +Patty sighed, still looking at the children. Little Doris, a jewel +child, pearly skin, golden hair and brows, and a little red mouth like a +thread of rubies; Mattie, brown, plump, sturdy, child of soil, wind, and +sun. + +"I like my own best," said Mark, bravely, "if she is not half so fair. +Our Mattie has what will last all her life--a warm, true, honest little +heart in her strong little body." + +"Of course you will like our own best," said Patty half offended. "It +would be a fine story if the coming of this little beauty could crowd +our girl out of the first place in our hearts." + +"I wonder if they will love each other," said Mark. + +"Of course they will, as they are to be sisters," said Patty, with +edifying faith in humanity. + +"And I wonder if she will love us?" + +"Surely, since we are to be her parents, and will be always kind and +faithful to her." + +"I hope so," said Mark, shaking his head; "but there are some things, +Patty, that do not mix well--as, say, oil and water--and belike blood +will tell, and this little lady will not take to our homely ways. +Besides, we shall always be considering how much is due her for that +hundred pounds a year; and I, for one, will always be remembering how +she came like a little angel to save a home that is like my heart's +blood to me." + +Then they went down-stairs, leaving the dark child and the fair child +sleeping together. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +A DAUGHTER OF PATRICIANS. + + +Mark and Patty Brace sat down again by their hearth-stone. They were too +much excited to think of sleep. Mark made up the fire and trimmed the +lamp, and ruddy glow and golden gleam seemed the joyful reflection of +their strangely-brightened fortunes. + +Honest Mark, who seldom thought of even locking his door when he went to +bed, suddenly felt that thieves might break in to steal that blessed +hundred pounds that saved him from ruin. He buttoned the notes up in his +waistcoat, and longed for the day-dawn when he might pay his debt and be +free. + +Upon Patty's simple heart rested the shadow of a new care. It was to her +upright spirit a terrible responsibility to rear a stranger's child. +What disposition would this little one inherit? + +Could she obey that unknown mother's behest and keep this soul white and +pure? Suppose the child should be willful, full of faults, proud, hard +to govern, in all points the opposite to her own simple, gentle, good +little girl--would she be able by love and kindness to govern and mold +her into goodness? And suppose the child grew day by day into her heart, +until it seemed like her very own, and then that unknown mother came +and took her away? Suppose, too, that after all her humble cares, when +the mother came, she should be dissatisfied and complain of the rudeness +of the child's rearing? + +But Patty need not have feared that; she had herself the best of good +breeding, that which comes from a generous, thoughtful, unselfish +spirit. + +Then she began to wonder who was the mother of this babe. She told over +to herself all the ladies of the adjacent village of Brakebury; not one +had a hundred pounds a year to spare. She thought of all the ladies she +had met in the narrow limits of life, in which she had never been fifty +miles from her home. There was not one whom it would not be the utmost +absurdity to charge with the maternity of this charge. + +"I give it up," said Patty aloud, with a sigh. + +"Give what up?" asked Mark, starting from a reverie. + +"Guessing who is the mother of this little Doris." + +"So you should give it up," said honest Mark, stoutly. "A bargain is a +bargain, Patty, and you know all that money is not to pay for one baby's +milk, tendance, and bits of clothes; nor is it to buy our faith, for +faith cannot be bought; but it is given us as pledge of a secret kept +with that child's mother, and to use to defend that secret; and so we +must. Questions, Patty, we must not ask nor answer; if curiosity is +troublesome, we'll even bear it till it dies out naturally; we are paid +for the trouble of bearing our neighbor's curiosity." + +"That is true," said Patty; "we will make silence our rule." + +So they sat by the fire, while the storm ceased, the winds fell, the +rain-heavy grass and leaves lifted themselves, the east brightened with +a new day, the birds broke forth into matin-song, and then a broad bar +of sunshine fell over the kitchen floor, through the very window where +the black-veiled figure had stood the night before. + +"Mark," said Patty, "here is a new day." + +"And a very happy day," said Mark. "I shall go pay my debt the first +thing; and then, Heaven helping me, when this harvest is gathered in, I +can settle with neighbor Dobbs and stand up a free man. After that, +Patty, I'll starve before I beg, borrow, steal, or go security. In my +eye, it's all one; it's robbing your own or your neighbors in any case." + +How happy felt Mark Brace that morning, as, with springing step, and +whistling like a mavis, loud and clear, he strode off to Brakebury to +pay his debt. His sinewy hand trembled convulsively as he took his +receipt. + +"I'm as thankful as you are, Mark," said his creditor; "it would have +gone to my heart to ruin you. I lay awake all night thinking of it; but +I must have this money or be sold out myself, and my wife is ill in bed, +and my old mother blind, and cleaving to this home she was born in as +ivy cleaves to the wall." + +"I know how it goes," said Mark; "I've felt it. And after this, I'll +hold the Scripture rule, to owe no man anything but to love one +another." + +Mark felt his heart large enough to love all the world that morning, +especially that golden-haired mystery who had brought him safety. He +hurried home, longing to be at work again. He felt energy for +everything. Never had there been such a fair day, never such a lovely +home, never such beautiful fields, standing thick to the sickle. Heaven +be praised, he was his own man again! + +He met his laborers coming to the work. In answer to his questions, one +said that, crossing a field after dark, he had met a tall woman, in +black, veiled, carrying a bundle which, at the time, he fancied might be +a child. Another, returning late from the Blue Boar, had passed a tall +woman, in black, veiled, hurrying on, with empty arms swinging at her +side, but heard her sob and moan as she went by. + +This was all Mark Brace heard about that eventful night. + +The neighbors, finding a golden-haired, dainty babe in Patty Brace's +cradle, said, wisely: + +"No doubt she was well paid." "Mark Brace had seemed flush of money of +late." "It was well to have friends. The child very surely belonged to +some great lady." + +But whether its mother lived or was dead, or where she was, Patty never +opened her lips to tell; and, after two months, gossip died away, and +the baby at Brackenside Farm was an accepted fact. + +One person asked questions with more show of authority, and to him Mark +and Patty told part of the truth. This one person was the Rector of +Brakebury. They told him that the child had been left at their door, +with a letter and a sum of money. The letter said the child was +legitimate and christened, and that the hundred pounds would come each +year. The rector was so astonished at this story that he told it to his +bishop when he dined with him. + +"And what kind of a child is it?" asked the Bishop of Lansdown. + +"The most marvelously beautiful creature; fairly angelic." + +A few weeks later, in November, the bishop was dining with the Duke of +Downsbury, and bethought himself to tell the tale, beginning: + +"Does not the village of Brakebury belong entirely to your grace? and is +not Mark Brace one of your tenant farmers?" + +The bishop told the story, as he told every story, admirably. + +"And they have no clew to the child's family," asked the duchess. + +"Not the least. It was the most cleverly-managed thing I ever heard of +in my life." + +When the ladies returned to the drawing-room, Lady Estelle Hereford, the +duke's only child, asked her mother: + +"What was that story the bishop was telling?" + +Lady Estelle was not nineteen. Her mother felt that this tale of a +foundling was not a proper thing to pour into the ear of innocence. + +"Really, my dear, I was shocked at the bishop's speaking of such a thing +before you," said her Grace of Downsbury. + +"Why, mamma, there may be nothing really wrong about it after all," +said Lady Estelle, quietly, and the duchess privately thanked Heaven for +her daughter's simplicity. + +"There is always some wrong where there is concealment," said the +duchess, with decision. "Honor does not shun the day. I prefer you do +not talk of it, Estelle." + +"But, dear mamma, I want to know. So little happens here in the country, +I hoped it was something to interest me." + +"No, my dear. Only a little child, left at Mark Brace's door--with some +money--and I think that is all, my dear." + +"And Mark Brace is going to keep the child, mamma?" + +"So I understand. Very admirable, honest people, the Braces." + +"It is just like a novel, mamma--nicer than a written one. I am sick of +novels, as I am sick of everything. I would like to see that child, if +it is so pretty, mamma." + +"My dearest love! But Brackenside is fifteen miles off, and you could +not go so far in this chill autumn weather. You know the doctor says you +must get to Italy at once." + +Lady Estelle leaned back as one completely bored and weary of life, and +toyed with her fan and flowers. A beauty, an heiress, a duke's daughter, +Lady Estelle had been for a year and a half the idol of the most +fashionable circle in London. Proud, stately, cold, calm, with sudden +gleams of tenderness and fire in her great violet eyes, she had been +courted by some of the noblest men of England, and dismissed each with +the same indifference. But the excitement of gay life, or a nervous +shock received in traveling with her friend, Lady Agnes Delapain, in +Switzerland, had stolen the wild-rose tint from her cheek and the +elasticity from her graceful step, and baffled physicians ordered her to +be taken to a warmer climate. + +"I am sorry to lose you again, Lady Hereford," said the bishop, when the +gentlemen joined the ladies in the drawing-room. + +"Thank you. But I am rather glad to go. I may find in Italy something to +amuse me, or wake my cold, calm soul to romance. Here, it seems to me, +it is very dull. Only the little incident that you told to-day rises +over the prosaic." + +Lady Estelle, with a swift glance, assured herself that the duchess was +at the most remote corner of the room. + +"Ah, yes, that has a flavor of romance," said the bishop. + +"And you say the child is healthy and pretty?" + +"Both, I am told, to an unusual degree. It has the fatal gift of +beauty." + +"Why fatal?" asked Lady Estelle, with listless politeness. + +"Not fatal to those born to rank, parents, and every care, but fatal to +the poor, the unprotected, the unknown. I cannot imagine a more terrible +gift to a friendless girl." + +"I never thought of that," said Lady Estelle, and then her brief +interest in the little child seemed to pass into the gentle indifference +with which she regarded all the events of life. + +For hours afterward Lady Estelle Hereford thought of the fair foundling +that had been left at Brackenside Farm, and an uneasy feeling came over +her as she reflected upon the bishop's words: + +"The child possesses the fatal gift of beauty. I cannot imagine a more +terrible gift to a friendless girl." + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +THE MARBLE PSYCHE. + + +Mark Brace was the tenant of the Duke of Downsbury, as his fathers +before him had for many generations been the tenants of the duke's +ancestors; yet no two lines of life seemed to run farther apart than +those of the duke and the farmer. The duke respected and appreciated his +tenant, and the tenant sturdily held loyal faith in his duke, as the +noblest duke in England. + +Yet, when Downsbury Castle was shut up, and all the family were abroad, +seeking, year by year, health for the patrician daughter, that absence +of the noble patron made no change in the current of life at the farm. +Patty and Mark, when the duke came to their minds, hoped he would find +for his only child the health he sought. + +"How we should feel if our Mattie was delicate!" said Patty. + +"What a pity it is," said Mark, "that the duke has no son. He has hoped +and hoped, but now he knows he will be the last Duke of Downsbury." + +"But Lady Estelle will get strong, perhaps, and marry, and he will have +great comfort in his grandchildren," said Patty. + +Meanwhile, at Brackenside Farm, little Doris grew every day in beauty +and brightness. Never was such a winsome wee thing. Patty felt sure the +saucy blue eyes would count many victims when Doris bloomed into +girlhood's beauty. Patty was tender of her charge, as of some strange +tropic bird that had fluttered into her homely nest. Mattie, with her +frank simplicity, adored, waited on, yielded to, her "little sister." +Honest Mark fell a complete slave to the fascinations of her beauty: he +could not give a severe look, nor a reproving word: the twining of those +dimpled arms around his neck brought instant submission to any whim of +Miss Doris. + +"Mark, Mark, you are like all the men--you think the world and all of a +pretty face," said Patty, laughing. + +"She's just a wonder, and I _can't_ cross her," said Mark. "Not but I +like Mattie best. You can rely on Mattie, somehow: she's worth twenty of +this pretty Doris; but I _can_ say 'no' to her, and I can try to train +her up to be a good woman; but this little golden and pearly thing is +just like a butterfly or a humming-bird to me, that's a fact. And then, +Patty, we have had luck ever since she came; her hands brought us +blessings." + +Was it any wonder that it came about that when one child was to yield to +the other, Mattie yielded to Doris? Mattie was older and stronger, and, +truth to say, yielded more readily. If Patty called on a child to help +her, to pick up toys, or a spool, or run to call Mark, was it not +natural that Mattie, true, industrious child of the house, was the one +called on, rather than the child who paid a hundred pounds a year? Was +it strange that, thinking of that lady-mother, who might any day come to +claim her own, Patty protected the snowy beauty of her nurse-child with +nankeen mitts, and sleeves, and wide-brimmed hat? Did it seem less than +honest, when one considered that yearly hundred pounds, and the gentle +birth, to give the child finer shoes and daintier garments than little +Mattie had? + +Thus it came about that pride, and vanity, and indolence, and imperious +self-will, were nursed insensibly in this child, whose soul Patty +greatly desired to keep white and pure. + +Mark Brace, too, felt the duties that the yearly payment pressed upon +him. When Doris was three years and a half old, he said to his wife: + +"We must make her mannerly, lest her mother should not be satisfied. +When she gets big she must learn music and languages; now she must learn +to sew and to read. We will let our Mattie learn what she does. She is +our only child; we can afford it." + +"And you mean me to teach them?" asked Patty. + +"Oh, no, wife. You are too busy. We will send them every day to +Brakebury, to the Misses Hopwell." + +The Misses Hopwell were very genteel ladies; a surgeon's daughters, +fallen into narrow circumstances, and keeping a little school, very +genteel indeed, where they taught the making of samplers, the tables, +reading, writing, the globes, etc., in prim, old-fashioned style. + +To this "ladies' school" went Mattie and Doris every day, in a little +wicker cart, drawn by a donkey, beside which ran a bare-foot farm-boy as +their charioteer. And so time went on, and Doris had been four years at +the farm, and news now spread abroad that Lady Estelle Hereford was +better at last, and the duke was coming home. + +Back to England finally, and the castle was filled with guests. + +"I believe," said the duchess to the duke, "that the best thing for our +daughter would be a happy marriage. She is over twenty-two. If we could +rouse her up to take any interest in any one--all she lacks is +animation. She is a Psyche before the coming of Cupid. I heard a +gentleman in Italy calling her 'the marble Psyche,' speaking to a +friend." + +"I cannot understand it," said the duke. "During her first year in +society she seemed animated and interested. I believe I even once spoke +sharply to her for dancing twice with Captain Rodney Alnwick." + +"You were quite right," said the duchess. "I spoke to her myself about +him. He was entirely ineligible in every particular. But that all passed +by. I thought she liked him a little, and I was glad when he exchanged +his regiment and went off to India. A ne'er-do-well family, if an old +one." + +"We must bring together the best _partis_," said the duke, "and she may +fancy some one. I long to see her settled, and to have grandchildren +about me." + +The guests came; and among them, calm, gracious, lovely, went Lady +Estelle, untouched by adoration, a goddess moving in a nimbus of her own +impregnable repose. + +There was a dinner-party given for the Bishop of Lansdown, and, as +usual, the bishop was full of stories, and told them well. + +"I remember," said Lady Estelle, "before we went abroad, you told me +some story that interested me--something about a child----" + +"No doubt--about the child left at Mark Brace's door." + +"Perhaps that might be it. I suppose it has been claimed." + +"Not at all. Mark has it yet, and shows himself a most honest man in his +care of it." + +"Ah! In what way?" + +"He not only adores the child, but he rears it delicately, and he means +to educate her." + +"Yes? And can one be educated at Brakebury?" said the soft, caressing, +languid, scarcely interested voice. + +"The child is very young yet. She goes in a little donkey-carriage to a +really nice little school, kept by two ladies in reduced circumstances. +When she gets too old for that school, Mark means to find a better one +for her." + +"Quite thoughtful of him; and the child is pretty?" + +"More pretty than I can tell you. I am sure she is nobly born. I saw her +after service the day I held confirmation." + +"And her parents have never been found?" asked the duchess. + +"No; and surely never will be. Great care has been taken to secure +secrecy, and Mark feels bound to maintain it." + +"I do not know but it may be quite as well," said her grace; and then +dinner was announced. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +"I WANT TO BE JUST LIKE YOU." + + +"My dear Estelle," said the Duchess of Downsbury, "I had hoped that with +returning health you would have more earnestness and animation--be more +like your early self." + +"Possibly my early self was a great simpleton, mamma, and as for +animation, most girls are overdoing that. Calmness, what you call +indifference, may be my style. Don't you think people like it, mamma?" + +"Your style is simply perfection," said her grace, "and there are two or +three eligible men here just now who plainly think so; if you could only +give them a little encouragement." + +"I'm quite sick of eligible men, mamma. Is it ten or a dozen that I have +'declined with thanks?' I do not give them encouragement because they +offer themselves soon enough without it. They don't interest me." + +"And what will interest you?" asked the perplexed duchess. + +Lady Estelle waved to and fro, in a meditative manner, her feather fan, +as if considering what she _could_ desire. + +"I believe, now I think of it, it would interest me to go and see that +child the Bishop of Lansdown told us of." + +"My dear, that is not a nice story at all. It is suspicious." + +"But the Braces are very proper people, and the child may be a very nice +child. Brakebury village belongs to us, and I think I never was there. +In fact, I have never been over half our estate, nor do I know any of +our people." + +"It is hardly necessary that you should, Estelle." + +"Because I am not a son and heir, mamma, that is not my fault. I think I +should rather have been a boy than a girl. As a boy I might have found +something to interest me." + +She was relapsing into indifference. + +"We will go and see the child by all means," said the duchess, hastily. +"To-morrow at eleven the carriage shall be ready, and your father will +accompany us; he wishes to look over the estate a little." + +At noon next day the ducal party were whirling over the broad, level +Downsbury roads toward the home of honest Mark Brace, who, all +unconscious of coming honor drove his team afield, while Patty guided +her household affairs in their usual shining order. + +It was Saturday and there was no school for the little ones. Mattie, in +brown linen dress, was trotting about after her mother, helping here and +there, active and useful. Little Beauty was making bouquets for herself; +dressed in white, because white she _would_ wear continually, and +decorated with a sash and shoulder knots; and deprived of these +ornaments she shrieked vigorously. + +"And this," said Lady Estelle, as they drove up, "is Brackenside. I did +not know it was so pretty. A fit place for a romance." + +Honest Mark, abashed but happy, was anything but a hero of romance as he +came up to greet his duke. + +"Good-morning, Mr. Brace," said the duchess, frankly. "We have heard so +much of your little foster-child, your fairy changeling, that we drove +over to hear her story and to see her. We would like, also, to see your +wife and your own little girl." + +Mark Brace told the story in his matter-of-fact way, as he ushered the +guests in the seldom-used parlor, the pride of Patty's soul. + +"It is not half so romantic a story as I thought," yawned Lady Estelle; +"but let us see the child since we are here." + +Mark withdrew to summon his family. + +"Goodness, mamma!" drawled Estelle, "what a stiff, hideous place; framed +samplers and horsehair chairs. I should die of it. It is well we are not +all born alike." + +She lost herself in contemplation of a tall, eight-day clock. + +Enter Mark, leading Mattie, and Mrs. Brace carrying the golden-haired +mystery. + +The child was beautiful as our dreams of angels. One small hand rested +on Patty's shoulder, the other hung in a graceful curve; her large, +clear, smiling eyes met her august guests, sweet and unabashed. The +duchess raised her hands. + +"She is perfectly angelic!" + +"A true fairy," said the duke, taking the child from Patty, and standing +her, as a thing to be admired, on the table. + +"What is your name, my dear?" + +"Doris," said the child, with a gracious little inclination of the head, +extending her hand with ease, as if she had now found suitable +acquaintances. + +Fair, pearly fair, her cheeks and lips mantled with the dainty bloom of +the wild rose; her hair like spun gold, flowing over her molded +shoulders; her eyes large, shining as stars under dark brows and lashes, +fearless, free, not a trace of rustic embarrassment; taper fingers, ears +like small pink shells, true child of the nobles, set now among her +peers. + +"Estelle! do look at her!" cried her grace. + +Estelle roused herself from contemplating the clock; she drew off her +gloves, and the jewels gleamed on her hands, as she took the child's +soft palm, and gently stroked her golden hair. + +"You are like sunshine! Speak to me, little one." + +"Will you tell me what to say?" asked Doris, promptly. + +"What would you like best of anything--tell me?" + +"I would like to be _just like you_! I want to be tall, to have rings, +and your pretty dress, and ride in a carriage. I don't like brown +clothes, and donkey wagons." + +Her little lips curled with scorn, as she looked toward Patty. + +"Oh," said Lady Estelle, shocked and remonstrant, "would you not like +best of all to be good, _very_ good?" + +Doris broke into a frank, silvery laugh, showing dimples and pearly +teeth. + +"No," she said, with charming candor. "I like pretty things more than +being good. Mattie can be good for us both. I am pretty. To be good is +_so_ dull," she sighed with grace. + +The duke laughed heartily, crying: + +"Woman, true woman!" + +"Not true woman at all," said the duchess, indignantly, "a very vain +little girl." + +"_All_ little girls should be good," said Lady Estelle, sagely. + +Doris laughed again incredulously, with all her heart. + +Patty Brace stepped forward, looking distressed. + +"Please do not believe her--she is very good, most of the time, unless +she is crossed. She has that odd way of talking, but Mark and I try our +best to teach her goodness, and so do the ladies at the school. She will +be good, I am sure." + +"Poor child," said the duchess, "I hope so." + +"Promise me that you will be good," said Lady Estelle. + +"Oh, I'll promise; but then, I don't keep promises. I don't think I +shall be good. I shall laugh in school, and eat all the red apples, and +run away to ride, when I am told not." + +"Very small sins, overcome in time," laughed the duke. + +"Perhaps you would like me to sing for you," said Doris, and with a +voice sweet, strong, and clear, she broke into an old ballad, caught +from Patty's lips, but vastly improved in her rendering. Her visitors +were enchanted. + +"You are a very clever little lady," said the duke. + +"Oh, yes, I _am_ a lady," said Doris, positively, "and when I am big I +shall be _just like you_," she added to Estelle. + +"We must go," said Lady Estelle Hereford, hastily. "Mamma, I feel quite +warm and faint. I want outdoor air." + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +FAITHLESS AND DEBONAIR. + + +The duke placed a shining gold sovereign in the hand of Doris, and +another in the hand of the quiet Mattie. The duchess looked at the +honest, healthy, pleasant face of little Mattie, her frank brown eyes, +and simple, rustic manners, and said, suddenly: + +"I like this child best. She promises better; she fits her place; she +will make the world better for her being in it." + +"Thank your grace," said the gratified Patty. "I hope so. But little +Doris is very good, too, only we cannot help spoiling her; she has such +curious ways." + +"Perhaps you wish to see me dance," said Doris, who had been placed on +the floor. "Mattie can't dance; she won't learn the steps. I learn, and +I make some steps; see me." + +Full of grace as a true fairy, she caught one side of her little white +gown, and with a glance of veiled coquetry at the duke, began to dance. + +The duke clapped his hands in hearty admiration. + +The duchess, looking at her daughter, saw that she was deadly pale. + +"My dear; you are ill; you are over-fatigued!" + +"No, no, I am quite well," said Lady Estelle, calm and proud; "I only +want fresh air; the room is close." + +They made hasty adieus, and Mark followed them to the carriage; Mattie +stood, a good little figure, framed in the doorway. Doris danced like a +butterfly over the turf near the gate. + +Mark, overcome by his great honors, returned to the parlor, and +refreshed himself with a draught of cowslip wine. + +"Here's an uncommon bit of civility, Patty," he said. "A duke is a duke, +say what one may! And what a duke ours is! And what a rare gracious lady +is the duchess! But the Lady Estelle--oh, she is rather a proud piece, I +fear. But God bless her, she's young, and doesn't know what life is yet. +I hope she'll live to be a comfort and honor to them. Patty! Why don't +you speak, my girl? You are pale as the dead. This visit has overdone +you." + +"Oh, no; I'm only--_thinking_--very hard, Mark." + +Mark knew of old that when Patty set herself to hard thinking she might +as well be let alone, so he went off to his work among the barley. But +Patty worked that day with a burden on her heart. + +"Well, well," said the duke, as they drove back, "I did not expect to +see such a wonderfully beautiful child. Even lovelier than you were, +Estelle, when you were little." + +"Was I pretty?" asked the languid Estelle. "Yes, this child is pretty, +and seems to be rather bright." + +"The prettiest, brightest child I ever saw," said the duke. + +"But such shocking ideas! I never saw so young a child with such bad +tendencies!" cried the duchess. "It is easy enough to see how she will +end." + +"How will she end, mamma?" said Lady Estelle's slow, sweet voice. + +"Very badly, my dear. She loves luxury; she is willful; she is scornful. +She will hate the plain ways of those good people, and they will be able +to do nothing with her. Gifts and beauty--dangerous dower for this young +bird of paradise, in a wood-dove's nest." + +"They are bringing up their own child well, I fancy." + +"Yes, my dear; she _is_ their own; they understand her; they are under +no restraint concerning her." + +"Honest Mark worships that little beauty," said the duke; "his eyes +followed her every movement. She will govern him, and so much the worse +for her. Your _protegee_ will have tragedy as well as comedy in her +life, Estelle." + +"Why call her _my protegee_?" said Lady Estelle, indolently. "Surely I +have sins and follies enough to answer for, papa, without assigning to +my protection a child of whom my mother prophesies such evil." + +"I wish we could do something for her," said the duke. + +"What could we do? She is admirably well kept; she goes to school. If +that good Patty Brace could not succeed with her, could we, where life +and fashion would fill her head with nonsense? Perhaps I only speak so +because I am constitutionally indolent." + +"You are quite right. She has too much flattery and indulgence now," +said the duchess. + +"Sometimes I think that simple, unworldly life is best for everybody," +said Lady Estelle. "I get tired of society and display, and fancy I +should like to wear a print gown and lie all day under an apple-tree in +bloom." + +"But apple-trees don't bloom all the year, and the ground is often +outrageously damp," laughed the duke. + +"And these simple people cannot lie under trees all day, or much of the +day; consider they must be making butter and cheese, and curing bacon," +added her grace. + +"So?" drawled Lady Estelle. "Then no doubt I had better stay as I am." + +"My dear girl," said her father, seriously, "it is time to reconsider +that determination to stay as you are. Not long ago you refused the +Marquis of Bourne. You said he was too old and too plain. Now I have a +proposal from the Earl of Seaton for your hand. He is neither old nor +plain; he is in every way eligible." + +"Now you are boring me again, papa," drawled Lady Estelle. + +"But, my dear, I approve of the earl. I really wish to see you married. +What shall I say to him?" + +"Tell him to go away and not trouble me, papa." + +"My daughter, he deserves a better answer. You are my only child; I +shall not live forever; I must consider your future. Marriage will +contribute to your happiness." + +"I am happy enough, papa." + +"Then think of our happiness--your mother's and mine. Oh, Estelle! when +I saw that lovely little child, how I wished I had a grandchild like +that!" + +A ruddy blush dyed Lady Estelle's face, and she was silent. + +"Daughter," said the duchess, "do not wait and refuse all offers from +some romantic fancy about falling in love. That does not belong to your +rank. Perhaps your nature is not to love any man very passionately: but +you will care for your husband when you are married, and you will love +your children." + +Lady Estelle drooped her eyelids until the long lashes rested on her +swiftly paling cheek. + +"Mamma, I _hate_ the word marriage!" she said, with far more than her +usual vehemence. + +"We will drop the question at present," said her mother, anxiously. "You +are looking very pale and ill. This long ride has been too much. I wish +I had not permitted it." + +Yes, Lady Estelle was the worse for her visit. She looked paler each +day, and often when alone she whispered: + +"Faithless and debonair--faithless and fair; faithless and debonair!" + +The duke soon concluded that he must begin his wanderings again in +search of health and strength for his idolized only child. The suitors +were sent sway, the castle was closed, and the family of Downsbury went +far from Brackenside and little Doris. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +ALL, ALL IS VANITY. + + +Meanwhile, at the farm little Doris grew under the protection of Mark +and Patty, and yearly, as the day came round which was the anniversary +of her arrival, Mark received a hundred pounds, in golden sovereigns, or +in fresh, new Bank of England notes. And Mark, in his sturdy honesty, +and far-seeing common sense, developed rare qualities as a guardian. +Plain man as he was, he guessed at what a girl of good family or high +social position should know, and preparing Doris for that position to +which some day her unknown mother might call her, he resolved that she +should receive accomplishments. + +Fortune favored him. In Brakebury lived a Frenchman, a political exile, +a gentleman of high accomplishments. Monsieur D'Anvers was held in great +awe in the village; his courtly grace, the foreign tongues he spoke, the +pictures that he drew, the water-color landscapes which he painted and +sold in London, his playing on various instruments--all lifted him far +above his neighbors. + +To Monsieur D'Anvers went honest Mark, when Doris was eight years old, +and offered him fifty pounds a year to tutor the two little girls, the +brown and the fair. + +"You will teach Mattie what she wants to learn, and what she can learn," +said Mark; "but Doris can learn anything, and I want you to teach her +all you know." + +So Doris was taken daily to her tutor, as she had been to the school of +the Misses Hopwell, and the old French courtier bowed down and worshiped +her, as in all her life did all the men who were brought into contact +with her. To teach her was a labor of love. Her aptitude was marvelous. +She learned to speak French and German fluently; she drew and painted +with taste and skill; her little fingers, with some inherited grace, +flew over the ivory keys, or touched the shining cords of harp and +guitar. Manners--the manners of courts--the banished Frenchman taught +her, and she learned them intuitively. + +"_Mon Dieu!_" cried the old gentleman; "but this child is lovely! She +surpasses Ninon D'Enclos and Diana de Poitiers! She has spirit, wit, +originality--everything that is admirable! A queen might be proud to be +her mother!" + +Doris swayed and enchanted her old preceptor. Mattie, quietly studying +French, drawing, and English literature, was left far behind by her +foster-sister, who was speedily learning all that the tutor could teach. + +"You should have been born a princess, _ma belle_!" the old man would +say, delighted with some flash of wit, some piquant performance. "What +will you do with all your beauty here on a farm?" + +"Am I very beautiful?" demanded Doris. + +"More beautiful than Helen, for whom thousands died; than Cleopatra, who +had the world's conquerors at her feet! What will you do with so much +beauty?" + +"Make the most of it!" and the words jarred on the aristocrat. + +All men said the same. Even the rector unwisely cried: + +"Little maid, you have beauty enough to turn your head. Do not let it +make you proud." + +"Who made me beautiful?" asked Doris. + +"God, my child." + +"Is it not right to be proud of God's work and gifts?" + +"You have beauty enough to be a snare," said the doctor. + +"God gave me my beauty, and God is good, and does not set snares," said +Doris, quickly, making Mark and the doctor laugh at her ready wit. + +"A beautiful body is nothing without a beautiful soul," said Mark, +mindful of the letter saying, "Keep her soul white and pure." + +"I would rather have a beautiful body than a beautiful soul," said +Doris, promptly. + +"Why, my dear?" demanded the good man, in amaze. + +"Because my body is where people can see it. Who can see my soul?" said +Doris, scornful of her best possession. + +Mark was shocked. + +"That comes from every one praising you so foolishly; you will be +ruined!" he exclaimed. + +"Mattie can have the beautiful soul, and I will have the beautiful +body," retorted Doris. "Monsieur D'Anvers says wisdom is the best gift, +the gift for kings. I say beauty is the best gift, the gift for queens; +and queens have always ruled kings." + +Mark shook his head. It is hard labor to rear an eagle in a sparrow's +nest. + +"Mother," said Doris, one day, when she was twelve, "this shall not go +on longer--I'm sick of it." + +"What, my child? Of what are you sick?" + +"Of the village, of the farm, of our way of living. I hate it. If I am +kept here longer I know I shall run away." + +"My dear, are we not good to you?" + +"Oh, yes, you are good, of course; but it is not goodness I want; it is +change; I want something new--some more _style_." + +"But how and where, Doris?" + +"Send me to boarding-school. I want to know more of the way ladies do +and live. We see no one here. If Mattie does not want to go, I ought not +to be kept home. I have learned all Monsieur D'Anvers knows. I talk +French and German as fast as he does--we go over the same old things." + +"That is true, mother," said Mattie. "Doris is a great scholar. I cannot +go away from home; I don't want to; I love to stay and help you; but let +Doris go." + +"I will ask your father," said Patty, hesitatingly. + +"And he'll say to let the child have her own way," said Doris, with a +laugh. + +"Well, I must consult your father." + +"Consult my father!" said Doris, with wonderful scorn. + +She had a singular contempt for all about her, though no hint that she +was other than the child of the Braces had been given her. + +She had her way; she went to a fashionable boarding-school. For her +clothing and tuition honest Mark paid the entire hundred pounds each +year. She elected to visit schoolmates at vacation, and for four years +Brackenside Farm knew no more of the golden-haired mystery. + +At sixteen she came home again, beautiful as a fairy, ripe for mischief, +mad for display--a tireless reader of French novels. + +She looked about that home of rustic goodness, and covert scorn dwelt in +the violet eyes and sat lightly on the chiseled lips; her parents were +"so plain," her sister Mattie "a country simpleton." + +They on their part rose up to do her homage; they bowed down and +worshiped at beauty's shrine. And was she not most beautiful? + + "Beauty was hers in dower, such as earth + Doth rarely reckon 'mid her fading things: + A glory lit her tears, and in her mirth + Shook the sweet laughter of translucent springs." + +Already an adept in coquetry, she sighed at once for a victim for her +charms. Alas! she found him near. + +"Are there any new people?" she asked of Mattie. + +"Only Earle Moray." + +"Eh? A decent sounding name. Who is he?" + +"A poet and a gentleman," cried Mattie, enthusiastically. + +"A poet? Poets live, I understand, in garrets." + +"But Earle has some money," said Mattie, simply. + +"Earle? So? You seem to know him rather well." + +Poor Mattie blushed crimson. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +THE YOUNG COQUETTE. + + "For some had perished in her stern neglect-- + Fell on the sword of their own hope and died; + While she in triumph, scornfully erect, + Swept o'er their ashes with the skirts of pride." + + +Before returning to Brackenside, Doris had demanded a room for herself, +and for this room certain furnishings. She did not know that Mark and +Patty would say to each other: + +"It is only fair, since we have for her a hundred pounds a year;" but +she did know that her will would be law to them. + +She brought with her, when she came back to the farm, many little +adornments, purchases of her own, or gifts from her school friends; and +these Mattie dutifully arranged for her, just as she had polished the +windows and nailed down the carpet, and ironed the curtains before Doris +came. Doris never thought of helping her. She perched herself, Turk +fashion, on the foot of the bed, and issued her orders as a good-natured +little mistress to her maid. There were knickknacks for the +toilet-table, pictures for the wall, a little book-case of hanging +shelves. + +"Your room will be fit for a princess, Doris," said Mattie. + +"For a princess!" said Doris, with scorn. "If I were half a princess, or +only rich, I would clear out the rubbishy things at once. You might have +them, Mattie, since you like them. I would have gold-mounted furnishings +for my dressing-table, silk hangings, velvet carpets, upholstery in +plush and satin, gold, white, pale-blue. I would have exquisite marbles, +and pictures that cost a fortune each." + +"But you never saw such things," said Mattie. + +"No; only I have read of them, and find in myself a fitness for them. I +would give _anything_ for such luxury." + +"Do not pine, dear, for what you can never have." + +"I may have it some day," said Doris, defiantly. + +"But how would you get it?" + +"By my beauty. The world belongs to beauty." + +Mattie was shocked. She was putting the books on the shelves, and her +honest face clouded. She said to Doris: + +"I fear your books are worse than none. How did you come to get such +books? I have heard Monsieur D'Anvers say some of these were vile trash; +and I notice sentences in the others that are not fit reading for a +young maid." + +"They are French," said Doris. + +"That does not make them better. There are good books to be had in +French; and you have Byron for your only poet. I have heard our rector +say Byron is unfit reading for girls." + +"You ridiculous, strait-laced creature!" + +"And I don't quite like your pictures, dear. The _subjects_ are not +pleasant to me. These French beauties were famous for vice. La +Pompadour, and Diana, and the rest. This Cleopatra is too scantily +attired to suit my taste, and this Trojan Helen is not a nice picture. I +would have chosen Joan of Arc, and tender Margaret More, and sad +Hecuba, and martyr Margaret. Pictures should elevate our souls." + +"My goodness, Mattie! have you been taking lessons of that gentleman +poet you mentioned? Where does he live!" + +"At Lindenholm--his mother owns it, and came there two years ago, when +she was left a widow. Her husband was a curate." + +"Then I don't believe your Earle Moray is very rich. He is just a +farmer, if he has only Lindenholm. I remember the place, half villa, +half farm-house, with great linden trees around it. Does he write +books?" + +"He has written one small one--'Songs of the Country-side.' I have it +here. You can read it; it is like music." + +"Ta, ta! I hate poetry. What does the man look like?" + +"Why, he looks as he is, a gentleman, a good man." + +"I foresee I shall have a surfeit of goodness here. If the man is +neither rich nor handsome, he will hardly pay to flirt with, unless one +is desperate." + +"To flirt with!" cried Mattie, aghast. "You would not _flirt_, Doris?" + +"And why wouldn't I?" + +"Why, it is wicked. It is cruel, it is deceitful." + +"Hear the girl talk!" cried Doris, flinging herself back on the bed with +peals of musical laughter. "Why, goosey, I flirted with every male +creature I set eyes on at school." + +"But I thought they did not allow such things." + +"Allow? You will undoubtedly be the death of me, with your simplicity," +said Doris, sitting up, her golden hair distractingly rumpled, her eyes +shining with glee, her dimples dancing like tricky sprites among the +deepened roses on her cheeks. "_Don't_ you understand that it was our +chief aim to do what we were not allowed? Men, I admit, were scarce. The +writing-master was engaged to one of the teachers; but I flirted with +him until _she_ nearly cried her eyes out; and after he withstood me +three months he surrendered at discretion, and I laughed at him. The +French master vowed he would kill himself on my behalf; the music-master +fell so conspicuously into my power that the preceptress dismissed him, +and got a gorgon of a woman in green spectacles in his place. As for the +dancing-master, he played the fool and erred exceedingly whenever I was +in sight; so the girls said it was better than any theater." + +"Doris, I am ashamed of you." + +"What odds does that make, so long as I am not ashamed of myself?" + +"But you will not act in that way with Earle?" + +"Why won't I? Are you afraid of losing him?" + +"He doesn't belong to me," said Mattie, blushing. + +"How soon am I likely to see him?" demanded Doris. + +"To-morrow. Every day. His mother wants him to be a farmer. She manages +Lindenholm now, and sends him to take farming lessons of father. Father +thinks everything of Earle, and so does mother." + +"A farmer! The game is not worth the candle. I wouldn't be a farmer's +wife for anything. I loathe being a farmer's daughter." + +"I don't," said Mattie, with spirit. "I'm proud of my home, my honest +race, my good, sweet mother, my dear father." + +"How queer!" said Doris, meditatively. "Now, I couldn't see anything to +be proud of in all _that_. I should be proud of a coach and grays, and +men in livery--of suits of jewels, of a French maid, of velvet, satin, +lace, brocade dresses." + +"Doris," said Mattie, anxiously, "_have_ you any soul?" + +"Soul? If we cannot live without one, and soul makes the heart go, I +suppose I have; otherwise, I don't feel aware of the property you +mention." + +"I believe you are only jesting, to tease me. You were always brighter +than I am, and a real rogue. You have higher ideas and better intentions +and wishes than you say." + +"No, really I haven't--not one bit." + +"Why, then," said poor Mattie, deeply distressed, "it must be your moral +nature that is lacking." + +"_Moral nature?_ That's just it," said Doris, with infinite +satisfaction. "Moral nature--I haven't any. I think all the nature I +have must be immoral; I always side with the sinners in all stories." + +Mattie had finished arranging the pretty little room. Doris jumped from +her place on the bed. + +"Really you have made it look very well, considering what you have to do +it with. A sort of household fairy, you, Mattie; your name should be +Brownie. Now we will play you are my maid. I am going to bed, and I like +to have my hair brushed a long time. It is good for my nerves, and good +for my hair. Will you be my maid?" + +"With great pleasure," said Mattie, letting down the golden flood of +Doris' silken hair. "How beautiful it is!" + +"I think I am beautiful every way," said Doris, calmly. + +"You are, indeed," said Mattie, without the least envy. + +"Your hair will not brush straight! It is all in wavy clusters." + +"You will brush it every night, and then I shall like you." + +"Surely I will brush it, when you wish. But I like you in all cases," +said Mattie. "And I want you to be good, dear." + +"And not flirt with Earle Moray? Or other men? I'll not promise that. +Flirting is my nature. I will flirt with this Earle until he puts his +heart in my hands, and I will crush it up _so_--as I do this +rosebud--and drop it--_so_! You watch and see how it is done, Mattie." + +Tears rushed to Mattie's eyes. She hurriedly left the room. + +"In love with him! Jealous! Oh, delightful! Here is something to amuse +me. I thought I must surely die of dullness here, but I can flirt with +the 'gentleman and poet,' and drive this preaching little puritan mad +with envy, and that may fill up a year for me. Then, if the prince has +not come along to woo, I shall go out somewhere to seek my fortune. +Anything but stagnation. I will go where no one of the name of Brace +shall follow me." + +Meanwhile, Mattie, in her own neat, snug room, sat in the moonlight, +mourning over the perverseness of this beautiful beloved sister, and +trembling for Earle Moray, whom she called her friend, and held far +dearer, without knowing it. How could any man help loving such a +dazzling creature as this Doris? And his manly, noble heart must then be +crushed and flung away like that ruined rose? She looked up to the +moon-lit sky. There was her helper and her friend. She prayed: + +"God keep poor Earle." + +Then, comforted, she sought her bed and slept the sleep of faith. Doris +slept the sleep of youth and abounding health, until Mrs. Brace awoke +her. + +"It is almost seven, dear. I let you sleep late this morning." + +"This late? Now, mother, you might as well know I made my own hours for +rising, and I will never rise at seven!" + +Patty sighed, and left her; she knew Doris would always have her own +way. + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +POET AND GENTLEMAN. + + "I sat with Doris, beloved maiden, + Her lap was laden with wreathed flowers: + I sat and wooed her, through sunlight wheeling, + And shadows stealing, for hours and hours." + + +Rose the sun over an idyllic day; the white clouds floated softly over +the summer blue; the poppies blazed in scarlet splendor through the +grass; the bearded barley stood in sheaves, and through the meadows of +Brackenside, that prosperous farmer, Mark Brace, led his men to their +work. + +Earle Moray, whose mother looked on poesy as the macadamizing of the +road to ruin, and desired nothing better for her son than the safe +estate and healthful, honest life of a farmer, had come to take a lesson +in stacking corn. + +It is true that farm work was not especially attractive to Earle the +poet, but pleasing his mother was attractive to Earle the son; the +friendship of honest Mark was attractive to Earle the man; and Earle had +common sense to know that every man is better off for knowing how to win +his bread from the field. Therefore, came Earle to his lesson. + +"My sister has come!" said Mattie, meeting him with a boding heart. "She +has grown more lovely than ever in these four years. You will write +poems about her when you see her. Her face is a poem, her voice and +laugh are poems!" + +"And where is the phoenix of girls?" demanded Earle. + +"Down there under the great elm, watching the reapers. I will introduce +you to her," said Mattie, who thought this fatal introduction should be +well over with, the sooner the better. + +Perhaps Doris was in a less impish mood to-day. Frank Mattie did not +dream how Doris had meditated all the morning on the new situation, and +had dressed for conquest. In rustic surroundings she would play the +rural queen. Her dress was a simple print, a white ground with little +green sprays of maiden-hair traced on it. At her neck a knot of pale +green, through which was carelessly drawn a flower; in her gleaming hair +a cluster of hop blossoms; her wide straw hat at her feet was trimmed +with a wreath of hop-vine; over her shoulders fell her wonderful hair. +She held a book in her lap; one white hand rested on the page, the other +brushed back a truant curl; and she lifted her lovely eyes in innocent, +pleased expectation, as Mattie and Earle drew near. + +The heart of Earle Moray stood still with surprise, then it leaped as if +it would break its bounds, and a flood of passionate admiration fired +his whole being. Oh, how divine a thing she was, this naiad in the +meadow-land; all poetry should wait as handmaid at her feet. Why was one +born to sing, unless to sing. Those shining eyes, those dimpling smiles, +that flush of dawn upon her cheeks, well becoming the young morning of +her maiden life. Oh, daughter of the gods of Hellas! Oh, "being fit to +startle and surprise," looking at her, this boy-poet, whose soul had +until now only stirred in its sleep, and murmured in its dreams, awoke +to full and perfect life. + +Mattie looked into his flushing face, his kindling eyes, and saw that +words, if she had dared to utter them, would now be fruitless to warn +him of Doris. She could only in her secret soul hope that Doris was less +cruel than she had said, and so send up in silence to the ear of Heaven, +that prayer: + +"God save Earle Moray!" + +Earle looked at her. + +"Mattie! What is on your mind? Do you want to say something to me?" + +"No--yes--only--that you must remember that my sister is only a child, +and takes nothing seriously. You will not mind any nonsense that she +says." + +"Surely she will speak as she looks, like an angel." + +They drew near the elm. With what consummate art were the violet eyes +drawn down from contemplation of their native skies to comprehension of +earth's lower things! With what a sudden start at the _abandon_ of her +own position on the grass did Doris greet Mattie and the +"gentleman-poet!" She saw the flush on his cheek, the ardent flame +lighting his dark eyes. She said to herself: + +"I shall have no trouble here; he is at my feet already. Thank fortune +the man is handsome; and what an air he has! I shall not waste time on +him, as it would be wasted on a clod-hopper. He will be good practice +for better times." + +"Ah," she said, as Earle asked permission to sit on the grass at her +feet, "I don't know that you belong there. Are you a worker or an idler? +Mattie is a worker; if you are industrious and good, you must go with +her or my father. I am an idler; if you are naughty and idle, you belong +with me." + +"I am of still a third class--I am a dreamer. Here let me sit and dream +of heaven." + +Mattie turned away, fearful and sick of heart; the mischief was done. + +"Dreaming is even better than idling," said Doris. "And here is a real +land of dreams. See how the poppies bend, sleepy with sunshine; the +sunshine is a flood of refined gold; the bees fly slowly, drunk with +perfume; the butterflies drift up and down like beautiful, happy, +aimless thoughts. Let us dream, and live to be happy." + +"One could not do better," cried Earle. "Here shall be our lotus-land, +and you are a fit genius for the place, Miss Brace." + +"Now, at the very beginning, I must make a treaty with you. Are you +coming here often?" + +"I hope so." + +"Then, unless I am to hate you on the spot, you must not call me Miss +Brace. I detest the name! If there is one name above another that I +hate, it is that name Brace! It is so common, so mean--a wretched +monosyllable!" + +"But you would grace any name!" cried Earle. + +"I don't mean to grace that very long!" exclaimed Doris. + +Earle opened his eyes in uncontrollable amazement. + +"You don't know what it is to suffer from a wretched, short, commonplace +name. Look at me, and consider that I am called, above all things, Doris +Brace! Horrors! Now, your name is fairly good. Earle Moray. There is a +savor of gentility, of blood, of breeding, about that. You can venture +to rise with such a name. I can only rise by dropping mine, and that I +mean to do." + +Earle laughed. This was, after all, the pretty, captious nonsense of a +little child. + +"But Doris is a sweet name. It fits this sweet, home-like landscape. +Doris, the lovely shepherdess, has been sung and painted for centuries." + +"But I have no genius for woods or fields, and I am afraid of sheep. +However, Miss Doris is better than--Miss Brace." + +She reached for a poppy growing in the grass, and the book fell from her +knee. Earle picked it up, and saw what it was. + +"_This!_" he exclaimed, in genuine consternation. + +Now, Doris absolutely lacked the moral sense that would make her ashamed +of the book, or revolt at anything she found therein. But she had native +wit, and she saw that she was on the point of instantly losing caste +with Earle Moray on account of this literature. + +"Eh? What kind is it?" she said, with enchanting simplicity. "I bought +it on the train late yesterday, and since I came out here I have been +too happy to read it. Isn't it a nice book?" + +"I should say not," said Earle. + +"How do you know, unless you have read it?" + +"I know the author's reputation; and then, the title!" + +"Dear me! And so I must not read it?--and my one-and-six-pence gone! +Whenever I try to do particularly right, I do wrong. Unlucky, isn't it? +Now the last word my French teacher said to me was, 'By all means keep +up your French; you have such a beautiful accent.'" + +Earle looked relieved. Here was an explanation of exquisite simplicity. +There was no spot on this sweet, stainless lily. + +Mattie came back. + +"Doris, mother thinks you had better unpack your trunk. Your dresses +will be rumpled lying in it so long." + +"You unpack it, like a dear! I shall ruin my things taking them out; and +then, I can't go in, it is so lovely out-of-doors." + +"Did you not put the things in, to begin with?" asked Mattie. + +"No, dear; one of the girls did. The _girls_ loved to wait on me, +Mattie!" This with sweet reproach. + +"But mother thinks you are keeping Earle from work." + +"Go away, Earle!" said Doris, giving him a dainty little push. "If you +stay idle here, I am to be called in and set to work. After that stuffy +old school this four years, I cannot stay indoors. Go, Mattie, and tell +mother if she insists on my coming in, I shall appeal at once to my +fairy godmother to turn me into a butterfly." + +Mattie walked slowly away. + +"That's all right," said Doris, with satisfaction. "They all end by +letting me have my own way." + +"And how does that work?" + +"Well. Don't you suppose it is always a very nice way?" + +"It must be, indeed," said Earle, heartily. + +He thought to himself that so charming a form must shrine only the +tenderest of hearts, the sweetest of souls, and her way must always be a +good way. + +The girl was infinitely more lovely than one could look for in the child +of Mark and Patty Brace, the sister of gentle Mattie; but being the +child of Mark and Patty, and sister of Mattie, she must be a sharer in +their goodness, that sterling honesty, that generous unselfishness, that +made these three everywhere beloved and respected, patterns of domestic +and neighborly virtues. + +Thus thinking, Earle sunned himself in the radiance of her smiles. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +A WASTED WARNING. + + +While Earle Moray watched Doris, and lost himself in delicious fancies +of a soul fair as the body that shrined it, Doris, on her part, gazed on +him with awakening interest. She had expected to see a young countryman, +a rhymster who believed himself a poet, one with whom she could "flirt +to pass away the time," and "to keep in practice"--not this gentleman in +air and dress, with the cultivated musical voice, the noble face, the +truthful, earnest eye. + +Said Doris in her heart, "I did not know that little dairy-maid Mattie +had such good taste;" and in proportion as the value of Mattie's love +increased before her, so increased her joy in winning it away. Not that +Doris had any malice toward Mattie personally; but she had a freakish +love of triumphing in the discomfiture of others. Slowly she yielded to +the fascination of Earle's presence. She told herself that "the +detestable country" could be endurable with him to play lover at her +feet. To her, mentally arraigning "the detestable country," spoke +Earle: + +"I love this scene; fairer is hardly found in any book of nature. What +is more lovely, more suggestive, than a wheat field with golden +sheaves?" + +"I am a true child of the cities," said Doris, "despite my country birth +and rural name. I was just thinking how superior are the attractions of +paved streets, filled with men and women, and lined with glittering +windows. But if you will tell me some of the suggestions of the wheat +field, no doubt I shall learn from you to think differently." + +How charming was this docile frankness! + +"It suggests earth's millions filled daily with bread. It suggests that +gracious Providence, by long and lovely processes, forestalling man's +needs. It brings to mind the old-time stories of Joseph's dream of +bowing sheaves, of Ruth gleaning in the field of Boaz." + +The stories of Ruth, Rebecca and Esther were the three Bible stories +that Doris knew; the face of Doris lighted as she answered: + +"Oh, I like that! I have imagined Boaz--tall, grave, stately, dark; and +Ruth--young, and fair, and tender. I cannot quite fancy how Naomi +looked--like other old women with a sad history, I suppose--but the +words are lovely." + +"'Whither thou goest I will go; thy people shall be my people, and thy +God my God.'" + +His voice took a deep, passionate tone, and his eyes filled with the +light of love. + +"Mattie says you are a poet!" cried Doris. "Are you?" + +"I wish I could say 'I am.' Time will prove me. I have the poet's +longing. Shall I ever reach the poet's utterance?" + +"Why, I think you have it now," said Doris, sweetly. + +"It is because you inspire me, perhaps. As I came toward you, I wondered +whether you were Tennyson's 'Dora' or 'The Gardener's Daughter.'" + +"Oh, neither! I am very different! They were content with trees and +flowers, and humble ways. Was it not Dora who 'dwelt unmarried till her +death?' I shall not do that. I shall marry and fly from the +country-side. I can _live_ among people in the city." + +"What! cannot you live the truest life where wind, and rain, and +water-fall, and birds make music? the flowers mark the sweet procession +of seasons--all is calm, and security, and innocence." + +"Tell me," said Doris, bending forward, glee in her sapphire eyes, her +small hand thrilling him as she touched his arm; "tell me, poet, are +_you_ content? Do _you_ not long for fame? To sway your fellows, to be +rich, to make money?" + +"Oh, money is the lowest of all objects. What is money to love?" +demanded Earle. + +"Money, just as metal, may be a low object, but money as money, as +getting what we want most, is a high object. Think of what it can buy. +Think of gorgeous pictures lighting your walls with beauty, of flashing +jewels and gleaming marbles, of many-fountained gardens, of homes fit to +live in, not stuffy little farm-houses, with windows under the eaves. +Tell me, are you content? Will you live and die a farmer? Is not this +money a thing worth winning to lay at the feet of love? Will you not +spread the wings of your soul for a wider life? Have you not ambition?" + +"Yes!" cried Earle; "I have ambition." + +The dimpling smile showed the shining pearly line of little teeth; the +soft fingers of the little hand touched his hand as she withdrew them; +and, leaning back against her oak tree, she laughed joyously: + +"I have found a fellow-sinner." + +"Ambition can be noble, rather than evil, and to aspire is not to sin. +Who could help being ambitious, with you as the apostle of ambition? You +enforce with your beauty each word that you utter!" + +"You think me _beautiful_?" said Circe, in sweetest wonderment, as if +she had not studied dress, look, pose, gesture, minutely to enhance her +wonderful and rich endowments of nature. + +"Words cannot tell how fair. A verse keeps singing through my brain; it +is this: + + "'And she, my Doris, whose lap incloses + Wild summer roses of sweet perfume, + The while I sued her, smiled and hearkened, + Till daylight darkened from glow to gloom.'" + +Ah, this was something like, thought Doris, to be wooed and flattered in +poetry. She dropped her dainty lids, the rose pink deepened in her +cheeks, and she gave a slow, sweet sigh. + +"Did you make that poetry?" + +"No: but would I could make immortal verses, for your sake," said Earle. +"The world should hear of you." + +The world! Oh, rare delight! Had she not dreamed of driving men mad for +love, of making poets sing, and artists paint her charms? And these +conquests were begun. + +She looked up archly. She knew when to check the tides of enthusiasm and +adoration, that they might grow stronger for the repression. + +"Away with poetry, my singer, here comes prose." + +Over the field toward them strode honest Mark Brace, looking for his +neophyte in rural toils. Mark's round face was crimson with heat and +exertion, but a broad smile responded to the pretty picture these two +young lovers made under the tree. He cried, heartily: + +"A deal you are learning this morning, Master Earle. Will you put off +your lessons in wheat-stacking till next year? Lindenholm farm, at this +rate, will be a model farm to the county when the madam turns it over to +you." + +"I was not in working humor," said Earle. + +"Work won't wait for humors," quoth Mark. "And for you, my pretty miss, +I don't doubt your sister is making butter and your mother cooking +dinner, while you are playing shepherdess under a tree." + +"Do I look as if I could work?" laughed Doris, springing to her feet and +extending a wee rose-leaf hand. "I am only for ornament, not use. But I +will leave Mr. Moray, for 'evil communications corrupt good manners,' +and I have made him lazy. Good-bye, poet. 'Blessings brighten as they +take their flight;' so I expect to look more and more charming as I +depart homeward." + +The minx knew that she had done enough that day to turn Earle Moray's +head, and it would be well to let the effect deepen in absence. She +danced off homeward, and Earle whispered under his breath: + + "Against her ankles as she trod, + The lucky buttercups did nod; + I leaned upon the gate to see-- + The sweet thing looked, but did not speak-- + A dimple came in either cheek, + And all my heart was gone from me!" + +Mark Brace looked after his Fairy Changeling in dire perplexity. To him +work, honest labor--winning bread from the soil, was noble and happy; in +all the words of Doris rang some delicate undertone of irony and scorn, +of what he most esteemed. Fair, fair, indeed, but was it not selfish of +her to let those whom she deemed her blood, work, and she stay idle? +Yes, there was the hundred pounds, and she was not really their blood, +but of some idle never-toiling strain. + +More and more his hands were bound concerning the beauty, as she grew up +in his care. He wished he could explain her to Moray, but he could not. +Honor held him to silence. He could warn. He spoke suddenly, laying a +hand on the lad's arm. + +"Earle, I like you vastly. You are honest, good, a gentleman. I should +be sorry indeed to see you giving your time, and mind, and setting your +heart on that pretty, idle lass of mine." + +"Sorry, Mark? Why sorry? She is sweet and lovely!" + +"If it were Mattie, now," said honest Mark, speaking, not as a father or +match-maker, but as a man. "Well and good. I'd not say a word. A man's +heart may rest in Mattie--Heaven bless her! But Doris is of quite a +different strain. In her there is no rest. One could never find rest in +her. Never--never." + +Earle tried to smile, but the words struck home, and were fixed in his +heart beside the thought of Doris. + +Meanwhile Doris danced off home, and framed her lovely countenance in +the vines about the kitchen window. + +"And what have _you_ been doing?" asked Patty, reprovingly. + +"Turning Earle Moray's head," responded Doris, promptly. + +Mattie started and paled a little. + +"He thinks I'm lovely!" cried Doris, with a laugh. + +"So you may be, but no thanks to you," said Patty, "and if you set +yourself to head-turning, mark my words, child, there will some terrible +evil overtake you both." + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +THE FOSTER-SISTERS. + + +Summer day glided silently after summer day, and at Brackenside Farm +Earle Moray was re-telling for himself the story of Eden--the love of +one man for one woman, to him the only woman in the world. Alas, that +his had not been a more guileless Eve! The love-making was patent to +every one, and the family at the farm wondered where it would end. Mark +Brace was truly sorry that Earle had set his heart on the lovely, +fantastic Doris; and yet, honest man, he did not wonder that any young +fellow should be beguiled by so fair a face, and he could not but be +heartily amused at the queenly airs with which the farm foundling, +believing herself a tenant-farmer's child, received the homage of Earle +Moray, poet and gentleman, owner of the little estate of Lindenholm. + +Good Patty Brace was, on her part, greatly perplexed. With woman's keen +intuition in love, she perceived the intense sincerity of Earle's +passion for Doris, and saw as well that Doris was entirely without heart +for him. The girl admired him, loved his flattery, desired to be some +one's chief object, but would have tossed him aside as easily as an old +glove if a more dashing adorer had made his appearance. Besides, if +Doris gave consent to Earle's wooing, would Mrs. Moray be well pleased +with her son's choice? Mrs. Moray of Lindenholm was a thoroughly +practical woman, and would see at a glance that the idle young beauty +would be a very unreliable wife for any man, especially for one of +moderate means. + +"What fools men are in love matters," quoth Patty to herself--"at least +most men!" with a thought backward to Mark's sensible choosing. "This +dreamer and verse-writer would have done well to choose our Mattie, who +would help him on and make him happy his life-long. But Doris is only +fit to marry a lord, as no doubt she sprung from a lord; but where a +lord is to come from as a suitor goodness knows, not I." + +And, of all who saw the summer wooing, Mattie was the most deeply +touched, but gave no sign. When she felt the sharpness of the pain when +Doris asserted empire over Earle, then Mattie first guessed that she had +set her love upon him; and she gave herself the task of rooting out +lover's love, and planting sisterly affection in its stead. Her gentle +face grew graver, her soft brown eyes had a more wistful light, but not +a thought of jealousy, or anger, or envy. God was good to Mattie in that +no ill weeds throve in her maiden soul. Doris did not find the sweetness +she had expected in tormenting her, for Mattie gave no signs of +torment--rather for Earle than for herself she was sad, and that with +reason. + +It is sad to see a young man love absorbingly, madly, giving up all for +love. Doris became his one idea. Even his mother, while she knew he was +attracted by a pretty daughter of Mark Brace, did not guess his +infatuation. Scarcely an hour in the day were the young pair parted. + +Earle had told Doris of the poet's old recipe for a lovely complexion, +washing in morning dew; and Doris, to preserve the most exquisite +complexion in the world, went out, when the sun rose, to bathe her +cheeks and brow with the other lilies and roses in the dews of the +dawning. Earle met her and rambled with her through flowery lanes. When +his supposed studies in farming began, he was rather lounging at the +feet of Doris than learning of Mark Brace; yet so eagerly did he hurry +off to the farm, that his mother blessed his unwonted attention to his +duty. + +He dined at home, not to leave his mother lonely, then off again, and +his farm studies consisted in reading poetry or tales to Doris, under +trees, or wandering far into the gloaming with her in Brackenside +garden. His heart poured itself out in Herrick's grand old song "To +Anthea:" + + "Thou art my life, my soul, my heart, + The very eyes of me-- + Thou hast command of every part, + To live and die for thee." + +His rich young voice rolled forth these words with deep feeling. + +Doris laughed at the song at first, but his earnestness in singing it +touched her a very little. + +"I shall always think of you when I hear that song," she said. + +"Think of me! Yes, but if it means that we are to be parted, and you +think--just to remember--Doris, I should die!" + +He was fervid, handsome, romantic, brilliant in love's first golden +glow, hard to resist. + +She smiled at him. + +"Let us fancy we will not be parted," she said sweetly. + +Earle came hurrying up one day after dinner. + +"Now for a long evening in the garden!" he cried. "I have brought a new +drama; the poetry is exquisite. We will sit in the arbor under the +honeysuckle, and while the summer wind is full of the breath of flowers, +I will read you the sweeter breathing of a poet's soul. Come, +Doris--come, Mattie--let us off to the garden." + +Mattie's face flushed with joy; it was so sweet to find some pleasure +she could share with him. + +Earle read; his voice was full of fire and music. Mattie listened +entranced. Doris half forgot her favorite dreams of herself in gorgeous +crowds, the center of admiration. The gloaming fell as he read the last +lines. + +"It is beautiful, in its poetry," said Mattie, "but not in its idea. I +cannot love the heroine, though her face is fair. Beauty should be +united to goodness, and goodness has not this cruel pride. To think of a +woman who would let a brave man die, or risk death, to win a smile! I +always hated the lady who threw the glove, and I think the knight served +her well, to leave her when he returned the glove, for she had no idea +of true love." + +"Beauty has a right to all triumphs," cried Doris, "and men have always +been ready to die for beauty's smile." + +"A good man's life is worth more than any woman's smile," said Mattie. +"The man's life, the woman's life, are Heaven's gifts, to be spent in +doing good. We have no right to throw them idly away, or demand their +sacrifice. I never liked these stories of wasted affection. They are +too pitiful. To give all and get nothing is a cruel fate." + +"Oh, you little silly country girl," laughed Doris, "you do not think +that beautiful women are queens, and hearts are their rightful kingdom, +and they can get as many as they like, and do what they please with +them." + +"You talk to amuse yourself," said Earle, "that sweet smile and voice +fit your cruel words as little as they would suit an executioner's +sword." + +"What is slaying by treachery in love better than murder?" asked Mattie, +eagerly. + +"It is a very exciting, piquant, interesting form of murder," retorted +her wicked little sister. + +"How can any one enjoy giving pain," cried Mattie. "I have read of such +women, but to me they seem true demons, however fair. Think of +destroying hope, life, genius, morals--for what? For amusement, and yet +these sons all had mothers." + +"You are in earnest, Mattie," said Earle, admiringly. + +"I feel in earnest," said Mattie, passionately. + +"Pshaw, there is much spider and fly in men and women," laughed Doris. +"Women weave silvery nets in the sun, and the silly men walk straight +in. Who's to blame?" + +"You talk like a worn-out French cynic," cried Mattie. + +"Well, who _is_ to blame?" persisted Doris; "pretty women for just +amusing themselves according to their natures? or silly men for walking +into danger, being warned?" + +"It should not be a woman's nature to set traps for hearts or souls. You +know better, Doris," urged Mattie. + +"If I could be rich and great, and go to London, and live in society, +you'd see if I would _do_ better," retorted Doris. + +"You two remind me of verses of a poem on two sisters," said Earle. +"Their lives lay far apart. + + "'One sought the gilded world, and there became + A being fit to startle and surprise, + Till men moved to the echoes of her name, + And bowed beneath the magic of her eyes.'" + +"Yes, that means me," said Doris, tranquilly. + + "'But she, the other, with a happier choice, + Dwelt 'mong the breezes of her native fields, + Laughed with the brooks, and saw the flowers rejoice; + Brimmed with all sweetness that the summer yields.'" + +"That, then, is Mattie." + +Mattie looked up in gratified surprise. + +"If you are complimenting Mattie, I won't stay and hear it; I reign +alone!" cried Doris, half laughing, half petulant, and darting away she +sought her own room, and refused to return that night. + +It was often so. When she had sunned Earle with her smiles she withdrew +her presence, or changed smiles to frowns; so he was never cloyed with +too much sweetness. When Doris withdrew, in vain he sang under the +window, or sent her love-full notes. The summer sun of his love had its +settings, its shadows, its thunder-clouds, yet Earle loved and was +happy. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +BEAUTY BECOMES IMMORTAL. + + +It was the good custom of Mark Brace to close the day with prayer; and +sometimes a word or two of the psalms for the day penetrated the +sedulously deaf ears of Doris. + +Such happened to be the case one August night, and set the beauty +thinking. She was perched on the sill of the dairy window, next morning, +watching Mattie make butter, but her brow wore a perplexed frown, and a +look of curiosity not provoked by butter-making was in her blue eyes. + +"What is the matter? What are you thinking of, Doris?" + +"I am thinking that I am an example of Scripture truth." + +"In what particular?" asked Mattie. + +"In the particular of tumbling into the pit, or catching in the net, +duly set forth by me for other people." + +"I don't quite understand you." + +"Then you are even duller than usual, and, as I may no more speak in +parables, I will expound myself clearly. I deliberately endeavored to +entrap and entangle Earle Moray into loving me, for my summer pastime. I +did not duly consider that I might fall in love with him myself." + +"Why not, if you desired him to love you?" + +"That was merely part of beauty's dues, child. Why not? He is not rich +enough, or great enough; he cannot take me to London, and make me a +society queen." + +"Certainly not. You did not expect that." + +"True. And I did not expect to fall in love with him." + +"But you have? Surely you have, he loves you so much." + +"Eh? Do you want me to love him? I thought you wanted him." + +"I only want him to be happy," said Mattie, turning away, with a blush. + +"Perhaps I love him a little. I am not capable of loving much," said +Doris, with exceeding frankness. "My chief affections are set upon the +pomps and vanities of this life, which I presume were renounced for me +in my baptism." + +"Don't be so wicked," cried the scandalized Mattie. + +"And yet I don't know that I could say 'yes,' if Earle asked me to marry +him. I might, and then repent, and take it back. I suppose, if he asked +father and mother, they would say 'yes,' and be fearfully awkward about +it." + +"You shall not talk so about them!" said Mattie, indignantly. + +"I don't feel to them as you do--why is it? I don't feel a part of the +Brace family. I like you, Mattie; father amuses me with his outspoken, +homely ways; I don't consider mother much. She is good, but commonplace, +like brown bread. In fact, you are all too rustic, and homely, and +pious, and common-sensical for wicked me. Are you done with that butter? +Why don't it grow made? I am sick of life. Earle is off to Brakebury for +his mother. It is only half-past eight, and I feel as if I had been up a +century. Come with me to get blackberries." + +"I cannot. I have much dairy work to do yet," said Mattie. + +"I wish you _would_ go for blackberries for supper," said Patty Brace, +coming in. "You don't seem disposed to do anything useful, +Doris--suppose you try that." + +"I take care of my room, and my clothes," pouted Doris, "and that nearly +kills me. I wish I had a maid!" + +Patty laughed. + +"Well, child, the woods are cool and beautiful, and you are tired of +doing nothing. Take this basket, and try and fill it with blackberries." + +Fearful of being asked to do some more practical duty if she rejected +this, Doris picked up the basket, put on a pair of gloves, tied her +sun-hat down under her distracting little chin, and set forth toward the +knoll, a place famous for blackberries. The grass was long and thick, +the aftermath of clover loaded the air with fragrance, scarlet creepers +ran along the hedges, and at the knoll, with purple stems and green and +orange leaves, grew the blackberries in globules of polished jet. An +inspiration of industry seized Doris, and she filled her basket; the +soft little tips of her fingers were dyed crimson with the fruit. She +lingered over her task. Earle might return, and it would be pleasant +under the trees, birds singing and grass rustling about them, while +Earle talked poetry to her. + +But Earle did not come, and something in the silence of nature set this +thoughtless creature to thinking. + +It was one of those solemn hours of life when our fate hangs in the +balance. What of her future? What should she do with herself? Should she +give up her frantic ambition, her intense desire after excitement, +riches, and splendor, and, accepting an honest man, settle in a simple, +comfortable home, and grace it as a good wife and mother all her days? +Could she do that? + +Should she refuse Earle Moray, on whose lips an offer of himself and his +all was trembling? Should she send him away? She scarcely felt ready for +that. She had grown to love him a little--just a little--but more than +any one--except herself. Should she fly this homely, quiet life, these +good, uncongenial people, fly to the great city, and set out under a +feigned name to make her own way in the world, as singer, actress--any +wild, adventurous path that might find her at least a lord for a +husband? Should she? + +"Can I give him up? Can I leave him to Mattie? Will he ever be famous +and rich enough to make it worth while to nourish my little bit of love +for him into real love, if I can ever love? Oh, for some good fairy to +rise up and tell me what to do!" + +She started in sudden fear, for surely a step was coming close to her, +some one from the other side of the coppice, who had watched her unseen. +Not a fairy. A gentleman. A very presentable gentleman, who said: + +"I beg pardon. Do not let me alarm you." + +Then the two looked at each other. + +Doris saw a handsome, middle-aged man, palette on his thumb, box of +paints under his arm, portable easel in his hand; wide-awake hat, +velveteen suit. She promptly summed him up--"artist." + +He saw--Doris; Doris, mold of beauty; naiad in grace; innocence in her +startled eyes; face of an angel; mien of a wood nymph. He began to +believe in the gods of old. He said to himself, "Maid or spirit? Mortal +or vision?" + +"Forgive me for startling you," he said; "but I have been watching you +as you stood under this tree----" + +"I hate to be watched," interrupted Doris. + +"As a man I was guilty; as an artist, guiltless, for an artist, above +all things, loves and serves his art, and considers all he sees as +subservient to it. I came to Downsbury in quest of studies in still +life. For years I have had an ideal of a face that I wished to paint in +my best mood: a face after which all should wonder. I have searched +cities and country; I have wandered in my quest for that face through +other lands; and when I saw you under the tree, I was all the +artist--all lost in art--for yours is the face I have been seeking for +my canvas." + +"Why, do you mean I would make a picture--a real picture?" demanded +Doris, with studied simplicity. + +"Yes; ten thousand times yes! Under this greenwood tree, your basket at +your feet, your hat swinging in your hand, your eyes lifted--yes, a +picture to be known and praised forever. Child, I will make your beauty +immortal." + +This was what she had dreamed. + +A poet was singing her praises, and would do so, whether she played him +false or not; and here was an artist to paint her for a world to admire. + +Could she who so inspired men tie herself to the narrow bounds of one +humble, rustic hearth? Never! + +"May I paint you?" demanded the artist. "May I set you in canvas, in +immortal youth and loveliness, to live years, perhaps centuries hence, +in deathless beauty?" + +"The picture--the face--will live! Where, in those far off ages, shall +_I_ be?" asked Doris, earnestly. + +Gregory Leslie thought the word and mood strange. + +"The best part of you is immortal," he said, gently. + +"And what would you call my picture?" + +"'INNOCENCE.' Yes, 'INNOCENCE' should be its name!" + +"But what in me seems to you the image of '_Innocence_?'" + +Stranger question still. But he answered as an artist: + +"You have an ideal brow, rounded at the temples as the old masters +painted their angels. Your eyes are large, bright, clear, as seeing more +of heaven than earth. Your lips have the most exquisite curve. The form +of your face, its coloring, your hair, are all simply perfect!" + +"You shall paint my picture!" cried Doris, joyously, changing her mood. +"You need ask no consent but mine!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +"FAITHLESS AND DEBONAIR." + + +"Doris, you must not do it. I cannot bear it!" + +"I don't see what difference it makes to you, Earle, and you have no +right to interfere, and do it I surely shall." + +Thus Doris and Earle on the theme of portrait painting. + +Gregory Leslie was too astute a man, too experienced, to take his +wandering naiad at her word, and paint her picture, asking no consent +but her own. Never had a girl so puzzled him. Her rare beauty, found in +so remote and rural a district; her delicate hands, soft, cultured +tones, exquisite, high-bred grace, in contrast with her very common, +simple, if tasteful, dress: and then her words, so odd--either purest +innocence and simplicity, or curious art in wickedness. Who and what was +the young enchantress? Then, too, her smile, the turn of her neck, her +_way_ evoked constantly some shadowy reminiscence, some picture set far +back and grown dim in the gallery of his memory, but surely there. Again +and again he strove to catch the fleeing likeness, but at once, with the +effort, it was gone. + +"If you want to paint me, begin!" said Doris, child-like. + +"Pardon. It would inconvenience you to stand here; the sketch even would +take time. It must be a work of care. I shall do better if I have your +permission to accompany you home. Also I must ask your parents' +consent." + +"_They_ don't mind!" cried Doris, petulantly, after some little +hesitation. "I am only a farmer's daughter." She flushed with bitter +vexation at the thought, but seeing the artist immovable in his purpose, +added: "I live at Brackenside, it is not far; you can easily come +there." + +"If you will permit," said Gregory, with courtesy. + +"You can come. I have no objection," said Doris, with the air of a +princess. + +She picked up her basket, and moved away with the grace, the proud +bearing of "the daughter of a hundred earls." + +Gregory Leslie marveled more and more. As an artist, he was enraptured; +as a man, he was puzzled by this new Daphne. + +Doris, seemingly forgetting her new cavalier, yet taking a rapid side +look at him, considered that he was very handsome, if getting a little +gray; also, that his air was that of a man of the world, a dash of the +picturesque added to the culture of cities. + +She wished Earle would meet them, and go into a spasm of jealousy. But +Earle was spared that experience, and only Mark, Patty, and Mattie Brace +were at the farm-house, to be dazzled with the beauty's conquest. + +Arrived at the gate, Doris turned with proud humility to her escort. + +"This is my home. I do not like it. Most people think the place pretty." + +"It is a paradise!" said Leslie, enthusiastically. + +"Then it must have a serpent in it," quoth Doris. + +"I hope not," said Leslie. + +"It has. I have felt it bite!" + +Mark Brace, with natural courtesy, came from the door to meet them. + +"This is an artist that I met at the knoll," said Doris, calmly. "He is +looking for subjects for pictures. I think he mentioned his name was Mr. +Leslie, and he wishes to paint me." + +"Wants a picture of you, my darling!" said honest Mark, his face +lighting with a smile. "Then he shows his good taste. Walk in, sir; walk +in. Let us ask my wife." + +He led the way into the cool, neat, quaint kitchen-room, hated of Doris' +soul, but to the artist a study most excellent. + +Then did the artist look at the Brace family in deepest wonder. Mark had +called the wood-nymph "my darling," and asserted a father's right; and +yet not one line or trace of Mark was in this dainty maid. + +Leslie turned to study Patty, who had made her courtesy and taken the +basket of berries--dark, strong, plump, tidy, intelligent, kindly, +plain. Not a particle of Patty in this aristocratic young beauty, who +called her "mother" in a slighting tone. + +Then, in despair, he fixed his eyes on Mattie Brace--brown, earnest, +honest, dark, sad eyes, good, calm--just as little like the +pearl-and-gold beauty as the others. + +Meanwhile Mark and Patty eyed each other. + +"I want to speak to you a minute, Mark," said Patty; and the pair +retired to the dairy. + +Doris flushed angrily, and drummed on the window-sill. + +"Behold a mystery!" said Gregory Leslie to himself. + +"Mark," said Patty, in the safe retirement of the milk-pans, "this needs +considering. Doris is not our own. To have her picture painted and +exhibited in London to all the great folk, may be the last thing her +mother would desire: and her mother is yet living, as the money comes +always the same way." + +"I declare, Patty, I never thought of that." + +"And yet, if Doris has set her heart on it, she'll have it done--you +see," added Patty. + +"True," said Mark. "And people will hardly think of seeking resemblances +to middle-aged people in a sort of fancy picture. Better let it be done +under our eye, Patty." + +"I suppose so, since we cannot hinder its doing." + +They returned to the kitchen. + +"We have no objection, if you wish to make the picture, sir," said Mark. + +"I should think not. I had settled _that_," said Doris. + +"In return for your kindness," said the artist to Patty, "I will make a +small portrait of her for your parlor." + +So one sitting was given then and there, and others were arranged for. + +When Earle came that evening he heard all the story, and then, being +with Doris in the garden, they fell out over it, beginning as set forth +in the opening of this chapter. + +"I cannot and will not have another man gazing at you, studying your +every look, carrying your face in his soul." + +"If you are to begin by being jealous," said Doris, delighted, "I might +as well know. I enjoy jealousy as a proof of love, and as amusing me, +but I like admiration, and I mean to have it all my life. If ever I go +to London, I expect to have London at my feet. Besides, if you mean to +sing me, for all the world, why cannot Mr. Leslie paint me. You say +Poetry and Art should wait at the feet of Beauty. Now they shall!" + +It ended by truce, and Doris agreed that Earle should be present at +every sitting. This calmed Earle, and rejoiced her. She thought it would +be charming to pit poet and artist one against the other. + +But the sittings did not thus fall out. Earle grew much interested, and +he and Gregory took a hearty liking for each other. Gregory admired +Doris as a beauty, but his experienced eye detected the lacking +loveliness of her soul. Besides, he had no love but art, and his heart +shrined one sacred pervading memory. Daily, as he painted, that haunting +reminiscence of some long-ago-seen face, or painted portrait, grew upon +him. He looked at Doris and searched the past. One day he cried out, as +he painted: + +"I have it!" + +"What have you?" demanded Doris, curiously. + +"A face, a name, that you constantly brought to mind in a shadowy +way--that you resembled." + +"Man or woman?" demanded Doris, eagerly. + +"A man." + +She was disappointed. She had hoped to hear of some reigning belle of +society. + +"Was he handsome?" she asked, less interested. + +"Remarkably so. How else, if your face was like his?" + +"But how can it be like a stranger I never heard of?" + +"A coincidence--a freak of nature," said Leslie, slowly. + +"And what was he like?" demanded Doris. + +"_Faithless and debonair!_ False, false and fair, like all his line. It +was a fatal race; he no worse than the rest." + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +"I WILL BE TRUE--FOREVER." + + +Despite all the love eagerly made by Earle, and readily accepted by +Doris, there was no formal engagement. A hundred times the decisive +words trembled on the lips of the poet-lover, and he chided himself that +they were not uttered. But then, if she said "no," what lot would be +his? As for Doris not being prepared to say "yes," she deferred +decision, and checked Earle on the verge of a finality, for she was not +ready to dismiss her suitor. If he fled from Brackenside, what pleasure +would be left in life? + +She had soon ceased her efforts to flirt with Gregory Leslie; he +regarded her with the eye of an artist--what of his feeling that was not +artistic, was paternal. + +At first, she had hoped that an opening might be made for her to city +life. She had wild dreams that he could get an engagement for her as an +actress or concert-singer, where wonderful beauty would make up for lack +of training; she built wild castles in the air, about titled ladies who +would take her for an adopted daughter, or as a companion. But Gregory +Leslie was the last man to tempt a lovely, heedless young girl to the +vortex of city life. + +She told him one day of some of her longings and distastes. She hated +the farm, the country. She wanted the glory of the city--dress, +theaters, operas, promenades. + +"Can't you tell me how to get what I want?" + +"Child," said Gregory, "you would weary of it, and long for peace. You +have a devoted young lover, who offers you a comfortable home at +Lindenholm." + +"To live with my mother-in-law!" sneered Doris. + +"An admirable woman. I have met her." + +"It would be just this dullness repeated all my life," said Doris, +tearful and pouting. + +"It would be love, comfort, safety, goodness. Besides, this young Moray +is one of our coming men. He has native power. I am much mistaken if he +does not make a name, fame, place, fortune." + +"Do you suppose he will one day go to London and be great?" + +"Yes, I do." + +"I would like that. A poet's lovely home, where learned people, and +musical wonders, and famous actors, and artists _like you_, Mr. Leslie, +come; and we had flowers, and pictures, and song, and gayety." + +"It is pleasant, well come by. You might have it all, as Mr. Moray's +wife, if at first you waited patiently." + +Earle took new value in this ambitious girl's eyes. + +Meanwhile, warned by the experience with Leslie, which might have turned +out so differently, had Leslie played lover, and offered London-life to +Doris, Earle resolved to press his suit, and urge early marriage. He +must have some way of holding fast the fair coquette. To him the +marriage tie was invulnerable. Once his wife, he fancied she would be +ever true. Yes, once betrothed, he believed that she would be true as +steel. So one fine September morning, when Leslie's picture was nearly +finished, Earle came up to the farm, resolved to be silent no longer. He +met Mattie first. He took her hand. + +"Mattie, dear sister-friend, to-day I mean to ask Doris to be my wife. +Wish me success." + +Mattie's heart died within her, but the true eyes did not quail, as she +said: + +"I hope she will consent, for I know you love her. Heaven send you all +good gifts." + +"If she does not take me, my life will be spoiled!" cried Earle, +passionately. + +"Hush," said Mattie. "No man has a right to say such a word. No one +should ever throw away all good that Heaven has given him, because of +one good withheld." + +"Does she love me? Tell me!" + +"I do not know. There is no way but to ask her." + +They heard a gay voice singing through the garden. In came Doris, her +arms laden with lavender flowers cut for drying. She came, and filled +the room with light. + +"You here, Earle!" cried Doris. "Come up to the coppice nutting with me; +the hazel bushes are full." + +She held out her hand, frank and natural as a child, and away they went +together. + +Doris was fantastic as a butterfly that day. She danced on before Earle. +She lingered till he overtook her, and before he could say two words, +was off again. Then she sang gay snatches of song. She noted his +anxious, grave face, and setting her saucy little head on one side, +trilled forth: + + "Prithee, why so pale, fond lover, + Prithee, why so pale? + For if looking well won't move her, + Looking ill must fail." + +Finally, at a mossy seat under an oak tree, he made a dash, caught her, +drew her to his side, and cried: + +"Doris, be quiet and hear me; you _shall_ hear me; I have something to +tell you--something important." + +"Bless us!" cried Doris, in pretended terror. "Is it going to rain? Are +you going to tell me something dreadful about the weather, and I have a +set of new ribbons on!" + +"Dear Doris, it is not about the weather; it is an old, old story." + +"Don't tell it, by any means. I hate old things." + +"But this is very beautiful to me--so beautiful I must tell it." + +"If you are so distracted about it, after the fashion of the Ancient +Mariner and his tale, I know you have told it to at least half a dozen +other girls." + +"Never!" cried Earle; "never once! It is the story of my love, and I +never loved any one but you." + +"You have the advantage of me," said Doris, with a charming air. "It +seems you have loved once; I never loved." + +"Doris! Doris! Don't say that!" cried Earle, in agony. + +"Not? Why, how many experiences should I have had at my age?" demanded +Doris, with infantine archness. + +"Yes, you are a child--a sweet, innocent child. But love me, Doris. Love +me and be my wife. You know I adore you. Do not drive me to despair. I +cannot live without you! Will you be my wife?" + +Doris looked thoughtfully at Earle. From her eyes, her face, one would +have said that she was realizing for the first time the great problem of +love; that love was dawning in her young soul as she listened to Earle's +pleading. + +But in her heart she was telling herself that this play of love would +give a new zest to her life at the farm, would add a little excitement +to daily dullness; that, even if she promised, she need not be bound if +anything better came in her way. Earle Moray might be the best husband +she could find. What was it Mr. Leslie had said about him? + +Earle, unconscious of this dark abyss in his idol's soul, sat watching +the wide, violet eyes, the gently parted lips, the pink flush growing +like the morning on her rounded cheek. + +He put his arm gently about her. + +"Doris, answer me." + +"Can't I wait--an hour, a day, a week, a month, a year?" + +"No!--a thousand times no! Suspense would kill me!" + +"Why, I wouldn't die so easy as that." + +"Doris, answer me. Say yes." + +"Yes," said Doris, placidly. + +Earl caught her in his arms, and kissed her fervently. + +"Is that the way you mean to act?" laughed Doris, sweet and low. "Why +did you tell me to say 'yes,' and get my hair rumpled, and my dress all +crushed up that way?" + +"You are mine, my own Doris! Tell me, no one else shall ever make love +to you, or kiss you--you will never be another's?" + +"Of course not," said Doris, with delicious assurance. + +"You will be true to me forever." + +"Yes; I will be true forever," said Doris. + +If she played at love-making, she would play her part perfectly, let +come what would afterward. + +"And you will marry me? When will you marry me?" urged this impetuous +young lover. + +"How can I tell? This is all very pleasant, being lovers; and then you +must ask--the people at the farm." She spoke with reluctance. It always +irritated her to call the honest Brace family "parents, sister." "I +can't be married till they say so. And--there's your mother." + +"They will all agree to what will make us happy." + +"And will you agree to what will make me happy?" + +"Yes, my darling, with all my heart and soul!" + +"Then you must build up fame, and get money, and go to London to live, +for I do not love this country life. Only think, to live in London among +the _literati_ and the noted people! We will surely do that Earle?" + + + + +CHAPTER XVI. + +A BETROTHAL DAY. + + +Gregory Leslie, seated before his easel, saw the young couple returning +to the house. No need to tell him what had happened. The triumphant +lover was in every line of Earle's face. Gregory Leslie sighed. Earle +had won the most beautiful girl in England for his wife; but the artist +was a deep student of human nature, and he read in Doris a disposition +intensely worldly and selfish, an ambition that nothing could satisfy, a +moral weakness that would break a promise as easily as Samson broke the +seven green withes. + +Doris ran away from Earle into the garden, and left him to enter the +house alone. Gregory was the first one he saw. + +"Wish me joy!" he cried, exultantly. + +"With all my heart. What you have won, may you keep." + +"I have no fear," said Earle, the gentleman. "She loves me." + +"You have the original; I the picture. This picture will wake the +curiosity of the world," said Gregory, looking at his work. + +"But you will not tell who or where is the original? I do not wish my +Doris to be pursued by a crowd of idle, curious people." + +"On honor, no," said Gregory, holding out his hand. + +Then Earle went on to find Mark and Patty. + +Patty heard the news with a bewildered shake of her head. + +"There's no counting on Doris," she said. "I thought she was playing +with you. We shall see how it will turn out. I hope you will be happy." + +"I am sure they will," spoke up Mattie, and left the room. + +"There's your mother to be consulted," said Mark. + +"She will be ready for anything that makes me happy." + +"And Doris is too young. She cannot be married for a year yet," said +Mark, decidedly. "She must have time to know her mind and to settle +herself. If it were Mattie now, I'd feel different. Mattie is two years +older, and she has a steadier nature." + +"But it's not Mattie, thank fortune, for Mattie is my right hand," spoke +up Patty, sharply; for she had read a little of her own child's +cherished secret. + +Earle was so overjoyed to get the promise of Doris, that he counted the +year of probation a day, and saw nothing of Gregory Leslie's +incredulity, of Patty's hesitation, of the anxiety of Mark, or of +Mattie's shy withdrawing. These young lovers are selfish, even the best +of them. + +Patty roused herself to do justice to the occasion. She set forth a +table with her best damask and the few old pieces of family silver; she +spread out the choicest of her culinary stores, and invited Gregory +Leslie to dine, and Mattie crowned the board with flowers, and put on +her best dress, while Doris played the young _fiancee_ to sweet +perfection. Yet the keen eyes of the artist read not only Mattie's +hidden pain, but Patty's sorrow and anxiety, and saw that Mark was not a +rural father, joyful in a good match for his child, but a man in dire +perplexity, uncertain what was right and wise for him to do. + +"This girl and all her surroundings are a mystery," said the artist to +himself. + +Earle Moray saw no mystery; all was broad day in the light of his love. +It seemed high noon even, when he went home at night, and the heavens +were lit with starry hosts. Doris had kept him late, not unmindful of +the mother watching alone to hear her boy's tale of wooing, mindful of +her, rather, and finding it a pleasure to tantalize the unknown mother +by a long delay. + +But once free of the beguiling voice of his little siren, Earle +remembered heartily his mother, and hurried to her as if his feet were +winged with the sandals of Apollo. He flung open the gate with a crash; +his joyous tread rang on the gravel walk; he dashed into the house, and +into the sitting-room, and dropping on his knees by his mother, clasped +his arms about her waist and cried: + +"Mother! she is mine!" + +"Heaven bless you, my son!" said his mother; but she sighed. + +"You will go and see her, mother, to-morrow? You will see how +wonderfully lovely she is; witty and accomplished, too; you are sure to +be charmed, mother!" + +If he had chosen a beggar maid, like King Cophetua, the mother would +have made the best of it. Yet in her secret heart Mrs. Moray thought +Earle too young to marry, and, besides, this girl was very young, and +who knew if she would be a good wife. Earle's poetizing and dreaming +were bad enough, but his love-making was even worse! Still his mother +hid her fears, and sympathized and helped him plan his future, while in +her soul she blessed Mark Brace for that year's delay. + +Accustomed from childhood to open his heart to his mother, Earle poured +forth to her the full story of his love, his adoration, his intoxicating +passion for Doris. The mother heard and trembled. His was not the love +of a Christian man for a wife, but of a pagan for the idol in his +shrine. She felt that this love could not be blessed or bring blessing; +it was earthly, infatuated, unreasoning, terrible. She trembled; yet +trembling did not foresee the stormy and dreadful way that this love +should lead her boy, nor in what horror and blackness its grave should +be! + +While Mrs. Moray and her son forgot the flight of time, one in anxiety, +the other in overflowing joy, Mark Brace and Patty, at Brackenside Farm, +also kept vigils. They were perplexed to know what was right. + +"It was terrible to send us a child in that way," cried Patty. "We +cannot tell what we should do with her." + +"I think we can," said Mark. "We were told to do as by our own. We would +give Mattie to Earle, if they both wished it. We can give Doris. No +doubt her mother will be glad to know that she is safe in the care of a +husband." + +"But if they come to reclaim her, as I have expected?" + +"They gave her to us, unasked, and must abide by our decision. Besides, +here is a year's delay, and the engagement no secret. If the unknown +mother watches her child, let her make known her rights and interfere." + +"And the letter said she was of noble blood." + +"Earle Moray is a good man, a gentleman, a scholar." + +"But what would he think of this secret? They believe Doris to be ours, +the same as Mattie." + +"There's the rub," said Mark; "but here, to be honest, we must break +silence. Not to Doris, but to Earle. We must tell Earle and his mother +all the truth that we know. Married life goes ill, Patty, begun in +mystery." + +"Possibly Mrs. Moray will not consent." + +"I think it will make no difference. If it does, we have done our duty, +and that is all our trouble. I believe her mother is some poor timid +soul, secretly married, and perhaps now dead, and the father also." + +Patty sighed, and a look of trouble and conviction was in her face. She +had thoughts about Doris that she did not tell even to Mark. + +"Love and trouble always come together," sighed Patty. + +"Doris has been a great help to us, as well as a great care," said Mark. +"Her money saved us from ruin, and put us on our feet. I have done +honestly by her, and have not forgotten that she has helped us. But I +admit she fills me with anxiety, and is a strange element in our home. +Once she is well married and gone, I think we shall be very happy +together. I'll save this year's hundred pounds to give her a good +outfit, and give her next year's hundred for a wedding present." + +"She has had _all_ the money since she was twelve," said Patty. + +"True, but for the first twelve years I did not spend the half of it on +her." + +Next day Earle brought his mother, and proudly presented Doris to her. + +Mrs. Moray, making allowances for the enthusiasm of a lover, had +expected to find a rosy, pretty country girl. She saw a dainty, +high-bred beauty, of the most exquisite and aristocratic type. She +looked in wonder at Doris, then helplessly at Mark and Patty. + +"How little your daughter resembles you!" she cried. + +Patty blushed, honest Mark studied the carpet pattern, the pretty lips +of Doris curled scornfully. + +Mrs. Moray suspected a mystery. Mark Brace spoke up: + +"I'd like a word with you and your son in the garden, ma'am." + +Doris watched the three angrily from the window. + +"What is father saying that I may not hear? See how oddly Mrs. Moray +looks, and Earle too! What is he saying?" + +"Perhaps that he has no fortune to give you," hinted Patty. + +"My face is my fortune," cried Doris, pettishly. + +"Dear child, do not be so vain! Suppose you lost that fortune." + +"Then I'd kill myself. I would not live unbeautiful!" + +Poor Patty held up her hands in horror. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII. + +A SHINING MEMORY. + + +Yes, Mark, in plain phrases, had told his story. Mrs. Moray had opened +the way, saying, frankly: + +"Have you anything to tell us?" + +"Yes. Doris is not my daughter. She was left, being two months old or +thereabouts, on my door-step, with a letter and a hundred pounds. Here +is the letter for you to read. I have done my best for the girl, and I +love her. I have tried to meet the wishes of her unknown mother. And of +that mother and her history I know no more than you. If this makes a +difference, now is the time to speak." + +"It makes no difference," cried Earle; "only, if possible, I shall love +her more than ever, she having no kith or kin." + +"I saw she did not look in the least like any of you," said Mrs. Moray, +thoughtfully. + +Mark smiled. + +"Yes, she is fine china, we are delf. I have never hinted this thing to +Doris, and whatever you decide, I wish the secret rigidly kept, as I +have kept it." + +"What is there to decide!" cried Earle. "We are betrothed." + +"Your mother may think differently," said Mark. + +"Of course I am very sorry that the girl has no name or position," said +Mrs. Moray. + +Earle flushed. + +"Her name will be our name, and her position I will make for her; and it +will be honorable, I promise you." + +"You are a stanch fellow," said Mark. "But I pledge you to keep this +secret always. The idea of being a foundling might make Doris miserable, +drive her half wild. Or it might set her up to some queer caper. She has +a fine spirit of her own." + +"Is she hard to manage?" asked Mrs. Moray, anxiously. + +"I never found her hard to manage," said Earle, the dauntless. + +"I hope you'll tell the same tale twenty years from now," said Mark, +with a laugh. + +He felt glad this matter was settled. + +"We shall never mention it," said Mrs. Moray, yielding to the +inevitable. + +"And on the wedding-day I'll give her a hundred pounds, and she shall +have a hundred pounds in her outfit." + +"You are very generous, Mr. Brace," said Mrs. Moray. + +"Doris is quick and keen. She'll ask you, Earle, what we were saying out +here. You may mention the hundred pounds." + +Just as he had foreseen, Doris questioned Earle, and he told her of the +promised outfit and the wedding gift. + +All this reconciled her more to the idea of marrying. + +"My mother sha'n't interfere with what I get for my outfit," said she to +herself. "I'll dress like a lady for once. One hundred pounds in clothes +will make a very fair show." + +Alas, Patty, in her thrifty mind, had already destined part of this +hundred pounds to sheeting and table-clothes, blankets and pillow-cases! +A hundred pounds for clothes! Fie on the extravagance! A white mull for +the wedding gown, a black silk, a cashmere. This was Patty's notion of a +suitable bridal _trousseau_! + +"A hundred pounds on my wedding-day to use as I like." + +"You may be sure I sha'n't touch it," laughed Earle. + +"A hundred pounds! That is kind of him; but it is not much. I could +spend it in one hour in London." + +"Spend it in an hour. I'm glad you are not fond of money." + +"I _am_ fond of it. Money is the salt and essence of life." + +"And you marry a man who has almost none?" + +"But a man who can, who must, make a great deal." + +"Suppose I should not?" + +She looked at him in alarm. + +"Suppose you should not? I tell you I would rather die than be mean, and +plain, and poor, all my life." + +"Dear child, you do not understand. You have exaggerated ideas. You +shall never be left to suffer. Cheer up. I will make money, and you, my +little idol, shall spend it!" + +"That is fair," cried Doris, joyously. "I'll buy no end of things." + +Gregory Leslie finished his picture of "Innocence," and took it away, +knowing it should grace the walls of the Academy the next May. At +Brackenside he had found an artistic ideal, and reached the acme of his +art life. Doris wondered a little, the while she had inspired the +artist, she had not conquered the man. Earle and Gregory made a compact +of friendship and parted--to meet in pain. + +Earle entered into a very happy winter. As Doris had inspired the artist +so she inspired the poet; and Earle sang as he had never sung before. A +little volume of his verses found a publisher, and public approval, and +though the recompense did not at all meet the idea of Doris, yet she +told herself that fame led the way to fortune. + +Indulged by Mark and Patty, and waited on by Mattie, while Earle was in +daily raptures over her charms, as bride-elect Doris managed to pass the +winter at the farm with some content. Mark had hired for her a good +piano, she had a store of French novels, and she sedulously refused to +have any steps taken in the matter of wedding paraphernalia. + +And yet, as the weeks crept by, Doris began to be weary of lover and +friends and country home, and her longing for the gay world and all its +glories filled her fantastic heart. + +"Oh, why does not some lord with a coach and six come along and carry me +off and marry me?" she cried one day as she sat in the window, lazily +watching the falling snow. + +"Surely you would not give up Earle for any lord!" cried Mattie. + +"Wouldn't I! I only hope for his sake I'd not be tempted. If the lord +had money enough, and jewels enough, and memorial castles enough I'm +afraid, Mattie, you'd be left to console Earle." + +"Child, don't talk in that reckless way," said Mrs. Brace. + +"I'm only telling the truth. I find in myself a natural affinity for +lords," said Doris, and Mrs. Brace sighed and flushed. + +Well, the winter passed, and the love-making of Earle was becoming an +old story, and farm life a weariness to the flesh, but still Doris hid +her vexations and unrest in her heart. The hawthorn bloomed, when Mark +came in one day, crying cheerily: + +"Here's something like old days. The duke is coming home for good, and +Lady Estelle is finally quite well and strong, but unmarried +still--more's the pity." + +"They've been away long," said Patty, uneasily. + +"Ay. How long is it since I've seen his grace? Not since they all came +here." + +Patty looked warningly at him. + +He stooped to tie his shoe. + +"The duke been here!" said Doris. "The duke and his family to a common +farm-house!" + +"A farm-house is not so poor a place, missey," said Mark. + +Doris sprung up. + +"I remember--now I remember! I've had gleams of it, and wondered what I +was trying to think of. They came in a gorgeous coach, with men in +livery that I thought quite splendid; the duke, a tall, grand man, and +with him two ladies?" + +"Yes," said Patty, shortly. + +"I can see my memories best in the dark," said Doris, shutting her +lovely blue eyes. "It is a vague dream of a fair, proud face, a shining, +lovely lady all in lace, and silk, and jewels!" + +"That was Lady Estelle Hereford," said Mark, carried away. + +"Lady Estelle Hereford! There's a name worth wearing! Why did not I have +such a name--not that hateful Doris Brace!" + +"Your name is good enough," said Mark, tartly. + +"Why did they come?" demanded Doris. + +These people were not good at fine evasions, but Mark made shift to +answer: + +"The duke is my landlord; it is only proper for him to see his best farm +now and then." + +"Did they see me?" urged Doris. + +"Listen to Vanity! As if she was the show of the house!" said Mark. + +"So I am. What here is worth seeing in comparison?" + +"If that doesn't beat all!" said the scandalized Patty. + +"Yes, he saw you," said Mark; "and now your next question will be, 'Did +he admire me?' I won't answer you." + +"There's no need; it goes without saying. Of course he admired me if he +had eyes. I must have been lovely. Why did you not have my picture +taken? I must have looked just like one of Correggio's little angels." + +"Whose?" asked Mark. + +"You didn't act much like an angel, if I remember right," said Mattie, +quietly. + +"Who cares for the _acting_, so long as one has the looks?" inquired +Doris, with simplicity. "Share and share alike between sisters, you +know, Mattie. I'll _look_ like an angel, and you'll _act_ like one!" + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII. + +A WOMAN AVERSE TO MARRIAGE. + + +The Duke and Duchess of Downsbury had been so long absent from their +home, that on their return they felt the greatest pleasure and keenest +interest in every one whose name they remembered. Lady Estelle had +outgrown her weakness of constitution. For many years it had been quite +uncertain how her illness would terminate. It was not so much a malady +as a wasting of strength, an utter absence of all hope or energy, a +strange languor that attacked both body and mind. + +Doctors recommended travel; travel fatigued her; they recommended +change; change wearied her--nothing on earth seemed to have the least +interest for her. Beautiful, high-born, blessed with every advantage +that wealth and rank can give, she was afflicted with that most terrible +of all diseases, hopeless _ennui_. Then, after a time, her physical +health failed her, and it became a question as to whether she would +recover or not. It was the one great trial that her devoted parents had +to bear. They would have given all they had, all they cared for most, to +have seen her happy, bright, light of heart as were others. That was +never to be. + +On this morning, early in the month of May, the duchess and her daughter +were alone in the drawing-room of Downsbury Castle; a May morning that +should have rejoiced the heart of a poet--crowned with golden rays of +the sun, musical with the sweet song of birds. Lady Estelle stood at the +window, looking over the trees, a wistful expression in her fine eyes. +She never moved quickly when any thought or idea occurred to her; she +never turned with the rapid movement peculiar to some people. An idea +had evidently occurred to her now, for her face flushed, the white skin +was for some minutes dyed scarlet; she waited until it died away, then +she turned slowly and glanced at the duchess. + +"Mamma," she said, "have you heard how the interview between papa and +his agent passed off?" + +"Quite satisfactorily, I believe," replied the duchess; "everything is +prosperous. The tenants are all well, and there has been no misfortune +among them." + +Lady Estelle crossed the room; there was a beautiful stand of white +hyacinths, and she bent over, caressing the beautiful buds. + +"Do you remember the farmer we went to see?" she continued, "What was +his name?--the man with the honest face?" + +"Mark Brace?" replied the duchess. + +"Yes," said Lady Estelle; "Mark Brace. Do you remember him, and that +simple, gentle wife of his, and the two children, one as brown as a +berry, and the other as fair as a lily, with hair of shining gold?" + +"I remember them very well," replied her grace. "Indeed I could never +forget that child; she was the most beautiful little creature I ever +beheld; but she gave promise of being one of the worst." + +"Oh, mamma, do not say such a thing!" cried Lady Estelle, with more +animation than was usual with her. + +"Why not, my dear?" said the duchess, calmly. "Great beauty and great +wickedness so often go together." + +"But it seems such a cruel thing to say of a child--a little child." + +"Well, perhaps it does seem rather hard; but then, 'the child gives +promise of the man,' and if ever child was precocious in vanity and +ambition, that child was. You forget her." + +"Yes," said Lady Estelle. "It is so long since, I forget her; but you +are generally merciful in your judgments, mamma. It seems strange to +hear you speak harshly of a child." + +The duchess made no reply. The subject seemed to have no particular +interest for her, whereas the beautiful point-lace she was making had +great claims on her attention. After a few minutes Lady Estelle +continued: + +"I suppose nothing more has been heard of the child; no one has claimed +her, or the story would have reached us. I must confess that I feel some +little curiosity as to what she is like. I should be pleased to see +her." + +"If the girl bears out the promise of her youth, she would be worth +seeing," said the duchess. + +The entrance of her husband interrupted her, and she said no more. + +The Duke of Downsbury looked pleased. + +"My dear," he said to his wife, "I am delighted. I have the finest agent +in the country. The accounts and everything else are in the finest +possible order. I am so pleased that I thought of giving a dinner to the +tenants; it could be no annoyance to you, and it would be a nice little +act of attention, after being absent so long." + +The duchess quite agreed with the project. It would be a compliment to +them, and a pleasure to herself, she said. + +The duke smiled to think what an amiable wife he had. + +"To all your tenants, papa?" said Lady Estelle, in her graceful, languid +way. + +"Yes, all of them--rich and poor; but then there are no poor." + +She smiled. + +"I shall see Mark Brace," she said. "I was just telling mamma that I +felt some interest in that child we saw. I should like to know how she +has turned out." + +The duke's face lighted up. + +"That pretty little girl," he said; "the one over whom there was a +mystery. I had forgotten her, and the story too. I should like to see +her. What wonderful hair she had. I must tell Mark Brace to bring her +over." + +"Mark Brace is a sensible man," the duchess hastened to observe; "I am +sure he will understand. She was a vain child then--she will be even +vainer now. No one knows what nonsensical ideas will fill her mind if +she thinks she has been invited here; you might do her a great harm by +such indiscretion. Tell him to bring her over if he likes; but tell him +at the same time, it will be as well for him not to mention it--he is +sensible enough to understand." + +"I see--you are quite right, my dear--it shall be just as you say." + +And Lady Estelle hastened to add: + +"You are wise, mamma. I feel some curiosity over her. I have a vague +recollection of a brilliant, beautiful child, who seemed very much out +of place in that quiet farm-house. But it is so long ago." + +Looking at his daughter, the duke hardly realized how long it was--she +did not look one year older; perhaps the delicate state of her health +had preserved her face from all marks of time. The calm, high-bred +features were unruffled as ever; there was not one line on the fair +brow, nor round the calm, serene lips; the fair hair was abundant and +shining as ever; the light of the proud, brilliant eyes was undimmed. +Time, indeed, seemed to have stood still for Lady Estelle Hereford. It +might be that she had escaped the wear and tear of emotion, so had had +nothing to mar the calm serenity of her life or her features. She went +back to her post at the window, and stood once more looking out over the +trees. She remained silent, dreamy, abstracted, while the duke and +duchess discussed their affairs, their tenants, friends, and neighbors. + +"Estelle," said the duke, at length, "are you going to drive to-day?" + +"No, papa, I think not; I do not care to go." + +The duke and duchess exchanged glances. + +"My dear Estelle," said the duke, gravely, "I wish that you did feel +interested in going out or in anything else. We were in great hopes, +your mother and I, that when you returned you would show a little more +animation, a little more interest in the world around you--more capacity +for enjoyment. Could you not throw off that languor, and be bright, +animated, and happy?" + +She smiled, and if that smile concealed any pain, no one knew it. + +"I am happy, papa," she said; "but my languor is, I suppose, part of +myself--I should not know how to throw it off. I suppose the right thing +to do when you propose a walk or a drive, on this lovely May morning, +would be to blush--to glow and dimple. I am really sorry that I am so +fashioned by nature as to find anything of the kind impossible." + +The duke rose from his seat and went to his daughter. He placed his arm +round the stately figure. + +"Do you think that I am scolding you, Estelle?" he said. "I shall never +do that. Nor could I be more proud of you than I am. It is only for your +own sake that I speak to you, and because I long to see you happy. I +should like to see you married, Estelle, and to hold my grandchildren in +my arms before I die." + +She started, the calm face grew a shade paler, then she clasped her arms +round his neck. + +"I am so happy with you and mamma," she replied, "I do not want any +other love." + +The next minute she had quitted the room. + +The duchess looked at her husband with a smile. + +"It is useless," she said. "Estelle is like no other woman in the world. +I do not think she is capable of love; I do not think the man is born +who could win from her a kindly smile, a warm word, or a loving look. +She loves us; no one else. I have watched her year after year, and feel +sure of it." + +"It is strange, too," said the duke, "for the Herefords are not a +cold-hearted race. And do you really think that she will never marry?" + +"I feel sure of it. I do not think she will ever like any one well +enough. There is variety in all creation. We must not be surprised to +find it in ladies." + +The day fixed for the tenants' dinner came round, and among the others +Mark Brace arrived at the Castle in a state of great glory. There had +been great excitement at Brackenside when the invitation reached there, +and Mark, with considerable difficulty, had mastered it. + +"You are to dine at the Castle," said Doris, with that quickness which +seemed to take everything in at one glance. "Then, for once in your +life, you must have a suit of clothes that pretend to fit you. Yours +always look as though you had found them by accident, and had met with +considerable difficulty in the way of putting them on." + +Mark laughed, but Patty took up the cudgels for her husband. + +"I am sure your father always looks nice, Doris." + +"Why, mother, how can you judge?" + +"It is not the coat that makes the man," said Patty. + +Doris laughed. + +"You are all brimful of good sentiments, but you are quite wrong; +broadcloth makes its way where fustian is trampled under foot. I know +all about the genuine stamp, a man's being a man for all that; but it is +great nonsense. You believe me, father, there is much in having good +clothes--the habit makes the monk." + +They looked at her in wonder, as they generally did when she talked +above them. + +"Have some good clothes," Doris continued. "You have no idea how much +the other tenants will respect you if you are well dressed and show a +good gold chain." + +Mark laughed. The cynicism of Doris always amused him. + +Here he saw some glimmer of sense in what she said; so Mark went to +Quainton, an adjacent town, and ordered a suit of the finest broadcloth. +Great was the excitement when it came home, and the honest farmer stood +arrayed in all his glory. He looked very delighted, but stiff and +uncomfortable; his arms seemed longer than ever, his hands redder and +more awkward; still he tried to do honor to his new estate by carrying +it off boldly. To his wife he confided that he should not always like +being a gentleman, to be dressed so tightly; and Mark's wife flung her +loving arms round his neck. + +"You are a gentleman," she said; "one of nature's very own." + +The whole family stood by the gate to see Mark drive off. Doris had +placed a white rose in his buttonhole; his wife and daughter watched him +with pride and exultation in their hearts, while Doris thought to +herself that, after all, even a broadcloth suit could not make what she +called a gentleman. + +"I am sure that no one in the room will look so nice as your father," +said Mrs. Brace, proudly; the glories of the new broadcloth had dazzled +her. Mattie quite agreed with her, while Doris, with a mocking smile, +went away. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX. + +A PROSPECTIVE PLEASURE FOR DORIS. + + +The tenants' dinner was a great success. It was well attended, for all +were anxious to show that they appreciated and returned the duke's +kindly feeling. To Mark it was a dream of glory; he had seen nothing +like the interior of this magnificent castle. The state rooms, the +superb hall, with its blazonry of shields and armor; the banquet-room, +with its groined roof and grand pictures, puzzled him. It was something +to be a tenant of such a duke as this. As for the dinner itself, it +simply amazed him; he did not know the name of half the dishes or half +the wines; as for the fruit, the silver, the servants in attendance, he +thought of it all with bated breath. + +Doris had desired him, in a whisper, to tell her all he saw, and to be +sure and not forget anything. Honest Mark tried to take an inventory, +but his mind failed him: it gave way under the strain; he could not +grasp the half what he saw and heard. + +Mark's wonder was not diminished when a footman, bending very +respectfully, asked him to be kind enough to follow him. He arose +instantly, and followed through such dazzling and magnificent rooms that +he began to think of the wonders of the "Arabian Nights" he had read +when a boy. They came to a door that was covered with rich velvet +hangings; the footman pushed them aside, opened it, and Mark Brace found +himself, to his great consternation and distress, in the presence of the +duchess and her daughter, both in evening dress; and the shimmer of +silk, the sheen of jewels, were enough to bewilder the honest farmer. +Still he had a native dignity of his own of which nothing could deprive +him. Although his hands felt more stiff and red than ever, and he was +most sorely puzzled what to do with them, still he recollected himself, +and bowed to the ladies in a fashion quite his own. + +The duchess received him kindly. Lady Estelle spoke no word, but her +indolent, handsome eyes, rested on his face. + +"Mr. Brace," said her grace, "I am pleased to see you. We have been long +absent." + +Mark muttered something to the effect: "Heaven bless them, they were +very welcome home." + +The duchess smiled, and Lady Estelle thought to herself: + +"What a simple, honest man he is." + +Mark had disposed of his hands to his own satisfaction: one was placed +behind him, where it lay rigid and straight, the other hung down by his +side as though slightly ashamed of itself. Then he found himself in +difficulties over his feet. He had some dim idea that he had heard his +wife say it was genteel to stand with the heels together; he tried it, +and it proved a dead failure. + +The duchess relieved him of all further embarrassment by pointing to a +chair. He sat down with a deep sigh that was almost a gasp--thankful to +be relieved at last. + +"I wanted to see you, Mr. Brace," continued the stately lady, "to ask +how the child is whom we saw at the farm." + +Mark was himself again with something to say of Doris. His face +brightened. + +"She is not a child now, your grace; she has grown to be a beautiful +girl." + +"Is she still beautiful?" asked her grace. + +"I do not think the sun, when it rises in the morning, is brighter," +replied Mark, with unconscious poetry. + +"I am almost sorry to hear it," said her grace. "There are more +qualities than beauty for a girl in her position, Mr. Brace." + +"Yes; but we can't help it." + +"And," interrupted the duchess, "have you heard any more? Do you know to +whom she belongs? Have you any trace of her parentage?" + +Lady Estelle shut her jeweled fan, and laid it on the table. Her eyes +were fixed on Mark's face. + +"No, your grace," he replied. "We know no more than we did on the day +she first came to us. The money comes every year. It always comes from +London, generally in Bank of England notes, quite new and crisp; +sometimes gold packed in a little box. It never fails." + +"It is so strange. There is never a word about the child in the parcels? +No questions? No remarks?" + +"No; not one," he replied. + +"And what have you done with her all these years?" asked the duchess. +"She had high spirits of her own." + +"She has been to school, your grace; it was her own wish she should go. +She was away for four years without coming home." + +"Then she is clever and accomplished?" said the duchess. + +"Yes," replied Mark; "she is as clever as any lady in the land." + +Then his face grew crimson, and he said to himself that he had made a +great blunder. Lady Estelle smiled in her usual languid fashion. + +"I mean, your grace," exclaimed Mark, "that she is really very clever. +She sings like a mermaid," he added, delighted at his own figure of +speech; "she can dance, and speaks two foreign languages." + +The duchess laughed. It was impossible to help it; Mark's face was such +a study as he enumerated this list of accomplishments. + +"I should like to see your _protegee_, Mr. Brace," said her grace; "but +as she is inclined to be vain, it would be wise perhaps not to tell her +that I have expressed such a wish." + +Mark looked very wise; he quite agreed with it. + +"You might say," continued her grace, "that you are coming over to the +Castle next week on business, and bring her with you." + +"I will, your grace," said Mark, proudly. "I am coming on business next +Tuesday; my lease is to be renewed. I will bring her with me. She is +engaged to be married," he added, bluntly. + +"Engaged!" repeated the duchess. "Why, she cannot be more than +nineteen." + +"She is nineteen," said Mark; "and, of course, I shall not allow her to +be married for a year." + +"You are quite right," interrupted the duchess. + +Lady Estelle had opened her fan, and she stirred it gently, as she +asked: + +"To whom is she engaged?" + +Mark declared, in reporting the conversation, that it was the grammar +that destroyed him. It made him feel unequal to giving any answer. He +turned uneasily in his chair. + +"To whom is she engaged?" repeated the clear, musical voice. + +"Why, my lady, he is a poet and a gentleman." + +"A poet and a gentleman!" repeated the duchess. "That is high praise." + +"He deserves it, your grace. He has written a book--I cannot say whether +it has been read among the great people; but, with such as us, the +verses are on the lips of every man, woman and child." + +"What is the poet's name?" asked Lady Estelle. + +"Earle Moray, my lady. He lives near us, and his father was a clergyman. +His mother is a very quiet, grave lady. She always thought that Doris +was my daughter, and when she heard the truth she was quite unwilling +for her son to make such a marriage. But he talked her over." + +Lady Estelle used her fan vigorously; her face had suddenly grown +burning red. + +"They are very much attached to each other," continued Mark. "I never +saw anything like the way in which he worships her. I am sure that if he +lost her he would go mad." + +"Let us hope not," said the duchess, with a smile. "Going mad is a very +serious matter." + +"Then," said the low, sweet voice of Lady Estelle, "your _protegee_ is +provided for, Mr. Brace? Her future is safe?" + +"I hope so, my lady," said cautious Mark. "But as the wedding does not +take place for a year, much may happen in that time." + +"We will hope it will all end happily," said her grace, kindly. + +Then Mark understood that his interview had ended. Lady Estelle murmured +a careless adieu: the duchess spoke kindly of Patty, and Mark went home +that night a proud and happy man. + +He was greeted with innumerable questions; his wife seemed to think that +Mark had been the principal person present: that except for the fact of +his presence, the dinner-party would have been insignificant. Doris +positively bewildered him with questions. Mrs. Brace and Mattie sat with +awe and wonder on their faces. + +"I cannot answer so many questions, Doris," said Mark, at last. "I tell +you what--I am going to the Castle again on Tuesday to renew my lease; +will you go with me?" + +Her beautiful face flushed crimson. + +"Will I? Of course I will," Doris said. + +"What would they say?" asked Mattie. + +"They would not say anything," said Mark. "I should tell them that my +daughter Doris had a great fancy for seeing the inside of a castle; and +you may take my word they will be kind enough." + +"Let Mattie go," suggested Mrs. Brace. + +But Mattie shrank back. + +"Oh, no!" she said, "I should not care for it, I would rather not." + +"And I would give a year of my life," said Doris. + +"You need not give anything," said Mark. "Dress yourself tidily, not +finely," he added, with a touch of natural shrewdness. "One does not +require finery in going to see a duchess." + +"Shall I see the duchess?" asked Doris, opening her eyes wide with +surprise. + +Then Mark Brace perceived his error. + +"I am a poor hand at keeping a secret," he thought. "If you go to the +Castle," he replied, "it is very probable you will see the Duchess of +Downsbury." + +"I shall not be able to sleep from this moment till then," cried Doris. + +And when Earle Moray came she could talk to him about nothing but the +intensity of the pleasure in store for her. A hundred times and more did +Mark repent giving the invitation; he had no peace, no rest; even Earle +himself could not persuade her to talk about anything except the +grandeur of Downsbury Castle. + +"I am quite sorry I cannot go back to school for a few days," she said, +"just to make all my school-fellows mad with jealousy." + +"Why should they be mad?" asked Mattie. + +"You do not know how much they talk about Downsbury Castle," she +replied. "My dear, they call England a Christian land, and they pray for +the conversion of all pagans and idolaters. There are no such idolaters +as these same English, who worship rank, title, and wealth, as they +never worshiped Heaven." + +"You are one of them, Doris," said Mattie. + +"Not altogether. Underneath my worship there is a vein of cynicism, but +no one suspects it. If you want to learn a few lessons of that kind, +Mattie, you should go to a fashionable boarding-school. I declare that I +never heard any one quoted for being good or virtuous; it was always for +being nobly born, rich, titled. I learned my lesson quickly, Mattie." + +"You did, indeed," was the brief reply, "and it is a lesson that I am +sorry Earle's wife should ever have taken to heart." + +The only reply was a careless laugh. Doris did not even care to quarrel +with her sister, so highly delighted was she at the prospect of going to +the Castle. + +At length, to the intense delight and the relief of every one, Tuesday +came, and it was time to go. + +Doris did not love nature. She had no appreciation of its beauties; but +in after years she did remember how the sun had shone on this day, and +how blithely the little birds had sung in the trees; how sweet was the +perfume of the flowers and the fragrance of the hedges as they drove to +Downsbury Castle. + + + + +CHAPTER XX. + +"THEY TELL ME, CHILD, THAT YOU ARE REALLY PROMISED IN MARRIAGE." + + +It was a busy morning at Downsbury Castle. Several visitors had called, +and when Mark, with his beautiful _protegee_, arrived, they were shown +into the library to await the duke's leisure. It was evident to Mark +that they had been expected, for a tempting lunch was served to them; a +lunch the servants called it--to Mark and Doris it seemed a most +sumptuous dinner. Mark could not help watching the girl. He himself was +strange, embarrassed, confused; the silver fork was heavy, the napkin +confused him; she sat with the easy grace and dignity of a young queen, +sipping the rosy wine from the richly cut glass, and looking quite at +her ease over it. + +"You seem quite at home, Doris," said Mark, enviously. + +"I feel so," she replied. "I could live happily enough here; it is so +easy to be good when one is rich." + +He looked at her in dull wonder, as he generally did when she puzzled +him. + +"But Doris," he said, "that is just exactly the opposite of what the +Bible says. Don't you remember the text about the rich man, the camel, +and the needle's eye?" + +"I remember it," she replied. "Those who have no money long for it, and +some desire it so ardently they will do anything to win it; the rich +have no need to be envious or jealous." + +He was not clever enough to argue with her; the only thing he could do +was to tell her she was wrong, and that she should not talk that way. + +Before there was time to reply, the door opened, and the duke came in. + +He spoke kindly, saying that the duchess was engaged with some visitors, +but that Lady Estelle Hereford would see Miss Brace, and would be +pleased to show her the pictures and the flowers. + +Mark looked astounded at the condescension; even the duke himself felt +some little surprise when she had made the offer. + +"You had better let the housekeeper take her, my dear," he had said. + +"Very well, papa," she replied, carelessly; but after a few minutes she +added: "I think it will amuse me to see this young girl, papa. I will +show her some of the pictures and my flowers." + +"She would be more comfortable with the housekeeper," he said; "but do +as you wish, my dear." + +When he saw the beautiful, refined, high-bred young girl seated at the +table, he changed his mind--it did not seem so certain that she would be +more comfortable with the housekeeper. He looked in wonder at her +perfect face and graceful figure. + +"She looks like a young princess," he said to himself: and his manner +almost involuntarily changed--something of chivalrous respect came into +it; and Doris, so marvelously quick, detected the change. She saw that +he admired her, and then she felt quite at her ease. + +He said something to Mark about the agent who was waiting to see him. +Then the door opened, and Lady Estelle entered. + +As her eyes fell upon the young girl she started, and her face grew +deadly pale--so pale that the duke stepped hastily forward, and cried +out: + +"Are you ill, Estelle?" + +"No," she replied; "the day is warm, and warm weather never suits me. +Good-morning, Mr. Brace. Is this your daughter?" + +Mark bowed to the pale, stately lady. + +"This is my daughter, my lady," he replied. + +Lady Estelle Hereford, going nearer to her, looked into the beautiful, +radiant face. Doris returned the glance, and the two remained for one +minute looking, for the second time in their lives, steadily at each +other. + +"I am glad to see you," said Lady Estelle, kindly. "I remember having +seen you when you were a child." + +Doris bowed. There was perfect ease, perfect grace in her manner, and +the duke, looking at her, was fairly puzzled; that high-bred, perfect +repose, that fascinating charm of manner surprised him. He looked at his +daughter to see if she shared his surprise, and felt anxious about her +when he saw that her face was still deadly pale. + +Then he asked Mark to go and see the agent. Lady Estelle, with her rigid +lips, smiled at Doris. + +"I will take charge of you," she said. "Come with me." They left the +room together. "We will go to the boudoir first," she said. "There are +some very fine paintings; you will like to see them." + +When they reached the boudoir Lady Estelle seemed to forget why they had +gone there. She sat down on the couch, and placed Doris by her side. + +"I saw you once when you were quite a little child," she said. "How you +have altered; how tall you have grown!" She laid her hands on the +shining waves of hair. "What beautiful hair you have!" she continued, +and her fingers lingered caressingly on it. "They tell me, child, that +you are really promised in marriage--is it true?" + +There was no flush on that lovely young face; no sweet, tender coyness +in the beautiful eyes; they were raised quite calmly to the questioning +face. + +"Yes," she replied; "it is quite true." + +A look quite indescribable came over Lady Estelle; something yearning, +wistful; then she slowly added: + +"A love-story always interests me; will you tell me yours?" + +"I have none," was the quick reply. "Earle Moray asked me to marry him, +and I said yes." + +"But you love him?" asked Lady Estelle. + +"Yes, I love him--at least I suppose so. I do not know what love is; but +I imagine I love him." + +"You do not know what love is?" said Lady Estelle, in a tone of +suppressed vehemence. "I will tell you. It is a fire that burns and +pains--burns and pains; it is a torrent that destroys everything in its +way; it is a hurricane that sweeps over every obstacle; it is a tempest +in which the ship is forever and ever tossed; it is the highest bliss, +the deepest misery! Oh, child! pray, pray that you may never know what +love is!" + +Who could have recognized the quiet, graceful, languid Lady Estelle? +Her face shone like flame, and her eyes flashed fire--the calm, proud +repose was all gone. Doris looked at her in wonder. + +"There must be many kinds of love. I know nothing of that which you +describe, and Earle loves me quite differently." + +"How does he love you?" asked Lady Estelle. + +"He is always singing to me, and these are his favorite lines: + + "'Thou art my life, my soul, my heart, + The very eyes of me; + Thou hast command of every part, + To live and die for thee.' + +"And that just expresses Earle's love." + +The lady's eyes were riveted on the glorious face; the rich, sweet voice +had given such force and effect to the words. Then she said, anxiously: + +"You will be very happy in your new life, I hope--even should I never +see you again--I hope you will be happy." + +"I hope so," replied Doris, in a dubious voice. Then her face brightened +as she looked round the magnificent room. "I should be happy enough +here," she said. "This is what my soul loves best--this is better than +love." + +The lady drew back from the girl as though she had been struck. + +"Faithless and debonair," she murmured. + +Doris looked inquiringly at her. + +"This is what you love best?" she said. "You mean luxury and +magnificence?" + +"Yes, I mean that--it is ten thousand times better than love." + +"But," said Lady Estelle, "that is a strange doctrine for one so young +as you." + +"I am young, but I know something of life," said Doris. "I know that +money can purchase everything, can do everything, can influence +everything." + +"But," said Lady Estelle, drawing still further from her, "you would not +surely tell me that of all the gifts of this world you value money +most." + +"I think I do," said Doris, with a frank smile. + +"That is strange in one so young," said Lady Estelle. "I am so sorry." +Then she rose, saying, coldly: "You will like to see the pictures. You +think it strange that I should speak to you in this fashion. As I told +you before, a love-story interests me. I am sorry that you have none." + +The change was soon perceived by Doris, and just as quickly understood. + +"I do not think," she said, gently, "that you have quite understood me. +I do not love money; that is, the actual gold. It is the pleasures that +money can purchase which seem to me so enviable, that I long so urgently +for." + +Lady Estelle smiled. + +"I see--I understand. You did not express just what you meant; that is a +different thing. There seems to me something hateful in the love of +money. So you long for pleasure, my poor child. You little know how soon +it would tire you." + +"Indeed, it never would," she replied, eagerly. "I should like--oh, how +much I should like!--to live always in rooms beautiful as these, to wear +shining jewels, rich silks, costly laces! I do not, and never have, +liked my own home; in some strange way it never seems to belong to me, +nor I to it." + +Lady Estelle drew near to her again. + +"You do not like it, poor child?" she said. "That is very sad. Yet they +are very kind to you." + +"Yes, they are kind to me. I cannot explain what I mean. I never seem to +think as they think, or do as they do. I am not good either, after their +fashion of being good." + +"What is your idea of being good?" asked Lady Estelle. + +"Pleasing myself, amusing myself, making myself happy." + +"It is comfortable philosophy at least. What is he like, this Earle +Moray, whom your father calls poet and gentleman?" asked Lady Estelle. + +Doris smiled. She did not blush, nor did her eyes droop; there was no +shyness nor timidity. + +"He is fair," she replied, "and he has a noble head, crowned with +clustering hair; his face is spiritual and tender, and his mouth is +beautiful as a woman's." + +"That is a good description; I can almost see him. You love him or you +could not describe him so." + +"He will be a great man in the future," replied the girl. + +Then she started at finding on what familiar terms she was with this +daughter of a mighty duke. They were sitting side by side, and Lady +Estelle had again taken the shining hair in her hand. Doris' hat had +become unfastened, and she held it with careless grace. It even +surprised herself to find she was as much at home and at her ease with +Lady Estelle Hereford as she was with Mattie. + +"Where shall you live after you married?" asked Lady Estelle, gently. + +"At Lindenholm for some little time: but Earle has promised me that I +shall go to London. I live only in that hope." + +"Why do you wish so ardently for London?" + +"Because people know what life means there. They have balls, parties, +_fetes_, music, operas, theaters, and I long for a life of pleasure." + +"How much you will have to suffer?" said Lady Estelle, unconsciously. + +"Why?" asked Doris, in surprise. + +"Because you expect so much, and the world has so little to give--that +is why. But come, we are forgetting the pictures." + +In the long gallery they were joined by the duke: curiosity to again see +the beautiful face had brought him there. Doris was looking at a +portrait that pleased her very much, and her beautiful profile was seen +to perfection. The duke started as his eyes fell upon it. + +He went up to his daughter. + +"Estelle," he said, in a low voice, "who is it that young girl +resembles--some one we know well? Look at the curve of the lip, the +straight, clear brow!" + +"I do not see any likeness," she replied, with white, trembling lips, +"none at all; but, oh! papa, I am so tired. I am not so well as usual +to-day; I seem to have no strength." + +She sat on one of the crimson seats, and the duke forgot all about their +visitor in his anxiety for her. + +"I will send these people home," he said; but she interrupted him. + +"Not just yet, papa; it will be such a pleasure to me to show that +pretty young girl my flowers." + + + + +CHAPTER XXI. + +HER EYES INVITED HIM. + + +Lady Estelle and Doris went together through the beautiful +conservatories that formed one of the great attractions of the Castle, +and Doris fancied herself in fairyland. She showed them, that although +she might have no particular love for nature, she had a grand eye for +the picturesque. Lady Estelle desired her here and there to gather a +spray of choice blossoms. She did so, and the way in which she grouped +and arranged them was marvelous. + +"You have a good eye for color," said Lady Estelle, as she watched the +white fingers, with the scarlet and amber flowers. It pleased her to see +the girl lingering among them--to see the beautiful face bending over +the blossoms. + +They came to a pretty little corridor, roofed with glass; but the glass +was hidden by the luxuriance of an exotic climbing plant. Great scarlet +bells, with white, fragrant hearts, hung down in glorious profusion. In +the middle of the corridor stood a large fountain, and the water was +brilliant with gold fish. There were pretty seats, half overhung by the +leaves of the hanging plant. It was when they reached here that the +servant came in search of Lady Estelle; she was wanted in the +drawing-room, to see some visitors who had arrived. She turned to Doris, +with a kindly smile: + +"I am sure you must be tired," she said; "will you rest here? I am sorry +to leave you, but I shall not be long." + +With the dignified air of a young princess, Doris seated herself, the +footman looking on in silent wonder; he had rarely seen his languid +mistress so attentive even to her most intimate friends. + +Then Doris was left alone in the rich, mellow light. The rippling spray +of the fountain and the gleaming of the gold fish amused her for some +time: then she took up her magnificent flowers, and began to arrange +them. + +She was so deeply engaged with them, that she did not hear the sound of +footsteps; the velvet curtain at the end of the corridor was raised, and +a tall, handsome man stood looking in mute wonder at the picture before +him. + +There, in the mellow light, was a picture that for beauty of coloring +could not be surpassed. A young girl, with the face of an angel, and +hair of the purest shining gold; white hands that shone like +snow-flakes, among crimson and amber blossoms; the background was formed +by the scarlet bells and green leaves of the drooping plant. + +He stood for some minutes looking on in silent wonder; and while he so +stands, Lord Charles Vivianne is an object worth studying; tall, well +made, with a fine, erect figure, and easy, dignified bearing, he would +attract attention even among a crowd of men. His face is handsome, but +not good; the eyes are dark and piercing; the brows are arched and +thick; but the mouth, the key to the whole face, is a bad one. The lips, +thick and weak, are hidden by a mustache. It is the face of a man who +lives entirely to please himself--who knows no restraint--who consults +his own inclinations, and who would sacrifice every one and everything +to himself. + +The dark eyes are riveted on the golden hair and exquisite face of the +girl. + +It is some minutes before she becomes aware of his presence, and then +something causes her to look up, and she sees those same dark eyes, full +of admiration, glancing at her. + +She does not blush, but the dainty rose-bloom deepens on her face, and +the violet eyes flash back a look of archest coquetry into his own. + +That look decided him. If she had blushed or looked at all embarrassed, +he, being what is called a gentleman, would have turned away; that +glance, so full of fire, of coquetry--so subtle, so sweet--seemed to +start something like delicious poison through his veins. + +He comes nearer to her, making a most profound and respectful bow. Then +he sees her dress, so plain and homely, although coquettishly worn, and +he is at a loss to imagine who she can be. The loveliness, the perfect +aristocratic grace of face and figure, are what he would have expected +from a visitor at Downsbury Castle. The impress of high birth is on both +of them, but the dress is not even equal to that of a lady's-maid, yet +she is sitting there so perfectly at her ease, she must be a visitor. + +Lord Charles Vivianne, with his eyes still riveted upon her, speculates +in vain. + +"I beg pardon," he says at last. "I hope you will accept my apologies; +but I was told that Lady Estelle was here, and I wish to see her." + +"She will return very soon," replies Doris. The words are brief and +simple, but the eyes seem to say, "stay with me till she comes." + +"Have I the pleasure of speaking to a visitor at the Castle?" he asks, +with a bow. + +Then she blushes, feeling more ashamed than ever of Brackenside and its +belongings. + +"I came to see the Castle," she replies; "and Lady Estelle is kind +enough to show me the flowers." + +He understood at once. Then, saying to himself that in all probability +she was a _protegee_ of my lady's, the daughter of some tenant-farmer, +who had, as a great treat, been promised a sight of the wonders of the +Castle--he was perfectly at his ease then. + +There was no such admirer of fair women in all the world as Lord +Vivianne, and this was the fairest he had ever seen. A farmer's +daughter, without the prestige of rank and wealth to save her--fair prey +for him. Had she been the daughter of a duke, an earl, a baron, he would +simply have laid his plans for flirting with her; as it was, he sat down +and deliberately said to himself that heart and soul should be his. + +Some little faults lay at her door. Her eyes invited him; they said +things that the lips would not have dared to utter; they were full of +the sweetest and most subtle invitation, gracefully veiled by the long, +dark lashes. Lord Charles had done as he would all his life, and now +that his eyes rested on this fairest of all faces, it was not likely +that he would let anything baffle him. + +"You have a beautiful resting-place," he said. "I have never seen +anything to equal the beauty of this plant." + +"It is very beautiful," she replied; "to me it seems like fairyland." + +"I have been staying here for a week," he continued, "and I have not +seen half the beauty of the Castle yet." + +"You have been staying here!" she said, with unconscious stress on the +word "here." + +"Yes; I admire the scenery hereabouts. I think it is almost about the +finest we have." + +"I have never been out of this county," she replied, "so I cannot tell." + +He raised his dark brows in surprise. + +"You have never been away from home?" he said; "what a pity, and what a +shame!" + +"Why is it a shame?" she asked, with another of those sweet glances that +invited him to woo her. + +"Providence does not send such a face as yours in the world once in a +century," he replied, "and then all the world should see it." Doris +looked pleased, not shy or timid; she was perfectly at home with him, +and he saw it. "I must introduce myself," he said, "as Lady Estelle does +not return--I am Lord Charles Vivianne--if I dare, I should ask to whom +I have the honor of speaking." + +She did blush then with gratified vanity and delight. It was something +that she should have a handsome lord by her side, and that he should +admire her. He did admire her, she knew; she could read it in his eyes +and the flattering homage of his smile. + +Lord Charles Vivianne!--she wondered whether he was very rich, great, +and celebrated. A lord!--oh, if she could only make a conquest of him! + +"I wish I dare ask to whom I have the honor of speaking." + +And then she raised her eyes with something of defiance, and said: + +"My name is Doris--Doris Brace." + +He said the name softly. + +"Doris! What a pretty name! Now that you have been kind enough to +answer me one question, I should like to ask another--do you live near +here?" + +"I live at Brackenside," she replied. "My father is a tenant of the +duke's--he is a farmer." + +"Then I was right in my first surmise," he said. + +"Pray, what was that?" asked Doris. + +"I was watching you for some minutes before you saw me, and I guessed +that you were a daughter of one of the duke's tenants." + +She raised her head with a magnificent pride and lofty disdain that +almost annihilated him. + +"That is to say you thought I looked like a farmer's daughter. I thank +you so much for the compliment." + +"Nay," he replied; "I thought that you looked like a queen." + +The dark eyes seemed to flash light and love into her own. It must be +admitted that Lord Charles Vivianne thoroughly understood the art of +winning women. + +"Doris!" he said; "I am struck with the name, because I do not remember +that I ever met with any one who bore it before. How beautiful these +flowers are! Will you give me one to keep in memory of this, our first +meeting?" + +She tightened her hold on the scarlet and amber blossoms. He could not +help noticing the beauty of the white hand that held them. + +"I think not," she replied. "In all the poems that I ever read something +is done to win a flower before it is given." + +"I have done something to win it," he replied. + +She raised her beautiful eyes to his. + +"Have you? I did not know it. Will you tell me what it is?" + +"If you will promise me not to be angry," he whispered. + +She drew back from him and laughed. + +"How can I be angry?" she asked. "I beg of you to tell me what you have +done to win a flower." + +His eyes seemed to light his face with love and passion. + +"I will tell you what I have done," he said. "In one minute I have laid +at your feet, in silence, the homage that another could not have won in +a whole year. Now will you give me a flower?" + +He took one of the scarlet blossoms, and in doing so his fingers touched +hers. + +"I shall never part with it," he said. Then he heard the sound of the +opening of the conservatory door, and he knew that Lady Estelle was +coming. "Shall you be very angry with me," he asked, in a quiet whisper, +"if you see me near your home." + +"No," she replied. + +Then he arose and went over to the other end of the conservatory, so +that when Lady Estelle entered, she could not have any idea that they +had exchanged one word. + +Still she looked surprised, and not very well pleased at finding him +there. He came forward quickly, never even looking at Doris. + +"I had hoped to find you here, Lady Estelle," he said. "I have waited +your return. I am going over to Hyndlow this morning, and you said that +you wished me to take something to Lady Eleanor." + +"Yes," she replied; "I will attend to it. I shall see you before you +go." + +She dismissed him with a queenly bow, and he went, never once looking at +Doris, but her eyes lingered on him till he was out of sight; then she +looked at Lady Estelle, and they seemed to reproach the duke's daughter +that she had not considered her worthy of an introduction. + +Lady Estelle perfectly understood the mute reproach, but would not +notice it. + +"I am sorry," she said, languidly, "that the duchess is so busily +engaged this morning. She has asked me to say that she wishes you well +in the new life opening to you." + +"It is time to go," thought Doris. Her quick tact seemed to be almost a +sixth sense. She thanked Lady Estelle for her kindness, and Lady Estelle +did what was very unusual for her--held out her hand. + +"Good-bye!" she said, with a faint, sad smile. "You will remember our +little argument, and always bear in mind that the greatest of earthy +blessings is love." + +"I shall remember that you have said so," laughed Doris, wondering why +the cold, jeweled hand held hers so tightly. + +"If I never see you again," said the languid, caressing voice, "I shall +not forget you, and I wish you well." + +There was something so strange in the lady's face and manner that Doris +was half startled. + +The usual light, graceful words did not come so easily. + +"Good-bye!" she repeated. "This has been the happiest day in my life, +and I thank you for it." + +She turned away to follow the servant who had come in search of her, but +the quiet, gentle eyes of Lady Estelle rested on her until she was out +of sight. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII. + +"I SHALL NEVER BE A MODEL WOMAN." + + +Lord Charles Vivianne had been completely spoiled by good fortune. An +only son, he had succeeded quite early to a magnificent estate, a large +fortune, and an ancient title. As a handsome boy, he had been caressed, +indulged, and spoiled; his mother never allowed him to be thwarted in +any wish or desire; his father thought there was no one equal to him. +They both died while he was still in his early youth, and he was left to +the care of guardians who were just as indulgent. + +Some young men would not have suffered so terribly from this as he did; +but he was not naturally good, and circumstances fostered all the evil +that was in him. + +Fair women flattered him; he was a great prize in the matrimonial +market. He knew that some of the fairest and noblest women in England +would have been proud and pleased to have shared his lot; he knew that +he could choose where he would, but, although the chains of Hymen might +be made of the fairest roses, he would never wear them. He had resolved +to have as much enjoyment as possible out of his life, and, to secure +that, he decided upon roaming like a butterfly, and marrying when he +grew older. + +He was wealthy, and the possessor of an ancient title and magnificent +estates; but the name of Lord Charles Vivianne was not held in highest +honor by the world--it was not one of purest renown. + +Husbands with beautiful wives, fathers with fair young daughters, looked +reproachfully on him, for neither virtue, honor, friendship, principle, +nor pity, ever stood in his way when he had a caprice to gratify or a +whim to indulge. He laughed at the notion of a broken heart. In his +creed, women were quite an inferior order of creation--they might have +souls or they might not, that was a mere matter of belief--they were +created simply for the amusement of the passing hour, and to do the real +drudgery work of the world. How many women's hearts he broke, how many +fair young lives he blighted, will all be known on that terrible day +when sin is called by its right name, and there is no gloss thrown over +it. + +He had had numerous flirtations, but love he had never known. If he saw +a face that pleased him, he pursued it until he won it, and then it +might perish like a faded rose-leaf--it was of no more interest to him. + +Ah, it was an evil hour in which he saw the promised wife of Earle +Moray! He had never met any one so lovely; his heart was on fire as he +thought of the perfect beauty of her face and figure. There was not the +least pity in his heart as he said to himself he must win her, no matter +what it cost him; she was well worth some little trouble, and she was +willing to be won, if he could judge from her eyes. + +The last thing Doris saw, as she drove away from the Castle gates, was +Lord Charles Vivianne watching her intently, with love and admiration in +his face. He was not so handsome as Earle; he lacked the fair, spiritual +beauty of the poet; but he was a lord, and, to some people, that one +fact makes the whole world of difference. + +Doris went home with her thoughts in a maze, her head whirling with all +she had seen and heard; but the one dominant idea was that she had been +admired by a lord. + +It had been a most unfortunate thing for her, the visit to Downsbury +Castle; but for it she might in time have grown reconciled to her lot; +she might have learned to love and appreciate Earle; she might have +lived and died happily; but for it this story had never been written: it +was the turning point in her life; it seemed to bring into sudden and +vivid life all the evil that had lain dormant; it roused the vanity, the +ambition, the love of luxury and pleasure, the love of conquest and +admiration, until they became a living flame nothing could extinguish. + +How plain and homely the little farm seemed to her after the +magnificence of Downsbury Castle! How homely and uncouth Mattie and her +mother were after the languid, graceful Lady Estelle! Nothing pleased +her, nothing contented her. + +"I have been foolish," she thought; "I wish I had not promised to marry +Earle. Who knows but there might have been a chance for me to win this +handsome lord. Lady Doris Vivianne!--I like the sound of that name; what +a difference between that and Mrs. Earle Moray. How foolish I was to be +in such a hurry." + +So that evening, when poor Earle came, impatient to see her, longing for +one kind word, thirsting to talk to her, he was received with great +coldness by her. Ah, heaven! how pitiful it was to see the handsome face +droop and sadden, the lips tremble, the eyes grow dim with tears. He +might be master of the English language, that he certainly was; he might +be master of the heart of poesy, but he was a slave to her, to her +whims, her caprices, her humor. It was the first time she had been cold +to him, the first time her face had not brightened for him. She did not +even smile when he entered the room. He hastened up to her, and bending +down he kissed the beautiful face. + +"My darling Doris," he said, "I thought the day would never come to an +end. I have been longing to see you." + +Another time the sweet face would have been raised to his; she would +have given kiss for kiss; she would have welcomed him as he loved best +to be welcomed; but to-day she merely turned impatiently aside. + +"I wish you would be more careful, Earle," she said. "You make my hair +so untidy." + +"I am very sorry, dear," he said, gently. "It is such beautiful hair, +Doris, and I think it looks even more beautiful when it is what you call +untidy." + +"There is no reason why you should make it so," she retorted. + +Then he looked with wondering eyes into her face. + +"You are not well, or are you tired; which is it?" + +"I am tired," she replied; "tired to death, Earle. Do not tease me." + +"I ought to have remembered your long journey--of course you are tired. +You ought to lie down, and I will read to you. That will rest you." + +"Pray, do not be fussy, Earle. Other people get tired, but no one likes +a fuss made over them." + +Again he looked at her. Could this girl, who received him so coldly, so +indifferently, be his own beautiful, bright Doris? It seemed incredible. +Perhaps he had been so unfortunate as to offend her. He bent over her +again. + +"Doris," he said, gently, "have I been so unfortunate as to displease +you?" + +"No," she replied. "I do not remember that you have." + +"You're so changed, I can hardly imagine that this is you." + +The pain in his voice touched her. She looked at him; his face had grown +very pale, and there was a cloud in his clear, loving eyes. She laughed +a low, impatient laugh. + +"Pray do not be so unhappy because I am cross," she said. "I never +pretended to have a good temper. I am always impatient over something or +other." + +"But why with me? You know that your smile makes heaven to me: your +frown, despair. Why be cross with me, darling? I would give all I have +on earth to save you from one unhappy moment." + +"I am tired," she said, "and I cannot forget the Castle, Earle. I wish +so much that I had been born to live in such a place; I should have been +quite at home and happy there." + +"Are you not at home and happy here?" he asked. + +"No," she replied. "Happy in a lonely, dreary farm-house!" + +"With the kindest of parents, the sweetest of sisters, the most devoted +of lovers, it seems to me, Doris, that you have all the elements of +happiness." + +She did not even hear him; she was thinking of the grandeur she had +seen. + +"I call that something like life," she continued--"luxury and gayety. I +would sooner never have been born at all than be condemned to spend all +my life here." + +"But it will not be spent here, my darling; it will be spent with me." + +His face glowed; the rapture of content came over it. There was no +response in hers. + +"I shall change Brackenside for Lindenholm," she said. "I cannot see +that it will make much difference. It is only exchanging one farm-house +for another." + +"But I who love you am in the other," he said, gently. "Oh, Doris, you +pain me so greatly! I know that you do not mean what you say, but you +wound me to death." + +Again she hardly heard him. + +"I should very much like to know," Doris continued, "if it is fair to +place me, with a keen, passionate longing for life, gayety, and +pleasure, here, where I have none of the three." + +"None of the three!" he repeated, sadly, "and I find heaven with you." +He knelt down in front of her, where he could see her face, and he drew +it gently down to his own. "I will not believe you mean this, my +darling; if I did believe it I should go mad. Your beauty-loving, +artistic nature has been aroused by what you have seen, and it makes you +slightly discontented with us all. You ought to reign in a palace, my +darling, because you are so beautiful and brilliant; but the palace +shall be of my winning. You shall have every luxury that you have seen +and envied." + +"When?" she asked, briefly, bringing his castle in the air suddenly to +the ground. + +"Soon, my darling--you do not know how hard I am working--soon as I can +possibly accomplish it." + +"Work!" she replied. "A man may work for a lifetime and yet never earn +sufficient to build a house, much less a castle. Look at my father, how +hard he works, yet he is not rich, and never will be." + +"But my work is different from his, Doris. There have been poets who +have made large fortunes." + +"And there have been poets who starved in a garret," she replied. + +"But I have not that intention," cried Earle, with a look of power. "I +will win wealth for you--the thought of you gives me skill, nerve, and +courage for anything. Have patience, my darling!" + +"Oh, Earle, it was so beautiful!" she cried, pitilessly interrupting +him; "and that Lady Estelle wore such a beautiful dress! She has a +strange way of moving--it produces a strange effect--so slowly and so +gracefully, as though she were moving to the rhythm of some hidden +music. And those rooms--I can never forget them! To think that people +should live and move in the midst of such luxury!" + +He raised the white hand to his lip. + +"They are not all happy, Doris. Oh, believe me, darling! money, luxury, +magnificence cannot bring happiness. Sooner or later one wearies of +them." + +"I never should," she answered, gently. "If I could live twenty lives, +instead of one, I should never weary. I should like every hour of each +of them to be filled with pleasure." + +"That is because you have had so little," he said, wistfully. "You shall +have a bright future." + +Just at that moment Mattie Brace entered the room, and Doris looked at +her with a smile. + +"A little brown mouse, like Mattie," she said, "can easily be content. +You are happy as the day is long, are you not, Mattie?" + +The quiet brown eyes, with their look of wistful pain, rested for one +moment upon Earle, then the young girl said, calmly: + +"Certainly I am happy and content. Why should I not be? I always think +that the same good God who made me knew how and where to place me, and +knew best what I was fitted for." + +"There," said Doris, "that is the kind of material your model women are +made of. I shall never be a model woman--Mattie will never be anything +else." + +"Mattie is quite right," said Earle. "There is nothing so vain and so +useless as longing for that which we can never attain. Come, Doris, you +look better and brighter than you did when I first came in. Tell me all +about your day at the Castle." + +She told him of the duke's kind reception, of Lady Estelle's +condescension, of all the beautiful things she had seen, and how the +duke's daughter had given her some flowers, and talked to her. But not +one word did she say of Lord Charles Vivianne. It was better, she +thought, not even to mention that. + +"I am sorry you ever went near the Castle," said Mattie, gravely. "I do +not think you will ever be quite the same girl again, and I have a +presentiment that in some shape or other evil will come of it." + +And Earle, as he heard these words, turned away with a heavy sigh. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII. + +THE COQUETTE AND THE MAN OF THE WORLD. + + +Earle wondered much what had happened to change his lady-love so +completely. Looking back, he found that she had never been quite the +same since the day she went to the Castle. At first he thought it merely +a girlish feeling of discontent; that it would pass away in time as the +remembrance of all the luxury and splendor she had seen faded from her. +Every morning when he arose he thought, "It will come all right to-day; +she will put her sweet arms around my neck, and bend her beautiful face +to mine, and tell me she is sorry--oh! so sorry, that she has been cold +to me." + +But the days passed on, and that golden dream was never verified; the +coldness seemed to grow greater, and the shadow deeper. + +Once, when she was walking out with Earle, she saw Lord Vivianne. He was +walking down the high-road, and she knew well that he had been at the +farm to look for her. Her heart beat when she saw him as it had never +done for the man she had promised to marry. Earle was an ordinary man; +this was a lord, and he had been purposely to look for her. He looked so +handsome, so distinguished; she turned almost involuntarily from him to +Earle, and the contrast was not in the poet's favor. Lord Vivianne was +beautifully dressed in the most faultless and exquisite taste. Earle had +not the advantage of a London tailor. + +As they drew nearer, Earle, quite unconscious that Doris had ever seen +the stranger before, made some remark about him. + +"He has a handsome face," said Earle, "but it is not a face I like; it +is not good." + +"Good!" repeated Doris; "that is like you and Mattie. Earle, you think +every one must be good." + +"So they must," replied Earle. + +Then they were both silent, for the stranger was just passing by. He +looked at Doris, but he did not bow or speak to her; only from his eyes +to hers there passed a strange gleam of intelligence. He did not think +it wise to make any sign of recognition before the young escort who +looked at him with such keen, questioning eyes. + +"He would only begin to ask half a hundred questions about me, which she +would find it difficult to answer," he thought; so he passed on in +silence, and for a few minutes Doris was beside herself with vexation. + +"It is all because this tiresome Earle is with me," she thought. "If I +had been alone he would have stopped and have talked to me. How can I +tell what he would have said? Perhaps he would have asked me to marry +him--perhaps he is going away, and he wanted to bid me good-bye. Oh, if +I could but see him alone!" + +She looked again at Earle, and it seemed to her that in comparison with +this other young man he was so inferior, she felt a sudden sense of +impatience that made her unjust to him. + +Earle thought no more of the stranger who had passed them on the +high-road--it was nothing very unusual--strangers passed them +continually. But Doris thought of nothing else. She had begun the walk +in the best of spirits, but now she hardly spoke. Earle could not +imagine what change had passed over the summer sky of his love. She was +impatient, complained of being tired, turned to go home. + +He was growing accustomed to her caprices now; and though they pained +him, as the unkindness of those we love is certain to pain us, still he +bore it patiently; he used to think that as she was young the quiet home +life tired her. It would be all right when he could take her away, where +she would be happy and bright; still the pain was very keen, so keen +that it blanched his face, and made his lips tremble. If she could make +him so happy, why could he not suffice for her? + +Doris wanted to be alone and to think over what had happened. Lord +Vivianne had been there in the hope of seeing her, that was certain. If +he had been once, it was just possible that he might come again. She +resolved on the morrow to be out alone, no matter what Earle said. +Chance favored her. Earle came over quite early, and remained but a +short time. His mother wished him to go over to Quainton, and he would +not return till evening. "So that I shall not see much of you, my +beautiful Doris," he said. + +She was so relieved to hear it that it made her more than usually kind +to him. She looked up to him with a sunny smile; she held her bright +face for him to kiss; she was so kind to him that all his fears died +away, and he rejoiced in the sunshine of his perfect love. + +She was kind to him, gentle, caressing, loving, because she was going to +deceive him. Women are so constituted, they can veil the greatest +cruelty with a pretense of the greatest affection. + +There was no fear in the heart of her young lover, while she knew that, +if the opportunity were given to her, she would assuredly perjure +herself. + +Earle went away completely happy, and when he was gone Doris breathed +freely. She went to the dairy where her mother and sister were busy at +work. She looked for a minute with great contempt on the cans of rich +milk and cream. Mattie was deeply engaged in the mysteries of curds and +whey. + +"Mother," said Doris, "you do not want me?" + +"Well, for the matter of that, it is not much use wanting you, my dear; +you do not like work." + +"Indeed I do not. It is such a pleasant morning, I thought of going +through Thorpe Woods." + +"Very well. Though mind, Doris, it is not quite right for you to go out +amusing yourself while Mattie works so hard." + +"But if I stay at home I shall not work, so I am better out of the way." + +Mrs. Brace knew it was false reasoning; but what was the use of saying +so; she had long since ceased arguing with Doris. + +"Do not expect me back very early. I may go on to see Lottie Granger," +said Doris. + +Thinking it wise that no hour should be set for her return, she intended +to cross the high-road and linger in the hope of seeing him. There was +no fear of discovery. Her mother and Mattie were settled for the day, +Earle had gone to Quainton, her father was away in some distant +meadow-land. She hoped that she could see her lord, for no time could be +more favorable for a long conversation. She was singing up stairs in her +own room. + +"I must make myself look as nice as I can," she thought. + +She inspected her wardrobe; there was really nothing in it worth +wearing. She gave an impatient sigh. + +There was a plain white hat, trimmed with blue ribbon; there was a black +lace shawl and a white muslin dress. She hastened down into the garden +and gathered a beautiful rose; she fastened it into her hat, and it was +instantly transformed into the most becoming head-gear. The black lace +shawl, by a few touches of the skillful fingers, became a Spanish +mantilla, and hung in graceful folds over the pretty muslin. + +Her toilet was a complete success; she had that marvelous gift of +transforming everything she touched. At school she had been the envy of +her companions; she had a taste that was at once artistic and +picturesque, and it was nowhere displayed to greater advantage than in +her own dress. + +When she looked in the little glass all doubts as to the success of her +appearance faded at once. There was a dainty flush on her lovely face, +the beautiful eyes were bright as stars. What matter the fashion of the +hat that covered that luxuriant hair? She smiled at herself. + +"There is not much fear, my dear," she mused, "that you will fail in +anything you undertake." + +Then, in the fair June morning, she went out to meet her doom. + +She had not gone many steps on the high-road when she saw Lord Vivianne +coming. Like a true coquette she feigned unconsciousness, and pretended +to gather the woodbines from the hedges. + +He smiled at the transparent artifice. She did not know how well he had +studied the nature of woman, how perfectly he was acquainted with every +little art. + +She muttered a most musical exclamation of surprise. When she turned +suddenly round and saw him, she made what she considered a grand effect +by suddenly dropping all her wild flowers, as though the surprise had +overcome her. + +"Let them be," he said; "happy roses do die by so fair a hand. I am so +pleased to see you, Miss Brace. What happy fortune sent me on this +road?" + +She did not play off the same pretty airs on him that had so completely +captivated poor Earle; she did not ask him to call her Doris, and say +how she detested the name "Brace." Peers and poets require different +treatment. + +"My poor roses," she said; "I had been so happy in gathering them." + +"Never mind the roses," said Lord Vivianne; "there are hundreds more. I +want to talk to you. Are you going for a walk? May I go with you?" + +"I am going to Thorpe Woods," she replied, "and if you wish to go with +me I am willing." + +She spoke with the proud grace of a young princess. For the moment he +actually forgot she was but the daughter of a tiller of the soil. + +"I thank you," he said, gravely; and they turned aside from the +high-road to the fields that led to Thorpe Woods. + +The day was so lovely that it might have reminded him that life had +brighter aims than the wrecking of a woman's soul and the winning of a +woman's love; but it did not. The birds sang in the trees, the fair sun +shone, the hawthorn covered the hedges, the woodbine scented the air, +and they walked on, never even hearing the myriad voices that called +them to look from earth to heaven. + +"I was so anxious to see you again," said Lord Vivianne. "I tried to +forget you, but I could not." + +"Why should you wish to forget me?" Doris asked, coquettishly. + +"Some men would flatter you," he replied, "and tell you that you are so +fair they dreaded to remember you. I tell you the honest truth. I heard +something which made me wish that I had never seen you, or that, having +seen you, I might forget you." + +"What did you hear?" she asked. + +"You can guess. I heard that--young, lovely as you are--some one has +been wise enough and quick enough to win you." + +She smiled a slow, cruel, peculiar smile, and when Lord Vivianne saw +that expression on her face, he felt that his victory was won. + +"They tell me," he continued, "that this fair beauty, which ought to +have the world to do it homage, is to be shut up in the obscurity of a +country home; that the fair girl, who might win the hearts of all men, +has promised herself to a farmer. Is it true?" + +Her eyes were raised to his, and in them there was a cold glitter, as of +steel. + +"Supposing that it is true, what then?" she asked. + +"Then I regret, with my whole heart, having seen you, for I have met you +too late." + +And after that they walked in silence for some minutes. He gave the +words full time to do their work; he saw that they were full of meaning +to her, for her face flushed, and her eyes drooped. He continued in a +lighter tone: + +"Pray do not think me very impertinent if I inquire whether that was +your shepherd lover with whom I saw you yesterday?" + +She raised her beautiful head proudly. Because he was her lover, no one +should ridicule Earle. She might desert him, betray him, break his +heart, but no one should utter one word against him--not one. + +"That was my lover with whom you saw me," she said, in a cold, clear +voice. "You have spoken of him as a farmer, he is not that. I should not +have fallen in love with a farmer. He is a poet and a gentleman." + +"He looks like it," said my lord, seeing that he was altogether on the +wrong track, "therefore I say how deeply I regret that I have met you +too late. You cannot surely, Miss Brace, be angry with me for saying +that?" + +"I am not angry at all," said Doris, and the beautiful eyes were raised +frankly to his. "How can I be angry," she continued, "when you pay me +the greatest compliments in your power." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV. + +AN IMPASSIONED WOOING. + + +"This is the very place for lovers," said Lord Vivianne. + +They had reached an open piece of moorland, where the shadows of the +tall trees danced on the grass, and great sheets of bluebells contrasted +with starry primroses. There was a bank where the wild thyme grew, +sheltered by a tall linden-tree. The birds seemed to have made their +home there, for the summer air resounded with sweet song. + +Lord Vivianne drew aside the fallen branch of a slender willow, that she +might find room to sit down. + +"The very place for lovers," he repeated. + +She looked at him with a smile: + +"But we are not lovers," she said; "therefore it is not the place for +us." + +"False logic! fairest of ladies!" he replied; "there is no knowing how +soon we may become lovers, though. I feel sure we did not meet for +nothing." + +"Can a girl have two lovers?" she asked, looking up at him with the +frank eyes of an innocent child. + +He laughed. + +"That quite depends on the state of one's conscience," he replied, "and +the elasticity of one's spirits. If two lovers are objectionable, the +proper thing is to send one away." + +"Which should be sent away?" she asked. + +"I should say the one that is loved the least. Tell me, now, do you +really love this country admirer of yours very much?" + +"I do not understand why you ask me." + +"Do you not? I will tell you. Because everything that interests you +interests me; your pains and pleasures would soon be mine." + +"I have no pains," she said, thoughtfully, "and no pleasures." + +"Then yours must be a most dull and monotonous life. How can you, with +so keen a capacity for enjoyment--how can you bear it?" + +"I do not bear it very well," she replied; "I am always more or less +bad-tempered." + +He laughed again. + +"You improve upon acquaintance, Miss Brace. You are the first lady whom +I have heard plead guilty to bad temper. As a rule, women prefer making +themselves out to be angelic." + +"I am very far from that," said Doris, frankly; "nor am I naturally +bad-tempered. It is because nothing in my life pleases or interests me." + +"Not even your lover?" he said, bending over her and whispering the +words. + +She blushed under his keen gaze. Her words had betrayed more than she +meant to betray. + +Then he added: + +"Would you like it changed--this dull life of yours--into one of fairy +brightness?" + +"I should; but it will not be possible. My fate in the future is +fixed--nothing can alter it." + +"Yes," he said, gently, "there is one thing that can alter it, and only +one--your will and mine." + +Then he seemed to think that for a time he had said enough. He looked +over the trees, and began to talk to her about the flowers. Doris did +not much care about that--she had not come out to listen to the praises +of flowers; she would rather ten thousand times over that her lordly +lover had praised herself. + +While he was talking, she was thinking of many things. Was it a dream, +or a reality, that she, Doris Brace, daughter of Mark and Patty Brace, +was really talking to a lord, listening to his compliments, that he +admired her quite as much as Earle did? It was more like a dream than a +reality. He, who had been half over the world, who belonged to the +highest society, who had seen and known the most beautiful women in +England, to be talking to her so easily, so kindly. + +"I must be beautiful," thought the girl, in her heart, "or he would +never have noticed me." + +Then she recalled her wandering thoughts. The sun was shining full upon +them, and all its light seemed to be concentrated in a superb diamond +that he wore on his left hand. No matter where she looked, her eyes +seemed to be drawn to that stone; the fire of it was dazzling. Then her +eyes wandered over the well-knit figure. What a difference dress made. +Earle, in such garments as these, would look like a nobleman. Her +attention was suddenly attracted. + +"You do not answer me," he was saying. + +She looked up at him. + +"I beg your pardon," she said; "I was not really listening to you." + +"I was telling you that I ought to have left the Castle three days ago, +but I was determined that I would not leave until I had seen you. I do +not know how I can tear myself away." + +Again she blushed crimson. Could it be possible that he had stayed +purposely to see her? + +"I should rather think that you stayed to enjoy a little more of Lady +Estelle's society," she said. + +"Lady Estelle," he repeated. "You do not suppose that any one could find +any pleasure in that perfect icicle." + +"Icicle! I should never give her that name. She seemed to me, on the +contrary, almost sentimental." + +"My dear Miss Brace," he said, "it is simply impossible that we can be +speaking of the same lady. I assure you that Lady Estelle Hereford is +known everywhere as the coldest and proudest of women. She has had many +admirers, but I do not think she ever loved any one." + +The girl's eyes were now fixed on him in perplexity and wonder. + +"Never in love!" she repeated. "Why, she gave me a long lecture about +love, and advised me never to marry without it. When she spoke of it her +face quite changed, her eyes lost their indolent expression and filled +with light. I thought she was the most romantic and sentimental lady I +had ever met." + +"I can only say that I believe it to be the first romantic idea of her +life. She is cold, reserved, high-bred, and graceful, I admit; but as +for sentiment, she has none of it." + +"We have evidently seen her from different points of view," said Doris. +"I wonder which is the correct one." + +"I dislike contradicting a lady, but must state that I am likely to know +her better than you. I have known her many years, and you have only met +her once." + +"Still we differ considerably," said Doris. + +"And you think it possible that I should remain for her sake? Of all the +people in the world she interests me the least." + +"She interests me most deeply. I thought of fire and ice, sun and snow, +and all kinds of strange contradictions while I talked to her." + +"It is for you I remained--never mind Lady Estelle. We will not waste +the sunny hours of this lovely morning talking about her. You have not +told me yet if you prefer this country admirer of yours to all the +world; if you do, there remains for me nothing except to take up my hat +and go. I know how useless it is even to attempt to win even one corner +of a preoccupied heart." + +"Why should you wish to win one corner of mine?" she asked, stealing +from underneath her long lashes one sweet, subtle glance that was like +fire to him. + +"Why!" he replied, passionately; "because I long to win your whole heart +and soul; your whole love and affection for myself. I cannot rest; I +know no peace, no repose; I think of nothing but you! Why should I not +win your heart if I can?" + +She shrank back, trembling, blushing; the fire and passion of his words +scared her. + +"Your face haunts me; I see it wherever I gaze," he continued. "Your +voice haunts me, I hear it in every sound. I would fain win you, if I +can, for my own; but if you tell me that you love this country admirer +of yours--this man to whom a perverse fate has bound you--if you tell +me that, I will go, and I will never tease you again." + +Then she knew that she held the balance of her life in her own hands, +and that the whole of her future rested with herself. Should she be true +to Earle, say she loved him, and so lose the chance of winning this love +from a lord, and resign herself to her quiet, dull, monotonous life? or +should she cast him from her and betray him? + +"One word--only one word," whispered Lord Vivianne, bending his evil, +handsome face over her. + +"You think such a question can be answered in a minute," she said. "It +is impossible. I can only say this, that I liked him better than any one +else one short month ago." + +He grasped her hand and held it tightly clasped in his own. + +"You say that--you admit that much! Oh, Doris, the rest shall follow. I +will not leave Downsbury until I have won the rest." + +Then his eyes fell upon the diamond ring, shining and scintillating in +the sun. A sudden thought struck him: he held her white hand in his own, +and looked at it as he held it up to the light. + +"How fine and transparent," he said. "I can see every vein. Such a hand +ought to be covered with jewels." + +She was of the same opinion herself. Then he drew off the diamond ring +that shone like flame on his own finger; he looked entreatingly at her. + +"I wonder," he said, "if you will be angry? This was my mother's ring, +and I prize it more than I do anything in the wide world. I am afraid. +Promise me you will not be angry." + +It was, to say the least of it, a great stretch of imagination. Lord +Charles Vivianne would never have troubled himself to have worn his +mother's ring; but even he, bold and adventurous as he was, thought some +little preamble necessary before he offered her so valuable a gift. + +"There is a strange, sad love-story connected with it," he said, "which +I will tell you some day; but it is dear to me, because it was my +mother's ring." Then he drew it from his finger. "I should like to see +how it looks on that pretty white hand of yours," he said, laughingly; +and, as he spoke, he drew the ring on her finger. + +It shone and glanced like fire; the sunbeams seemed to concentrate +themselves on it; and, certainly, the beautiful white hand looked the +lovelier for the ring. He looked at it admiringly. + +"You were born to wear jewels," he said. "You ought never to be without +them." + +She laughed with the faintest tinge of bitterness. + +"I do not see from whom I am to get them," she said. + +"As my wife you could get them, and everything that your heart could +wish. Think of it, and compare a life of ease and luxury with your dull +existence here. You will let me see you again? I have so much to say to +you." + +"Yes," she replied; "I will see you, if I can get away from home." + +"You can always do that." Then he held the little hand even more tightly +in his own. "I am half afraid," he said, quietly; "but I wish that you +would allow me to offer you this ring." + +She looked at him suddenly, and with a burning flush on her face. + +"To me?" she said, hesitatingly. + +"Yes, if you will only make me happy by accepting it as a little memento +of the day on which we first met." + +"But it is so costly--it is so very valuable." + +"If it were not it would not be worth offering to you," he replied. "I +should be so happy if you would wear it--it is the first time a jewel +has given me such pleasure." + +"How can I wear such a splendid ring?" she said. "Every one who sees it +will wonder where it came from." + +"You will be able to manage that," he replied; "you are so clever. I +cannot doubt your skill. Say you will accept it, Doris?" She was quite +silent for some minutes, then a low voice whispered to her: "I will hang +jewels more costly than this on your beautiful neck, and round your +white arms; you shall be crowned with diamonds, if you will. See how +marvelously fair it makes that sweet hand of yours. Jewels crown a +beautiful woman with a glory nothing else can give. You, above all +others, ought to be so crowned, for there is no other woman so fair." + +The flush died from her face. She had not quite made up her mind. There +came before her a vision of her past lover, with his wild worship, his +passionate love; of all the vows and promises she had made to him; of +his trust and faith in her. If she took this lord's ring, and promised +to meet him again, it meant forsaking Earle. Besides, he had spoken of +making her his wife. Was he in earnest? + +She rose hurriedly from her seat. He saw that her lips quivered and her +hands trembled; she was agitated and confused. + +"Give me time," she said. "You frighten me. I can hardly understand. I +must go now; they will think that I am lost." + +He rose with her, and stood by her side. + +"You will keep the ring, Doris, for my sake, in memory of the time when +I first saw you?" + +"I will keep it," she replied, hastily. "Oh, Lord Vivianne, let me go; I +am frightened--this is so different to being with Earle. Let me go." + +"You will meet me again," he urged, "say on Friday--you will not +refuse--at this same time and same place? I will lavish the luxury of +the whole world on you, if you will only care for me." + +But now that her ambition was satisfied, was realized, she was +frightened at her own success, and hastened away. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV. + +THE FALSE LIPS OF WOMAN. + + +Earle was not the only one who found Doris changed. She had hastened +home from that interview almost wild with excitement. Could it be that +the wildest dream of her life was realized at last; that this handsome +lord had offered her every luxury in the world; it seemed too bright a +vision to be real; she was obliged to look again at the diamond on her +finger to convince herself of its truth. + +Mark Brace and his wife, as well as Mattie, wondered when Doris reached +home, where her animation and high spirits had gone. Mattie spoke, and +she seemed hardly to hear her; her mother asked her some trifling +question and she made no answer. She was like one in a dream. As a rule +she was the delight and torment of Mark's life. As they sat together in +the evening, she would puzzle him with questions--she would tease, +irritate, charm, and annoy him. But on this night Doris said no word, +and Mark fancied it was because Earle was away. He sat looking at her +with great solemn eyes, wondering who could fathom the mysteries of a +woman's heart. He had never thought Doris fond of Earle, yet there she +was, wretched, miserable, and lonely, because he was away. + +How little he guessed that in her mind Earle was already of the past. +She had loved him as well as it was in her power to love any one, but +that was not much; and now that the grand temptation of her life was +before her all regard for Earle sank into insignificance. She was faint +with wonder, and amazed that she, Doris Brace should have made such a +conquest; her heart beat with delight, then sank with fear. Was he only +trifling with her, this handsome lord? Her face flushed proudly. + +"If I thought he was only trifling with me," she said to herself, "I +should know how to treat him." + +Then one look at the jewel on her finger reassured her. + +"Gentlemen do not give jewels that cost hundreds of pounds unless they +really love and intend marriage." + +There was some assurance of success in the gleam of the diamond. She had +been obliged to remove the ring lest her mother and Mattie might see it. + +On the morning following Earle hastened to Brackenside. He was longing +to see his lady-love again; she was so kind to him when they parted--she +had been so unusually gentle that he had longed for more kindness. He +was at Brackenside before the breakfast was finished. One look at the +beautiful face of his love sufficed; she was dreamy, abstracted; she +seemed hardly to notice his entrance. No light came in her eyes as she +spoke to him; she did not make room for him by her side. When he went up +to her and tried to kiss the face he loved so well, she drew back, not +angrily, but carelessly. + +"I never said you might kiss me every day, Earle," she said. + +"I know, my darling, but I cannot help it. It has grown into a custom +now." + +"When anything becomes a custom it ceases to be a charm," she said, with +unconscious philosophy. + +Earle looked down sadly at her. + +"Doris," he said, "you are so sadly changed to me, I cannot understand +it, dear. You say that I have not displeased you?" + +"No," she said, carelessly, "I am not in the least displeased." + +"Then, what have I done, my darling? I love you too madly to suffer +anything to come between us. If I could win your love by dying for it, I +would cheerfully die. Tell me what I can do to make you as you were once +to me?" + +She raised her head impatiently. + +"You are always talking nonsense, Earle. I cannot regulate my words and +thoughts as I would regulate a clock. I cannot undertake to be always +the same." + +"You are charming, but your variety used to be one of your greatest +charms. I do not complain of that--the summer sky changes; it goes from +crimson to blue, and then white--you changed from grave to gay, and in +each mood you seemed to me most charming. It is not that now." + +"What is it, then?" she asked. + +He looked so wistfully at her that, if she had had any heart, it must +have been touched. + +"I can hardly tell--I dare not even to myself say what your manner seems +to me. Doris, you cannot surely repent of having promised to marry +me--it cannot be that?" + +His honest eyes grew so dim with pain--his face grew so white--she would +sooner, heartless coquette as she was, have stabbed him to the heart +than have answered "Yes." She turned away from him. + +"I suppose you cannot help talking nonsense, Earle? I am not sentimental +myself, and so much of it wearies me. When you can talk about anything +else I shall be glad." + +As soon as she could she quitted the room, and Earle was at a loss to +know what to do or say. He tried to comfort himself. + +"She is so beautiful, my darling," he said, tenderly, "and beauty is +always capricious; it is but the caprice of a young girl. I must be +patient." He tried to school himself to patience, but he felt +unutterably sad. There was something in her manner he could not +understand. "I know what lovers' quarrels are," he thought to +himself--"they are the renewal of love; but I cannot understand this +dark, cold shadow which comes between us, and seems to hide from me the +beauty and light of her face." + +He went out and tried to interest himself in his work, thinking to +himself that her mood would soon change, and then the sun would shine +for him again. But he found work impossible; he could think of nothing +else but the loved one's face with the shadow on it. + +He went through the meadows, and stood leaning over the gate. When +Mattie saw him she watched him for some minutes in silence, her sweet, +homely face full of wistful anxiety, her eyes full of tenderest love. To +her simple mind he was as far above her as the angels were; but she +loved him as she never loved any one else. She had feared greatly for +him, and it had been some relief to her to find that Doris had really +promised to marry him and intended to keep her word. It was the first +time since she had heard the news of the engagement that she had seen +that look of doubt, almost despair, on his face, and it troubled her +greatly. + +"What can have happened?" she said to herself; then, with a sudden sense +of foreboding, it seemed to her what she had always dreaded had come at +last. + +Involuntarily the girl clasped her hands: "God save Earle!" she said; +then she went up to him. + +She spoke twice to him before he heard her; then she started in alarm as +the white face, with its expression of bitter sorrow, was turned to her. + +"Earle, what has happened?" + +"Nothing," he replied. Then the sweet, mild, sympathizing face +reproached him with kindness. "Nothing has happened, Mattie," he said, +"but I am not happy; I am afraid that I have grieved Doris." + +"What have you done to her?" she asked, briefly. + +"That is what I want to find out and cannot," he replied. "Tell me, +Mattie, have you noticed a change in her?" + +"Yes," replied the young girl, gravely, "I have, Earle, ever since the +day she went to the Castle. I wish she had never seen it. We were very +happy until then." + +"Yes, we were happy," he replied sadly. "What has changed her, Mattie? +Tell me truthfully; never mind about giving me pain." + +"I think she saw and envied all the magnificence that was there," said +Mattie; "our simple home and homely ways have been disagreeable to her +ever since." + +"Will it pass away?" he asked, anxiously. "We must have patience with +her, Mattie. Who can wonder at it? She is so young and so lovely, it +seems only natural that she should care most for what is bright and +beautiful. Downsbury Castle seemed like fairyland to her. No wonder that +after it we all seem a little tame and dull." + +"You can never be tame, Earle," said the girl, indignantly. "How can you +say such a thing? Tame indeed! I should like to say what I think on the +matter." + +Her warm sympathy somewhat reassured him. + +He looked up at her. + +"You do not think, then, that it is anything serious, Mattie? I am so +glad. One so gay and bright as Doris naturally tires of a quiet home." + +"I do not think home so very quiet. You are always there, and she ought +to find her happiness in your society." + +"I am sure she does," he replied, hastily, unable to cast even the +shadow of blame on her; "but you see, dear, I love her so that a shadow +on her fair face drives me mad." + +"You worship her, Earle," said Mattie, gravely; "and in this weary world +man or woman who commits that sin of idolatry is certain to suffer for +it." + +"What can I do to win her smiles again?" asked the young lover. + +"I do not know, Earle. I wish your happiness did not depend so entirely +on her smiles." + +"It is too late to remedy that," replied Earle. + +As he spoke he saw in the distance the glimmer of her dress between the +trees. + +"There she is!" he cried. "I will go to her." + +His face flushed crimson, and Mattie watched him sadly as he hastened +after her sister. + +"How he loves her!" she thought. "Poor Earle! he has no life apart from +her; it is almost pitiful to see him." + +Doris, believing herself unseen, had gone out hoping to avoid Earle. She +liked him too well to pain him, yet every moment she was drawing nearer +to the precipice. + +"Anything," she said to herself, "is better than the sight of that +pained face." + +She resolved to go down to the Thorpe Meadow and while away an hour or +two there. Earle would not dream of looking there for her; so she went, +taking with her one of her favorite French novels. She found a seat in a +shady nook. She opened the novel, but she could not read; the romance of +her own life was more exciting to her now than any other--that wild +romance of which the outward symbol was a diamond ring. She took the +ring from her purse and placed it on her finger. How it shone, and +gleamed, and glittered! So may the eye of the serpent have glittered in +the garden of Paradise. She held out her hand the better to admire it. +Her lover's words came back to her: "I will hang jewels on your +beautiful neck and round your white arms." + +Her heart beat fast. That would indeed be a triumph. What was anything +else in the wide world compared to this? Besides, the young lord +sincerely loved her. Had he not so declared, with passion and truth +burning in his eyes? What was Earle's love--the love of a poor poet--to +the passionate rapture of a rich young lord, who was willing to marry +her, and could crown her with the rarest gems, give her every luxury in +life? + +As the thought crossed her mind Earle drew near, at first unobserved by +her. His eye at once alighted upon the ring. + +"That is a beautiful ring, Doris," he said, "and a costly one. Who gave +it to you?" He took her hand and held it tightly in his own, while his +face grew deadly pale. "I know but little of jewels," he continued, "but +I can tell that this is costly and valuable. Who gave it to you?" + +Her face flushed deepest crimson, her eyes flashed fire. + +"That is no business of yours," she replied. + +But, rather to her surprise, Earle showed no fear of her anger, no +irresolution. + +"I have a right to ask," he said. "You are my promised wife. Who gave +you the jewel you wear on your hand?" + +"I refuse to answer you," she replied. + +"Doris," he said, and there was more of contempt than of pain in his +voice. "Doris, has that anything to do with your coldness to me?" + +For one moment she looked at him steadily, then she seemed to remember +that defiance and denial would be useless--would only cause inquiries. +Her only way out of the difficulty lay in untruth. She smiled sweetly in +his face. + +"My jealous Earle," she said; "who do you think gave me this ring?" + +"I cannot tell," he replied, gravely. + +"Will you promise, if I tell you, never to mention it?" + +"I promise faithfully, Doris." + +"Lady Estelle Hereford gave it to me on the day I went to Downsbury +Castle. Are you jealous of her, Earle?" + +"No, my darling. I hope the time may come when I shall bring you even +brighter jewels than this," and he kissed the fair, false hand as he +spoke. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI. + +THE LAST HAPPY DAY OF HIS LIFE. + + +"Earle," said Doris, suddenly, "I hope you will keep your promise, and +not mention to any person a word about this ring." + +"I have never broken my word in my life," said Earle, proudly. + +"Because, when Lady Estelle gave it to me, she wished me not to mention +it; they would be so jealous at home. Mattie would want one like it." + +Earle was indignant at this insinuation. + +"You do not understand Mattie if you think that," he said. "She would be +pleased in your pleasure, not envious." Doris laughed. + +"You think all women are angels, Earle. I hope you may never find out +your mistake." + +"I hope not," he said. "Of course I will respect your wishes, and keep +the most perfect silence. At the same time, I think you are rather +imprudent; and any one, seeing such a valuable ring in your possession, +would naturally wonder how you came by it." + +"They may wonder," she said indifferently. "_I_ know, and that is quite +sufficient. Is it really valuable, Earle? What do you think it is +worth?" + +"I am no judge of such things," he said. "It is a large stone, full of +fire, and without a flaw. I should imagine it to be worth two or three +hundred pounds; it may be worth more, certainly not less." + +Three hundred pounds. Why, the bare idea of it was fabulous--to have a +lover who could give you such jewels; it was like a fairy tale, and he +would hang chains of such round her neck and arms. + +Earle wondered why she so suddenly grew abstracted and quiet--it was so +unlike Doris, this dreamy repose. It had wanted but little to cause her +to make up her mind as to her decision--such wealth as that was not to +be despised. Earle suddenly grew quite insignificant in her eyes. When +would he be able to give her a diamond worth three hundred pounds? +Still, she would not let him even guess what were her thoughts; +to-morrow she had to see her young lord lover--she would keep good +friends with Earle till then; so she threw aside the many thoughts and +ideas which haunted her, and turning to him, was once more her own +charming self. + +Earle was enchanted; she had but to smile at him, to give him a look of +kindness, to evince the least sign of affection for him, and all was +well; she was so completely mistress of his heart, soul, and mind, that +she could do with him just as she would. He surrendered himself to the +charm--he was more happy than words can tell; he said to himself that he +had been mistaken, there was no coldness in her manner, no change; it +had, after all, only been some little shadow of girlish reserve, some +little variation of spirit; she was his own love--beautiful, tender, and +true. + +Seated by her, in the fair June sunshine, he told her all his hopes and +his fears; he told her how he had fancied that her love was leaving him, +that she was changing to him, that she had been caring less for him. Now +he was delighted to find that she was all that was most kind, most +amiable, and winning. + +None, looking at the bright, happy face, could have guessed what was +hidden underneath it--Earle least of all. Those eyes were full of heaven +to him; he saw all truth, all honor, all nobility in the matchless +features. Earle believed in her; drinking in the marvelous beauty of her +face, listening to the sweet voice, he would have gone to death for her; +it never entered his mind to doubt her. + +So the summer hours passed, and Earle, completely happy, completely +reassured, was in the seventh heaven of delight. They went home +together. For long afterward did he dwell on the memory of that day, the +last happy one of his life! + +He remained at the farm until evening; he seemed unable to tear himself +away. The moon was shining, and the stars were gleaming in the sky when +he went. He asked Doris if she would walk with him just as far as the +garden gate. She did not seem willing, but Mark Brace, who had noticed +the wistful expression of the young lover's eyes, said: + +"Go, Doris; the night is fine; going as far as the gate will not hurt +you." + +Unwillingly she rose to go. Another time she would have rebelled, but +now the consciousness of the treachery she was meditating forbade that; +she would do as they liked for the present. + +Mattie held out her hand to Earle, with a grave, anxious look. If she +could have saved him; if she could have done anything to help him! She +seemed to have a foreboding that all was not well, that Doris was +deceiving them. + +"Good-night, Mattie," said Earle, in a low voice; "you see the sun is +shining for me again." + +"Heaven grant that it may always so shine!" said sincere Mattie. + +Then she turned away from him abruptly. There were times when she could +not bear those outward evidences of his love. She said to herself that +Doris was quite unworthy of him--quite unworthy; but that if he had only +cared for her, she would have made his life so bright for him. + +Then the lovers went out together. Mattie, looking after them with a +sigh, Mark Brace with a smile. Earle wishing that each moment of the +starlight night could be lengthened into years, Doris silently wishing +that there was no love in the world--nothing but diamonds. + +Doris walked in silence to the garden gate. The picture was a beautiful +one. The picturesque old farm-house lying in the soft moonlight, the +moonbeams falling full and bright on the flowers, the fields, and the +trees. The laburnums shining yellow and pale; the lilacs filling the air +with sweet perfume; the starlight touching the golden head and face of +the young girl until she looked beautiful and ethereal as an +angel--lighting up the spiritual face of the young lover. Doris leaned +against the gate, and directly over her head hung the flowers of the +syringa tree. There was a deep, dreamy silence over the whole earth, as +though the rest of heaven were lying over it. Earle was the first to +speak. + +"You look so beautiful, my darling," he said. "How am I to tear myself +away?" + +"Do not look at me," she replied, "then you will go easily enough." + +"Do you want me to go?" he asked, bending a spray of syringa until it +rested on her head. "Do you want me to go?" + +No need to pain him yet. No need to wound with the point of a pin when +she was preparing a sharp sword to stab him to the heart. + +"Why should I want you to go?" Doris asked, with one of those sweet, +subtle smiles which fire the hearts of men. + +"I am so happy," he said, after a time, "here with you in the moonlight, +my darling; it seems to me that earth and heaven have no higher bliss to +give me. I wish you could see yourself, Doris. The moonlight just +touches your hair, and makes it something like an aureole of glory round +your head; it touches your face, and makes it like a lily leaf; it +shines in your eyes, and they are brighter than the stars. Oh, my +darling, all the words in the world could not tell how lovely you are!" + +"There is something in having a poet for a lover after all," thought +Doris. + +"How am I to leave you? When I go away my heart clings to you; it is as +though I were drawn by cords that I could not loosen; my eyes will not +gaze in any other direction. Oh, Doris, if I could tell you how I love +you, if but for once I could measure the height and depth of my own wild +worship, if but for once I could tell you how dearly I love you, you +would be compelled, in sheerest pity, to love me in return." + +"Have I not said I love you Earle?" and her voice was sweet as the +cooing ring-dove. "Whatever happens to either of us, be quite sure of +one thing--whatever love I have to give is given to you." + +He bent down and kissed her sweet, false lips, such unutterable +happiness shining in his eyes that the great pity was he did not die +there and then. + +She lifted her face to his. + +"It is not in me," she said, "to love as some people do; but, let what +may happen, I do love you, and you have all my love." + +He drew the lovely face to his own. + +"I should like to take you in my arms and run away with you," he said; +"to take you to some lonely island or solitary desert, where no one +could ever try to take you from me." + +She knew perfectly well that on the morrow she had to meet her lordly +lover, yet, when Earle clasped her in his arms, and drew her head on his +breast, she mutely accepted his caresses. + +What she said was true--she might do what she would, she might love the +prestige of Lord Vivianne's rank, she might love his wealth, and what it +could bring her, but the whole affection of her heart--poor, mean, and +false as it was--had been given to Earle. + +As she listened to his low-whispered words, she thought to herself that +it was most likely for the last time. The story of woman's falseness is +never pleasant to write. When Earle thought that he had detained her as +long as Mark Brace would wish her to be out, he said: + +"I must go, Doris; it would be just as difficult to leave you in an +hour's time as now. Good-bye, my love, good-bye." + +Then she raised her golden head and fair, flower-like face. She clasped +her soft, white arms around his neck, and said: + +"Good-bye, Earle." + +It was the first voluntary caress that she had ever offered him, and his +heart beat with a perfect rapture of happiness. + +She turned away; false, fickle, coquette as she was, the sight of his +face touched her with no ordinary pain. How he trusted, how he loved +her! Heaven help him! how his whole heart, soul, and life seemed wrapped +up in her. + +Doris went back into the sitting-room, where honest Mark Brace sat +waiting for her, and Earle walked home. He hardly knew how he reached +there, the glamour of his love was strong upon him, the moonlight was so +fair, the whole earth so fragrant and so beautiful; he crushed the sweet +blossoms under his feet as he walked along; he had gathered the spray of +syringa, and he held it to his lips; shining among the stars he saw the +fair face of his love, he heard her voice in the sweet whisper of the +wind; he stood bare-headed under the night sky, while he said to +himself, "Heaven bless her!" And when he entered his mother's house, the +look of rest on his face, the light in his eyes struck her so, that she +said: + +"You look very well to-night, my son. Is it poetry or love?" + +He laughed gayly. + +"As though you could separate the two, mother. My love is all poetry, my +poetry all love." + +She laid her hand on the fair clustering brow. + +"I am afraid that your love is your religion, too," she said. + +"I am so happy, mother! What have I done that I should win the love of +that pure, young heart? Do not say that I have no religion. I feel that +I could kneel all night and thank Heaven for the treasure it has sent +me. I shall be a thousand times better man for my love." + +But Mrs. Moray was not to be convinced. She did not see Doris with the +eyes of her son; she saw the girl's faults more plainly than her +virtues--her coquetry, her vanity, her pride; whereas Earle saw only +that she was exceedingly beautiful, and that he loved her better than he +loved his life. + +"It is a terrible thing," said Mrs. Moray, slowly, "for a man to give +his whole heart into the hands of a creature as you have done, Earle. +Why, what would become of you if you were to lose Doris, or anything +happen to interfere with your love to separate you?" + +She was startled at the expression of his face; he turned to her +quickly. + +"Do not say anything of that kind to me, mother; the bare idea of it +drives me mad! What would the reality do?" + +"It is not right, Earle, to love any one after such a fashion." + +"But I cannot help it, mother," he replied, with a smile, "and that is +where the whole of my excuse lies." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII. + +HOW SHE WAS TEMPTED. + + +The morrow came, but there was no hesitation on the part of Doris. +Perhaps Lord Vivianne could not have done a better thing for himself +than giving her that diamond ring; the light of it dazzled her; it +reminded her, perpetually, of what might be hers; she might have felt +some little remorse or sorrow but for that; when she looked at it she +forgot everything except that she could have just as many as she liked +of them. + +It was in the morning when she went out to meet him; she had, adroitly, +sent Earle to Quainton, under the pretext that she wanted some silk and +wool; no one else would interfere with her. Mrs. Brace never attempted +the least interference in her actions, so that she was perfectly safe. +The loveliness of her face was not dimmed by one trace of sorrow or +regret, yet she had quite decided upon betraying Earle, and leaving him +to break his heart, or anything else that despair might urge him to do. + +To have seen her walking through the sunlit fields and lanes, no one +would have thought that she calmly and coolly contemplated the most +cruel treachery of which woman could be guilty. + +Across the long green grass fell the shadow of her lordly lover. He was +standing by the stile, and on one side lay the dark woods, on the other +rose the spire of the old church at Quainton. The whole scene was so +fair and tranquil, it seemed almost wonderful that treachery and sin +should exist. Doris trembled when Lord Vivianne came hastily to meet +her. + +"I began to think you would disappoint me," he said; "every minute that +I have waited has seemed like an hour to me. What should I have done if +you had not come?" + +He took her hand as though it belonged to him. + +"Shall we go to that shady spot in the woods?" he asked; "I can talk to +you more easily there." + +They walked on together, she listening to his honeyed compliments, his +whispered words, hardly able to decide in her own mind, which was the +braver wooer, the poet or the lord. Then they reached the pretty bank +where the wild thyme grew. Lord Vivianne seated himself by her side in +silence, then, after a few minutes, he said: + +"I have so much to say to you I hardly know where to begin. I am not +quite sure of my ground with you yet; I may offend you so seriously that +you will, perhaps, order me from your presence, and never speak to me +again." + +She thought of the diamond ring. + +"It is not very probable," she said. + +"I am what is called a man of the world," continued Lord Vivianne. "I +make no great pretensions to principle, but I can honestly say I have +never deceived any one. I always start with a clear and straightforward +understanding." + +"I think it is the best, decidedly," she said. Then he took her hands in +his, and with his eyes fixed on her face, he continued: + +"I love you; I think you are the fairest and most lovely girl I have +ever seen. I think also that, with your keen capacity for enjoyment, it +is a sad thing that your life should be wasted here; I think that your +beauty and your grace should make you one of the queens of the +world--you ought indeed to be out in the world--it is cruel to keep you +here, as it would be to bury a brilliant gem in a dark well." Then he +paused, studying intently the expression on the downcast face. "I love +you," he said. "I should like to be the one to show you the bright, +brilliant world. If you honor me with your love, I can give you wealth +in abundance, magnificence, such as would gladden the heart of a queen. +I will make you the envy of every woman who sees you; you shall hang +jewels at each ear that are worth a king's ransom; you shall have +servants to wait upon you; you shall have carriages, horses, anything +that your heart can desire. You shall not be able to form one wish which +shall not be gratified. Doris--dear Doris--can you trust me? Will you go +with me--will you be mine?" + +The life he had pictured to her was exactly that for which she longed, +and the words of her lover delighted her. Yet, as she reflected, there +shone from out the glorious vista of the future the face of trusting +Earle--the man she was about to betray. + +"It will break Earle's heart," she said, slowly. + +Lord Vivianne laughed aloud. + +"Not at all," he said. "These country lovers do not die of broken +hearts; he may feel very angry at first, but he will forget you in a few +weeks, and fall in love, all over again, with some rosy-faced +milkmaid." + +"He will never forget me," said Doris; "and his despair will be +terrible." + +She shuddered a little as though some bleak, cold wind were blowing over +her, then she said: + +"If he knew I had betrayed him, and he found me, he would kill me." + +Again Lord Vivianne laughed. + +"Lovers do not kill their faithless loves in these prosaic days. An +action of breach of promise, a good round sum by way of compensation, +and all is over." + +"You do not know Earle," she said, quietly. "I should be afraid of him +if I deceived him." + +"Never mind Earle!" said Lord Vivianne, impatiently; "I should say that +it was a great impertinence of any one like Earle to think of winning +such a beautiful prize as you. What has he to offer you?" + +"His name and his fame," she replied, bitterly. + +"What is a name?--and all copy-books of the goodly kind will tell you +'Fame is but a breath,'" he replied. "Never mind Earle, rely upon it +that I can find some fair house either in sunny France or fair Italy +where Earle will never disturb us. If you are really frightened at him, +we will have no settled house, but we will roam over every fair land +under the sun. Will you go, my darling, and leave this dull place?" + +She was quite silent for some minutes. Perhaps the good and bad angels +fought then for the weak, tempted soul; perhaps some dim idea of a +heaven to be lost or won came to her; perhaps some vague idea of +terrible wrong and deadly sin came to her and made her pause. + +"Will you go, my darling?" he asked again, in a whisper. + +She raised her eyes calmly to his face. + +"Yes," she replied, "I will go." + +He did not show his triumph in any extraordinary fashion; his dark face +for one moment flushed burning red. + +"You shall never repent it," he said, "you shall be happier than a +queen." + +He pressed her close to his breast, and imprinted upon her willing lips +the most passionate of kisses. + +"Dear Doris," he exclaimed, "you are mine--mine forever!" + +For some moments they stood thus, his arm encircling her graceful waist. +Then with an anxiety to complete the business in hand, he said: + +"I leave the Castle to-morrow--I have already prolonged my visit to the +utmost length, and I must go to-morrow. For your sake and mine, it will +be better to avoid all scandal, all rumor. When I leave I shall go +direct to London. Will you go to-night? Take a ticket for Liverpool, +that will throw them all astray. When you reach Liverpool go to this +hotel," and he handed her a card, "and I will join you there late +to-morrow evening. The instant I reach London, I will take the express +for Liverpool. Will you do that?" + +"Yes; I do not see why I should not. I am a great hypocrite at times," +she said, "and not particularly good; but I declare to you that I could +not spend even a day more with Earle, knowing that I was intent upon +deceiving him. Yes, I will go to-night." + +"Good; that clears all difficulties. Then there is another thing; leave +a letter behind you to say that you are tired of the dull life; that you +can bear it no longer, and that fearing opposition, you have left home +quietly, and have taken a situation as English teacher abroad. No one +will suspect the truth of such a letter." + +Gentle Mrs. Brace, honest Mark, loving Mattie--something like regret did +seize her when she thought how earnestly they would read that letter, +and how sincerely they would believe it. + +"There is another thing," said this cold-blooded lord; "promise me that +you will, at least until I join you, wear a thick veil. You have no idea +what a sensation such a face as yours would make; you would easily be +traced by it." + +She smiled, well pleased with the compliment. + +"Once away over the sea," he said, "and my proudest, keenest delight +will be to show the whole world the beautiful prize I have won. Mind, +the veil must be so thick that not one feature, of the face can be seen +through it." + +"I will remember," she said, with a smile. + +Then he took from his pocket a purse well filled. + +"I know you will not be angry," he said. "You cannot ask for money, or +people will begin to wonder why you want it. You will take this." + +A faint flush rose to her face. + +"I must," she replied, "I have none of my own." + +Then she rose; it was time to return to the house she was so soon to +abandon. + +He bent down to kiss her, and drew the beautiful face to his, just as +Earle had done. + +Thoughts of her treachery again disturbed her, and she shuddered as +though with cold. + +"You are tired, my darling," he said. "Go home and rest." + +They parted under the trees. He went away, and as she walked slowly +home, she said to herself: + +"I have killed Earle!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII. + +A WOMAN RESOLVED. + + +Mattie Brace stood at the farm gate: she was looking impatiently up and +down the road, and a sudden light flashed in her face as she caught +sight of Doris. The beautiful face seemed to flash like light from +beneath the gloom of green trees. + +"Doris," cried Mattie, almost impatiently, "I have been looking +everywhere for you. There is a whole roll of newspapers from London; +they are directed to you, and I know the writing--it is Mr. Leslie's. I +am sure they contain notices of your picture. Make haste--I am longing +to see them." + +Doris looked up with a shyness quite new to her. + +"I am coming," she replied. "Where is Earle?" + +She hesitated as she asked the question. There were no depths in her +nature; she did not even understand regret--of remorse she had not the +slightest conception; yet even she felt unwilling to look in the face of +the man who loved her. + +"Where is Earle?" she repeated. + +"He has not returned from Quainton yet," replied Mattie; and the two +girls entered the house together. + +On the table of the little sitting-room lay a roll of newspapers, +addressed to Miss Doris Brace. The beautiful lips curved with scorn as +she read the name aloud. + +"Doris Brace!" she said. "Fate must have been deriding me to give me +such a name." + +But Mattie made no reply; she had long since ceased to answer similar +remarks. + +Then Mrs. Brace, seeing the sitting-room door open, went in to look at +what was going on. Doris looked up at her with a bright laugh. + +"I am in a newspaper, mother," she said, "only imagine that!" + +Mrs. Brace sighed, as she generally did in answer to Doris. The girl was +far above her comprehension, and she owned it humbly with a sigh. + +"What do they say, I wonder? Oh, there is a letter from Mr. Leslie!" She +opened it hastily, then read aloud: + + "MY DEAR MISS BRACE,--Need I tell you my picture is the great + success of the season? All London is talking about it--the + papers are filled with its praise. See how much I have to + thank you for! There is even a greater honor than all this + praise in store; the queen has signified her gracious desire + to purchase my picture! My fortune is made; the face that + made sunshine at Brackenside will now shine on the walls of a + royal palace. No one admires it more than your sincere + friend, + + "GREGORY LESLIE." + +"There!" cried the girl, triumphantly, "the queen--even the queen is +going to buy me!" + +"Not you, child," said Mrs. Brace, rebukingly--"only your picture." + +"It is all the same thing; the queen must have admired, or she would not +have wished to purchase it." + +"Gregory Leslie is a grand artist," said Mattie. "Surely some merit is +due to him." + +Doris laughed, as she always did at her sister's admonitions. + +"If he had painted you, my dear," she said, laughingly, "I do not think +the queen would have bought the picture." + +Mattie made no reply, knowing well that in all probability it was true. + +Then Doris opened the papers, and read the critiques one after another; +they were all alike--one rapture of praise over the magnificent picture. +"'Innocence' is the great picture of the day," said one. Another asked: +"Where had Mr. Leslie found the ideally beautiful face so gloriously +placed on canvas? Had he drawn it from the rich depths of glowing fancy, +or had he seen a face like it?" Another paper told how the queen had +purchased the picture, and foretold great things for the artist. + +"It is _really_ true," said Doris. "I shall be in a palace. Oh, Mattie! +I am so sorry that no one will know it is a picture of me; they will +admire my portrait, and no one will see me. I should like to go to the +queen and say: 'That is my picture hanging on your palace wall.'" + +"She would not speak to you," said Mrs. Brace, who took all things +literally. + +"Hundreds of beautiful faces are placed upon canvas every day," said +Mattie; "and I do not suppose any one cares for the models they are +painted from." + +"I wish I were my own picture," sighed Doris. "I would a thousand times +rather hang upon a palace wall than live here." + +Then she suddenly remembered how uncertain it was, after all, whether +she should be here much longer; in the excitement of reading so much in +her own praise, she had almost forgotten Lord Vivianne. As she +remembered him her face grew burning red. + +"I am glad you have the grace to blush," said Mattie. "You are so vain, +Doris, I should be afraid that your vanity would lead you astray." + +"No matter where I go my picture will be safe," was the flippant reply. + +And then the little council was broken up. Mrs. Brace went away to tell +Mark of her fears. Mattie did not care to hear any more self-laudation, +and Doris was left alone. Her face flushed, her pulse thrilled with +gratified vanity; her heart seemed to expand with the keen, passionate +sense of her own beauty. + +"If every earthly gift had been offered to me," Doris thought, "I should +have chosen beauty. Rank and wealth are desirable; but without a face to +charm they would be worth little, and beauty can win them even if one be +born without them. I shall win them yet, because men cannot look at me +without caring for me." + +And as she stood by the little rose-framed window there came to her a +passionate longing that her beauty should be seen and known, that it +should receive the homage and praise due to it. She, who was fair enough +to win the admiration of a queen--she, on whose face royal eyes would +dwell so often, and with such great delight! + +"I wonder," she thought to herself, "if any of the royal princes will be +likely to see that picture. One of them might admire it, and then, if he +saw me, admire me." + +There was no limit to her ambition, as there was none to her vanity. Had +she been asked to share a throne, she would have consented as to a +right. Vision after vision of dazzling delight came to her as she stood +in the humble sitting-room that was the great delight of Mrs. Brace's +heart; life flushed and thrilled in every vein. Doris held out her hands +with a yearning cry for that which seemed so near, yet so far from her; +the thousand vague possibilities of life rose before her. What could she +not win with her beauty--what could not her beauty do for her. + +Then Mrs. Brace came in again on business cares intent, holding several +pieces of calico in her hands. + +"Doris," she said, "I have been thinking that as you will perhaps soon +be married to Earle, I may as well order a piece of gray calico for you +when I order one for ourselves." + +Down went the brilliant vision! The queen who admired her face, the +palace where her picture would hang, the glorious prospect, the dream +that had no name, the sweet, wild fancies that had filled every +nerve--they faded before those prosaic words like snow in the sun! + +"Marriage and gray calico! gray calico and Earle!" She turned with a +quick, impatient gesture, almost fierce in its anger. + +"Oh, mother! you do say such absurd things," she said; "you annoy me." + +"Why, my dear? What have I said? You will want gray calico. You cannot +be married from a respectable home like this, and not take a store of +house linen with you." + +"House linen!" repeated Doris. "You are not talking to Mattie, mother." + +"I am not, indeed; if I were, I should at least receive a sensible +answer. You are above my understanding. If you think that because a +gentleman painted your portrait, and people admire it, you will never +need to be sensible again, you make a great mistake." + +Doris made no reply; a great flame of impatience seemed to burn her +heart. How could she bear it, this prosaic, commonplace life? Gray +calico and marriage all mingled in one idea! Kindly Mrs. Brace mistook +her silence, and really thought she was making an impression on her. + +"We have had but this one chance of giving the order; if it is not done +now, it cannot be done until next year. Mrs. Moray is such a respectable +woman herself that I should not like----" + +Doris held up her hands with a passionate cry. + +"That will do, mother! Order what you like, do as you like, but do not +talk to me; I will not hear another word." + +"You will grow more sensible as you grow older," said Mrs. Brace, +composedly, as she went away with the calico in her hand, leaving Doris +once more alone. + +"How have I borne it all this time?" she asked herself, with a flush of +anger on her fair face. "Yet, why should I be angry, and in what differ +from them? Why should I be vexed or angry? Mattie would have talked for +an hour--would have given a sensible answer, while I feel as though I +had been insulted. They are my own mother and sister--why am I so +different from them? Why does a bird of paradise differ from a homely +linnet? Why does a carnation differ from a sun-flower? I cannot tell." + +She could not tell. It was not given to her to know that all the +characteristics of race were strong within her. But that little scene +decided her; there had been some faint doubt in her mind, some little +leaning toward Earle, and his great wealth of poetry and love--some +lingering regret as to whether she was not forsaking the certain humble +paths of peace and virtue for a brilliant but uncertain career. + +"If I do this," she had thought to herself, "I shall kill Earle," and +the idea had filled her mind with strange pathos. But all that vanished +under one unskillful touch. Writing her story, knowing her faults, I +make no excuses for her; but if she had had more congenial surroundings +the tragedy of her life might have been averted. + +She stood by the open window and thought it all over. The rich scent of +the roses came in and clung to her dress and her hair; the blue sky had +no cloud; the birds sang sweetly and clearly in the far distance; she +heard the lowing of the cattle and the voices of the laborers. + +Then her whole heart turned in disgust from her quiet home; it had no +charm for her; she wanted none of it--she wanted life, warmth, glitter, +perfume, jewels, the praise of men, the envy of women; she wanted to +feel her own power, and to be followed by homage. What was her bright +loveliness for if not for this? Stay here, where all the people were +persecuting her about marrying Earle, having a respectable home, and +buying gray calico! No, not for such a commonplace life. The beauty of +hill and sky, and quaint meadow and shady lane, of blooming flowers and +green trees, was not for her; it was dull, tame and uninteresting. + +The greatest queen in all the wide world had admired her face. Was she +to remain hidden in this humble, lowly house, where no one saw her but +Earle and the few men whom business brought to the farm? It was not to +be imagined. She raised her beautiful head with a clear, defiant gaze. + +"I do not care," she said to herself, "whether it is right or wrong; I +do not care what the price or penalty may be, I will go and take my +share of what men and women call _life_." + +And from that resolution, taken on a calm, bright summer day, under the +golden light of heaven, with the song of the birds in her ears, she +never once swerved or departed, let it cost her what it might. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX. + +THE FLIGHT AT MIDNIGHT. + + +"It will be a fine moonlight night," said honest Mark Brace. "If this +weather lasts, Patty, we shall have a good balance in the bank by the +end of the year." + +"Thank Heaven!" said his wife, "a little money is a comfortable thing, +Mark; there is always a blessing on honest industry." + +It was nearly nine o'clock; a late hour for Mark and his simple +industrious habits; but after supper he had taken his pipe and found the +conversation of his wife and daughter very delightful. Doris was not +with them; she had letters to write to an old schoolfellow; she said she +wanted to attend to them that very evening. + +Insensibly, the absence of Doris was something of a relief to the +honest farmer and his wife. When Doris was present, she kept them in a +continual turmoil. They honestly believed themselves bound to correct +her, to admonish her, to check her wild flow of words, the careless and +often irreligious speech, and she never brooked the correction; so that +most evenings in the old homestead were of a stormy nature. It was +something of a relief, therefore, to have his homely wife on one side, +and his daughter on the other. Honest Mark could indulge in that which +his soul loved best; a few homely jests and solemn assurances of his own +prosperity, while the bright, beautiful girl who puzzled him, was beyond +the reach of his understanding, was busied in her own affairs. + +"It is after nine," said Mark, "and I am tired. How was it that Earle +did not return?" + +"He knew that he could not see Doris," said Mattie, with a smile that +was half a sigh. + +Mark laughed when he was at a safe distance from her. There was nothing +that Mark enjoyed more than what he called Doris' airs and graces. + +"She keeps him in order," he said, slyly. "Mattie, if ever you think of +being married, take a lesson from your sister, my dear." + +"I hope she will not," said Mrs. Brace. "The true secret of being a good +wife, Mattie, is to love your husband better than yourself; and though +Doris is beautiful as a day-star, she will never do that." + +Then Mark looked out into the quiet, white moonlight, and said: + +"I shall begin to work in the Thorpe Meadows to-morrow, I hope the birds +will wake me when the sun rises." And as he passed Doris' room he saw +the light underneath the door. "Good-night," he said; "do not sit up +late, writing, or you will spoil your eyes, and then Earle will grumble +at me." + +"I shall not be late," said Doris. + +And Mark Brace, without a thought of the tragedy looming, went on. + +Mrs. Brace saw the light, but she had not yet forgotten the cruel +reception of her advice about the gray calico. + +"Good-night, Doris," she said, without entering. + +But Mattie went into the room. The excuse had been a perfectly true one. +Doris sat writing still, with a tired look on her face, her round, white +arms on the table, and two letters by her side. + +"I have finished," she said, looking at Mattie. + +"What can I do for you, Doris--shall I stay and talk to you?" + +"No," she interrupted; "I am tired, and I would rather be alone." + +"Good-night," said Mattie, not particularly liking the rebuff. + +Then Doris went to her, and clasped her arms round her sister's neck. + +"Good-night, little Mattie--good, simple Mattie. Kiss me." + +The brown eyes were raised slowly to her face. + +"You have never asked me to kiss you before, Doris." + +"Have I not? Perhaps I never may ask you again. Perhaps if I asked you +for a kiss this time next year, you would refuse to give it to me." + +"No, I should never do that, Doris." + +And the two faces--one so brilliantly beautiful, the other so good in +its intelligent kindness--touched each other. + +Long afterward Mattie remembered that the warm arms had seemed to +tighten their clasp round her neck; then Doris drew away, with a little +mocking laugh. + +"What a sentimental scene!" she said; "the world must be coming to an +end." + +Mattie wondered a little at her sister's manner, then remembered that +she never ought to be surprised, let Doris do what she might. + +"Good-night," she repeated as she quitted the room, so little dreaming +of all that would pass before she saw that face again. + +Then Doris re-read her letters. + +"Kindness in this case would only be cruelty," she said to herself. +"Better for Earle to know at once. I should prefer sudden death to +lingering torture." The beautiful lips curved in a smile that had in it +much of pity. "Poor Earle!" she murmured, as she placed the letter +written to him on the table. It ran as follows: + + "DEAR EARLE,--I have thought it all over--my promise to marry + you, and your great wish that I should become your wife. I + have thought it all over, and feel convinced that it will not + do--we should not be happy. What I want, in order to be + happy, you cannot give me. You will have to work hard for + money, then you will have but little of it. We are better + apart. I love you, and it will be a sorrow to leave you; but + it is all for the best. I have gone away where it will be + useless to follow me. I am going abroad as governess to some + little children, and that will give me a chance to see the + world I am longing to behold. + + "You will try to forget me, will you not, Earle? Is it any + use suggesting to you that Mattie would be a far more + sensible wife for you than I could ever make? Do not try to + find me; I am going abroad under another name, and it would + not please me to see you. I say good-bye to you with sorrow. + As far as I can love any one, I love you. _Doris._" + +It was a cold, heartless, decided letter; but it was twenty times +better, she thought, in its decisive cruelty, than if she had lingered +over soft farewell phrases. There was a second letter, even more cruel +and more curt. It was addressed "To Father, Mother, and Mattie," and ran +thus: + + "I write to you all together as I have not time for three + separate letters. You will be surprised in the morning not to + see me. I have borne this kind of life as long as it was + possible for me to do so, and now I am going away. I hope you + will not make any effort to find me; I do not want to return + to Brackenside--I do not want to marry Earle. I am going to + teach some little children; and though it may not be quite + the life I should like, it will be better than this." + +It was not a kind letter. She placed them both together and pinned them +to the cushion of the toilet-table. + +"Mattie will see them the first thing in the morning," she said, "and +ah, me, what a sensation they will make!" + +Then she looked at her little watch; it was but just ten; she had to go +to the railway station at Quainton, and catch the mail train for +Liverpool--it would pass there at midnight. She had to walk some +distance through the fields and on the high-road. + +"I am sorry the moon shines so clearly, it will be light as day." + +The moon had looked down on many cruel deeds, perhaps on none more cruel +than the flight of this young girl from the roof that had so long +sheltered her, the home that had been hers. Her path lay over a broken +heart, and as she set her fair feet on it no remorse or regret came to +her as the crimson life-blood flowed. + +When she had crossed the meadows that led from the farm, she stood still +and looked back at the pretty homestead; the moonbeams glistened in the +windows, the great roses looked silvery, the ivy and jasmine clung to +the walls, the flowers lay sleeping in the moonlight; there was the +garden where she had spent the long, sunny days with Earle, there was +the path which lead to the woods, the spreading tree underneath whose +shades Earle had told of his great love. She looked at it all with a +smile on her lips; no thought of regret in her heart. + +"It is a dull, dreary place," she said to herself; "I never wish to see +it again." Then she added: "I have killed Earle." + +Good-bye, sweet, soft moonlight; good-bye, white-robed purity, girlish +innocence--all left behind with the sleeping roses and the silent trees! + +She turned away impatiently: perhaps the moonbeams had, after all, a +language of their own that stirred some unknown depths in the vain, +foolish heart. + +Then she hastened down the high-road, thinking how fortunate it was that +the country side was so deserted. The town of Quainton rose before her, +the church, the market hall, and last of all the railway station. It +wanted a quarter of an hour yet to midnight, and she remembered her +lover's injunction that her face was not to be seen. She was careful +enough never to raise the veil. + +"I wonder," she thought to herself, "why he disliked the idea of my +being seen?" + +Then she laughed a little mocking laugh. + +"It would be inconsistent," she said, "for the model of 'innocence' to +be seen at a railway station at midnight." + +There were few passengers for the mail train; she managed to get her +ticket first-class for Liverpool without attracting much attention, or +exciting any comment or surprise. During the few moments she stood +there, she told the porter that she was going to meet her husband, whose +ship had just reached the shore. Her face had flushed as she took out +Lord Vivianne's purse and Lord Vivianne's money to pay for her ticket; +then the mail train came thundering into the station: there was a minute +or two of great confusion. She took her seat in a first-class carriage, +then left Earle and Brackenside far behind. + +"That is all done with," said Doris. "Those quiet pastoral days are +ended, thank Heaven!" + +No warning came to her of how she should return to the home she was in +such haste to quit. + +The journey was a long one. A flush of dawn reddened the sky, and the +dew was shining, the birds beginning to sing, as she reached the great +bustling city of Liverpool. She was half bewildered by the noise and +confusion. A porter found a cab for her, and she gave the address of the +hotel Lord Vivianne had given her. There was a long drive through the +wilderness of streets, then she reached the hotel. + +She felt, in spite of all her courage, some little timidity, when she +found herself in those rooms alone. Her thoughts turned involuntarily to +Earle--Earle, always tender and true, considerate of her comfort. What +if this new lover, this rich young lord, should fail her, after all? + +She looked in a large mirror. Ah, no! he would not fail her; though she +had been traveling all night, the dainty coloring of her exquisite face +was unfaded. The light flashed in her eyes, in her golden hair; the +smooth satin skin was fair as ever. There was not the faintest trace of +fatigue on that radiant beauty, and then she started from her reverie. + +One of the servants brought her a card, she read on it the name of "Mr. +Conyers," and she knew that Lord Vivianne was there. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX. + +A THORN IN THE GARDEN OF ROSES. + + +"I do not think anything could have been more cleverly managed," said +Lord Vivianne. "You have brought nothing with you?" + +"No," she replied; and the thought rose in her mind, "I have left all I +ought to value most behind;" but prudently enough refrained from +speaking. + +"I do not see how it can be possible to trace us," he continued, "even +should any one try." + +"Earle will try," she said, with a slight shudder. "He will look the +world through, but he will find me in the end." + +Her face grew slightly pale as she spoke, and Lord Vivianne drew near to +her. + +"You are not frightened at Earle, nor any one else, while you are with +me, Dora?" He preferred this name to Doris, and the fanciful change +pleased her greatly. "You need not be frightened, Dora," He continued. +"You do not surely imagine that I am unable to take care of you?" + +"I was not thinking of you, but of Earle," she said, simply. "I am +always rather frightened when I think of him: he loved me so very much, +and losing me will drive him mad." + +An expression of impatience came over Lord Vivianne's face; he was +passionately in love with the beautiful girl before him, but he had no +intention to play the comforter in this the moment of his triumph. + +"Say no more of Earle, Dora; if he annoys you, so much the worse for +him. Now we will order breakfast, then take the ten o'clock express for +London. I had even thought of crossing over to Calais to-day, if you are +not too tired." + +Her face brightened at the thought--Earle was already forgotten. + +"That will be charming," she replied, all graver thoughts forgotten in +the one great fact that she was going where she would be admired beyond +all words. + +Then, for the first time in her life, Doris sat down to a dainty and +sumptuous breakfast. It was all novel to her, even this third-rate +splendor of a Liverpool hotel. The noiseless, attentive servants--the +respect and deference shown to them delighted her. + +"After all," she thought to herself, "this is better than Brackenside." + +Then Lord Vivianne turned to her with a smile. + +"You are so sensible Dora," he said, "that I can talk to you quite at my +ease; and that is a great treat after listening to the whims and +caprices of the women of the fashionable world." + +With artful sophistry he stated that for family reasons it would be +inadvisable, if not really rash, to have a marriage ceremony--that at +the present time it would utterly blight his prospects. When two loving +hearts were joined by their own free consent, and vowed to live for each +other, the union was just as binding, he argued, as though a clergyman +had united them. To prevent recognition and gossip, it would be +necessary for him to change his name; "and for the future," he added, +"we shall travel and be known as Mr. and Mrs. Conyers." + +This plan did not please Doris. It was not what she had anticipated. + +"Being a farmer's daughter," she thought, "he thinks me unfit to +associate with his titled friends. But, for all that, I shall show him +that I am their equal. Yes, he shall change his mind. I shall so +fascinate him that he will yet be glad to proclaim me his wife, the Lady +Vivianne." + +She now began to realize that she had made the first false steps in +deceiving the trusting poet, Earle Moray, and in consenting to a secret +departure from her humble home and loving parents. Yet the die was cast; +ambition and a determination to accomplish her wishes forced her +forward. She had great confidence, as we have seen, in the influence of +her beauty. Therefore, after some half-hearted objections, which he +adroitly overcame by his specious arguments, she consented to all his +plans. + +"Trust me, dear Dora," he said, delightedly, "and you shall have +everything your heart can desire." + +By this time breakfast was over, and it was time to leave the hotel, if +they wished to catch the morning train for London. With no fuss or +excitement, just as if he was paying for a cigar; Lord Vivianne settled +his bill, gave a liberal fee to the waiter--a golden guinea--and half an +hour later "Mr. and Mrs. Conyers" were in a first-class compartment, on +the train for the great metropolis. + +When they reached London, Lord Vivianne said, looking with a smile at +his companion's plain dress: + +"You cannot go to Paris in that fashion, Dora. You must have some +suitable dresses. It will not be too late for Madame Delame's; you had +better go there at once." + +She desired nothing better. She held out her white hand to him with a +charming gesture. + +"You must advise me," she said; "I shall not know what to buy. This was +the most extensive purchase of my life," and she pointed to a plain, +dark silk dress which Mrs. Brace thought much too good for a farmer's +daughter. + +"I know what will suit your fair style of beauty," he said; "a rich +costume of purple velvet." + +Her eyes shone with delight--purple velvet! her ambition was realized. +For a few moments she was speechless with joy. She forgot altogether, in +that, the first realization of her dream, the price she had paid for it. + +In the next hour Doris was standing, flushed and beautiful, in Madame +Delame's room. If madame had any idea who her aristocratic customer was +she made no sign. When he said that Mrs. Conyers was going abroad, and +that she wanted to begin with an elegant traveling costume, the lady +blandly acquiesced. Even Madame Delame, accustomed as she was to +aristocratic beauty, marveled at the high-bred loveliness of the girl +before her. Very young to be Mrs. Conyers--very young to be married. + +She looked involuntarily at the small white hand; a gold ring shone +there--was it a wedding-ring? Madame Delame knew the world pretty well, +but she sighed as she gazed. + +Her artistic talents were called into play; she had not often so lovely +a patron to dress, nor _carte blanche_ as to the number and price of the +dresses. She took a positive pleasure in enhancing the girl's beauty, in +finding rich, delicate lace for the white neck and rounded arms, in +finding shining silks and rich velvets; and when Doris stood arrayed in +marvelous costume, the graceful, slender figure shown to the greatest +advantage by the dress--the dainty coloring of the face made more +beautiful by contrast with the rich purple, then madame raised her hands +in silent admiration, then trusted she should again have the pleasure of +seeing Mrs. Conyers. + +Lord Vivianne said to Doris in a low voice: + +"I think you have all that you require here; you can get more in Paris, +when you have a maid." + +Madame Delame said to herself, as they left the place, that no matter +how long she lived, she should never forget the face of Mrs. Conyers. + +Once more they were driving through London streets, and this time Doris +was too happy to think of anything except her dresses. Lord Vivianne +could not take his eyes off that beautiful face. He congratulated +himself, over and over again on his wonderful good fortune. + +"Who could have thought," he said to himself, "that so fair a flower +blossomed in that obscure place." + +And while he looked at her, it seemed to him, as it had done to Gregory +Leslie, that there was something familiar in the face; that he had +either seen that or one very like it before. + +A few more days, and they were settled in one of the most luxurious +mansions near the Tuileries. Then, indeed, was every wish of Doris' +heart fulfilled. Well-trained servants waited upon her; the magnificent +rooms were carpeted with velvet pile, the hangings were of the richest +silks and lace; wherever she went large mirrors showed the beautiful +figure from head to foot; she had a carriage and a pair of horses that +were the admiration of all Paris; she had jewels without number, and +more dresses than she could wear; she had a maid whose business it +seemed to be to anticipate every wish. What more could she desire? + +Lord Vivianne was kind, but he did not treat her with any great amount +of deference. There was, however, one very good characteristic, as she +thought it--he was unboundedly generous; if she expressed a wish he +never hesitated about gratifying it; he never counted either trouble or +expense. + +Enhanced by the aid of dress, of perfume, by the skill of a Parisian +maid, her beauty became dazzling. He was very proud of her; he liked to +drive out with her, and see all the looks of admiration cast upon her; +he liked to feel himself envied. She was, without exception, the fairest +woman in Paris; and his pride in her was proportionately great. + +The opera was then in full tide of success, and Doris never wearied of +going there. It was not that she was particularly fond of music, but she +enjoyed the triumph of her own bright presence; she was the observed of +all observers. The sensation that her fair loveliness created was not to +be surpassed. + +One asked another, "Who is it?" + +"The beautiful Englishwoman, Mrs. Conyers." + +"Who is Mrs. Conyers?" + +No one knew, and there lay the sting; there was the one thorn in her +garden of roses; she drained the cup of pleasure to the dregs; she +missed no _fete_, no opera; she was introduced to gentlemen, but never +to ladies; she had pleasant little dinners, where some of the wittiest +conversation took place, but no ladies came near; and she would fain +have seen herself envied by women as well as admired by men; that was +the one thing she desired above all others. But there was no one to envy +her. + +She asked Lord Vivianne one day why it was. He looked at her and laughed +a most peculiar laugh. + +"I am afraid, Dora, that you must learn to be content with the society +of gentlemen." + +She understood, then, it was one of the penalties of her sin. + +Another thing annoyed her and made the gayeties of Paris unpleasing to +her. She was walking with Lord Vivianne in the Champs Elysees, and +suddenly she saw him start, and looking at him, his face flushed hotly. + +"How unfortunate!" he muttered to himself. + +Then she saw in the distance a little group of English people; a young +gentleman, who was talking to an elderly lady, with a mild, sad face, +and a tall, dark girl with proud, bright eyes. The gentleman saw Lord +Vivianne first, but instead of stopping to speak his lordship turned +quickly away, much to Doris' disappointment. + +"I would not have missed seeing these people on any account," he said +impatiently. + +"Why did you not speak to them?" she asked wonderingly. + +"How could I," he retorted, "while you were here?" + +She made no reply, but the words struck her with a terrible pain. + +She, the fairest woman in Paris, she whom Earle called his queen--it was +not to be borne. + +She went home, resolved if possible, to alter this state of things, and +if she could not, to go away from Paris. + +"We will go to Italy," she thought, "where he will not meet English +people whom he knows." + +Her desire was granted. Five days after that little scene she was with +Lord Vivianne in one of the prettiest villas near Naples. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI. + +"I COULD SOONER PLUNGE A DAGGER IN HIS HEART." + + +Such a beautiful morning! The golden sunbeams falling like blessings on +the earth; the birds singing in a delirium of happiness. The sweet, warm +air brooding over the fragrant flowers; all nature seemed awake, happy +and smiling; the sky gave its fairest colors; earth yielded its richest +fragrance. + +Earle woke with the earliest singing of the birds. He smiled at his own +impatience. He had not seen Doris since yesterday morning, and it seemed +to him a whole week. She had asked him to go to Quainton under the +pretext of fulfilling some little commission, and he had not caught one +glimpse of her afterward. He was impatient to behold her. The glory of +the morning sun, the rapturous music of the birds, was nothing to him, +who longed for one look at her face--for one sound of her voice. + +It was so early, he hardly dared venture on going to Brackenside, yet he +could not rest away. He walked across the fields, little dreaming whose +light footsteps had passed over there last. He lingered by the stiles +and in the lanes until it struck eight, then he felt sure that Doris +would be down-stairs. + +At the farm all was activity; the men were at work; the rosy-faced +dairy-maid was tripping along with her well-filled cans. He saw Mark +Brace in the distance, deeply intent on driving a very comfortable pig +where it sternly refused to go. The air was filled with pleasant +sounds--the busy hum of work, the song of birds, the ripple of the +stream, the murmur of the wind. Earle, the poet, heard it all. He +laughed aloud when he saw Mark wiping his brow, and nodding at him as +though he would fain say that all conversation would be useless until +the struggle was ended. Comedy and tragedy always go hand in hand. +Earle's hearty, genial laugh rang out clear on the morning air, and +while he lived he never so laughed again. + +"Thank Heaven!" he said to himself, "that I am not to be a farmer." + +Then when he came through the garden, one of the prettiest scenes in the +world met his eye. + +There was a large porch before the house, cool, roomy, and shady, +overhung with jasmine and roses. The morning was very warm, and the day +gave promise of being intensely hot. A white table had been placed in +the porch, and on it stood a quantity of ripe, delicious fruit. Mrs. +Brace and Mattie were busily engaged in preparing it for preserving; +their fingers were stained crimson with the juice. Both faces looked up +as Earle entered, and smiled, while Earle thought he had never seen a +prettier picture than the sunlit garden with its gay flowers. The shady +porch, the luxurious fruit, the kindly faces, yet he looked anxiously +around. Without Doris it was like the world without the sun. The bright, +beautiful face was sure to be smiling at him from the flower-wreathed +windows, or from beneath the trees. + +"You are looking for your love, Earle," said Mrs. Brace, in her kindly +way. "She is a lazy love this morning. She is not down yet." + +"I am glad she is resting," said Earle, too loyal to allow even the +faintest suspicion of idleness. + +Mrs. Brace laughed. + +"Doris leads a life very much like the lilies in the field," she said. +"She neither toils nor spins. Mattie shall call her if you like." + +"No," said Earle. "I will wait until she comes." + +Then Mattie joined in the conversation. + +"Doris is tired this morning, Earle," she said, quietly. "She sat up +quite late last night writing letters." + +"Letters!" repeated Earle, with a touch of pardonable jealousy. "To whom +was she writing, Mattie?" + +And the girl who loved him so deeply and so silently detected the pain +in his voice. She looked up at him with a smile. + +"To some schoolmates. She liked some of the girls very much." + +Then Earle was quite at ease. He sat for some time watching the sunlit +scene, and the busy fingers among the scarlet fruit. At last, while the +bees hummed drowsily, they heard the clock strike nine; and the sound +seemed to die away over the flowers. + +"Nine," said Mrs. Brace, laughingly. "Mattie, you may be sure that Doris +does not want to stain her fingers with the fruit. Go and tell her she +need not touch it." + +Earle felt deeply grateful toward the woman. It was all very well, but +even he did not like the idea of those sweet white hands all crimsoned +with ripe fruit. + +"Tell her from me, Mattie," he added, "that the whole world will be dark +and cold until I see her." + +Mattie hastened away with a low laugh on her lips at the extravagant +words. She was absent some little time, and kindly Mrs. Brace, seeing +that Earle looked anxious, entertained him in her simple fashion with +many little anecdotes about Doris, her beauty and wit as a child, her +pretty, imperious fashion of managing Mark. + +When Mattie returned she did not look anxious but surprised. + +"See how we have all misjudged Doris," she said; "she must have been up +and out for some time." + +"Out!" repeated Earle. + +"Yes; she is not in her room, nor in the house. The morning is so fine, +and so sweet, it has very probably tempted her." + +"But where can she have gone?" asked Earle. "I did not see her." + +"No; you came from Lindenholm, while she is most probably gone to post +the letters she wrote last night; gone to Quainton." + +"Then I will go and meet her," said Earle. "But what a strange idea of +her to go to Quainton alone. Why did she not wait for me?" He looked at +Mattie as he spoke. + +She answered him with a smile. + +"When I can tell you what the birds are singing about," she said, "I +shall be able to explain the caprices of Doris. Go and meet her; then +you will understand." + +Once more Earle hurried off in the sunshine, leaving mother and daughter +busy with the fruit. + +Mrs. Brace looked after him with a sigh. + +"Poor Earle," she said. "Doris might be a little more civil to him. +Although they are going to be married, Mattie, I do not think she cares +for him a bit." + +Mattie made no answer. She had long since arrived at the same +conclusion. Whatever Doris might be going to marry Earle for, it +certainly was not for love. + +An hour passed. The sunshine grew warmer, the bees hummed, the +butterflies with bright wings hovered round the roses; but neither Earle +nor Doris returned. + +Earle hurried on the road to Quainton. As he crossed the high-road he +saw a man breaking stones. He went up to him and asked him if he had +seen a young lady pass by. + +"No; he had been to work there since five in the morning, but no one had +passed by." + +"Strange," thought Earle; "but he is old and half blind--most probably +he did not see her; yet, with her bright, lovely face, and hair like +threads of gold, how could he miss her?" + +He walked on until he came to the toll-bar. Outside the pretty, +white-gabled cottage a woman sat knitting in the sunshine. To her Earle +went, with the same question--"Had she seen a young lady pass by?" + +"No." She had been there since seven, knitting and keeping the gate. +There had been gentlemen on horseback, farmers' wagons, but no young +lady had passed by that gate since seven. + +He did not understand it, and a vague uneasiness came over him. Still he +walked on to Quainton. The post-office was in the principal street, and +if she were there at all, he should be sure to see her. But at the +post-office he found men busily repairing the outer wall--they had been +at work some hours. From them he asked the same question--"Had they seen +a young lady who had come to post letters?" + +"No." They had been to work since six, but they had not seen any young +lady. + +"Then Mattie must have been mistaken," thought Earle; "my darling has +not been near Quainton at all; perhaps she is waiting for me now at +home." + +He returned by the woods, and when he came to any favorite nook of hers, +he stopped and cried aloud: "Doris." + +The only answer that came to him was the rustling of the sweet western +wind in the leaves, and the song of the birds. + +The church clock struck eleven as he came in sight of Brackenside. He +raised his eager eyes--Heaven help him!--expecting to see Doris in the +garden or in the porch; but she was not there. + +The sun was slanting over the flowers, the busy murmur of the farm grew +louder. Mattie and Mrs. Brace still sat at their work, but of Doris +there was no sign. + +"My darling!" he said to himself, "where is she?" + +"You have not met her, Earle?" said the loud, cheery voice of Mark +Brace. + +"No, she has not been to Quainton," he replied, "and I do not know where +to look for her." + +"Do not look anywhere," said Mark; "the longer you look for her the less +likely you are to find her. Girls are so uncertain in their ways. Sit +down and drink a glass of cider, she will come soon enough then. It +seems to me," continued the honest farmer, "that she is having a game of +hide-and-seek with you." + +Earle thought that very probable. He drank the foaming cider, but he +would not sit down. + +"I must find her," he said. "If it be her sweet will and pleasure that I +should look for her, I will do so." + +The farmer laughed, Mrs. Brace felt sorry for him, Mattie was indignant, +and Earle went through the pretty garden and all the little nooks she +loved best. + +He never glanced under the shade of a spreading tree, or turned aside +the dense green foliage, without expecting that the bright face would +turn to him with a smile; he never looked where the ferns grew most +thickly, and the tall grass waved in the wind, without expecting the +laughing eyes to meet him, and the gay, clear voice to ring out in +sunshiny laughter. No fear, no doubt, no suspicion came to him. It was a +bright morning, fair and sweet enough in itself to inspire any desire of +frolic, and she liked to tease him. She had hidden away--hidden among +the flowers; but he would find her, and when he did find her, he would +imprison the sweet, white hands in his--he would kiss the laughing lips +and beautiful face--he would take a lover's revenge for the jest she had +played him. + +He looked until he was tired; he called aloud, over and over again, +"Doris!" until it seemed to him that the birds took up the refrain and +chanted "Doris!" + +He gave it up; he could not find her; he must own himself conquered; +and, tired with the sultry heat and his hard morning's work, he walked +back to the farm. + +It seemed to him, as he drew near, that there was a strange stillness +over the place. He looked in vain for Mark's honest face. The porch, +too, was empty, although the fruit still stood upon the table. + +"Where are they all?" thought Earle. "What a strange morning this has +been!" + +He looked through the rose-wreathed window of the little sitting-room, +and there he saw a group that filled his very heart with dismay. Mark, +Mrs. Brace, and Mattie, all standing close together, and bending over an +open letter. + +He watched them in silence, fighting, with a terrible courage, with this +first foreboding--a chill, stern presentiment of coming evil that, man +as he was, robbed him of his strength and clutched at his heart with an +iron hand. + +Then he heard a sob from Mrs. Brace. He saw the farmer clinch his strong +hand, while he cried out: + +"In Heaven's name, who is to tell Earle? I cannot." + +"You must!" said Mrs. Brace. + +But Mark drew back pale and trembling. + +"I tell you, wife," he said, "I love the boy so well that I could sooner +take him out in the sunshine and plunge a dagger in his heart than tell +him this." + +A great calm seemed to come over Earle as he heard. + +"My darling is dead," he said to himself, "she is dead, and they are +afraid to tell me. I can die too!" and opening the door he went in. + +At the sight of him Mark turned away, but Mattie went up to him with +outstretched hands. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII. + +"I AM A MAN, AND I WILL HAVE JUSTICE." + + +"I know," said Earle, gently. "I know; you are afraid to tell me; Doris +is dead." + +"It would be better, perhaps," said Mrs. Brace; "death is not always the +greatest trouble that can happen to us." + +Then Earle drew nearer, and a more terrible fear came over him. There +were troubles worse than death! Surely not for him. Great drops stood on +his brow, the veins in his hands swelled like huge cords, his lips grew +white as the lips of the dead. + +"Tell me what it is," cried he, in a hoarse voice. "You are killing me +by inches. What is it?" + +"She has gone away from us," said Mrs. Brace. "She has gone and left +us." + +He started back as though the words had stabbed his heart. + +Mattie laid her hand on his arm. By the might of her own love she +understood his fears. + +"Not with any one else, Earle," she said. "Do listen to me, dear. She +has not gone away with anyone else; but life here was dull for her; she +did not like it; she has gone abroad to teach little children. It is not +so dreadful, Earle, after all." + +But he looked at her with vague, dull eyes. + +"Not like the life!" he repeated. "But I am here! Dull! How could it be +dull? I am here!" + +"Tell him the truth, Mattie," said Mrs. Brace; "there is no use in +deceiving him any more; he has been deceived long enough; tell him the +truth." + +He looked from one to the other with haggard eyes. + +"Yes, tell me," he said; "tell me the worst." + +"She did not love you, Earle," said Mattie, with a deep sob; "she has +gone away because she did not want to marry you." + +"I do not believe it!" he gasped. "I will not believe it! Oh, Heaven! +How do you dare to slander her so? She did love me. Why should she +pretend? She promised to be my wife; why should she if she did not love +me?" + +"My poor Earle," said Mattie; and in his hand she placed the letter. "I +never thought there was anything wrong," she continued; "but when +neither of you returned, I went back into her room to look for +something, and found these letters. They were pinned to the toilet +cushion. One is for us, one for you. Oh, Earle, if I could but bear your +sorrow for you." + +He turned away, without one word, and opened the letter. They could +never tell how he had read it, how long he was in mastering its +contents, what he thought of them, or how he bore the pain. He made no +comment as he read, his white lips never moved, no murmur escaped him; +but, after a time--it seemed to them endless time--he fell with his face +to the ground, as a brave man falls when he receives a death-wound. + +"It has killed him," said Mrs. Brace. "Oh! that false, wicked girl! He +is dead, Mattie?" + +But Mattie, quick as thought, had raised his head and held it in her +arms. + +"He is not dead, mother," she said. "Run for my father." For one short +minute she was left with him alone, then she raised her troubled face, +repeated her well-known prayer: "God save Earle! If I could but have +borne it for him!" she thought. + +Then the farmer came in, utterly useless and incompetent, as men are in +the presence of great trouble which they cannot understand. He commenced +his assistance by talking loudly against the perfidy of women; and when +his daughter sensibly reminded him that that was no longer any use, he +began to lament the folly of men in loving women so madly; reminded +again that this was still more useless, Mark raised the helpless figure +in his strong arms, tears running down his face. He laid Earle on a +couch, and then looked helplessly at him. + +"I do not know what is to be done for him," he said. "His mother will go +distracted. Ah! wife, she would have done a kinder deed, that +golden-haired lassie of ours, if she had killed him at once." + +Then Mark Brace went away. + +"The women must manage it," he said to himself. His tender heart was +wrung by the sight of that anguish. + +It was Mattie who ministered to him, until Earle opened his eyes, and +looked at her with a glance that frightened her. + +"I remember it all," he said, hoarsely; "she has gone away because she +did not love me--did not want to marry me. Will you leave me alone, +Mattie?" + +"If you will promise me not to do anything to hurt yourself," she said. + +"I shall not do that. Do you know why? She promised to marry me, and she +shall do it. To find her I will search the wide world through. I will +follow her, even to the valley of the shadow of death, but she shall be +my wife as she has promised to be--I swear it to the just high God!" + +"Hush, my dear; your great sorrow drives you mad. You will think +differently after a time." + +"I shall not," he replied; "she shall be my wife. Listen, Mattie; bend +down to me while I whisper. She shall be my wife, or I will kill her!" + +"Hush! You do not mean it. Your sorrow has made you mad." + +"No, I am not mad, Mattie." He held both her hands tightly in his own. +"I am not mad, but I will have my just rights, or my just revenge." His +breath flamed hotly upon her face. "You will remember that, on the day +she fled from me, I swore never to rest until I found her; never to rest +until she was my wife, and if she refused to be that, I swore to murder +her!" + +Mattie shrank from him, trembling and frightened. + +"No wonder," he said, "that men go mad; women make devils of them. No +wonder they slay that which they love best; women madden them. What have +I done?--oh, Heaven! what have I done that I should suffer this? Listen +to me before you go. I gave her my love--she has mocked it, laughed at +it. I gave her my genius--she has blighted it, she has crushed it. I +gave her my heart--it has been her toy and her plaything for a few short +months, she has broken it with her white hands, she has danced over it +with her light feet. I gave her my life, and she has destroyed it. I am +a man, and I will have justice; she shall give back to me what I have +given her, or I will kill her." + +She saw that he was growing more wild with every word: his face flushed +hotly, his lips burned like fire, his eyes were filled with flame. She +was afraid of him; and yet in this, the darkest hour of his need, she +could not leave him. Again and again from her lips, as she knelt there +trying to console him, came the prayer of which she never tired--"God +save Earle." + +At last the wild raving--she could only think it raving--ceased; she saw +his eyes darken and droop. + +"He will sleep now," thought Mattie, "and sleep will save him." + +She drew down the blinds, and shut out the bright sunshine; then, with +a long, lingering look at the changed, haggard face, she left him. + +Mrs. Brace saw her come from the little parlor, looking so white and wan +that her mother's heart ached for her. She kissed the pale face. + +"That wicked girl is not going to kill you as well as Earle," she said. +"I will not have you distressed in this way." + +"Oh, mother!" cried Mattie, "never mind my distress, think of Earle. +Earle will go mad or die." + +"Nothing of the kind, my dear. He was sure to feel very keenly. He loved +Doris very much, but he will not die. It takes a great deal to kill. He +has too much sense to go mad. He will get over it in time, and be just +as fond of some one else." + +Mattie had a truer insight into his nature than had Mrs. Brace. + +They went in several times that day to look at him; he lay always in the +same position, his face shaded with his hand and turned from the light, +sleeping heavily they thought, but sleep and Earle were strangers. He +lay there--only Heaven knew what he suffered during these hours of +silence and solitude--going over and over again in his own mind all that +he had ever said or done to Doris. She had been difficult to win; she +had been coy, and he thought proud, sensitive; but he did really +believe, from the depths of his heart, that she loved him. What motive +could she have had in deceiving him if she had not really loved him? It +would have been just as easy to have said so as not. There was no need +for the deception. She could have rejected him just as easily as she +accepted him. + +He alternated between hope and despair. At one time he felt quite sure +that she loved him, and that this was only a caprice, nothing more; she +was determined not to be easily won. Then his mood changed, and he +despaired. She had never loved him, and preferred leaving home and every +one rather than marry him. + +Still, in one thing, he was inflexible; let it be how it might, he was +determined to find her. He would search the whole world through, but +find her he would. + +He was spared, in that hour of anguish, one trial; no pang of jealousy +came to him; he felt certain of one thing, at least, if Doris did not +love him, she loved no one else. If she would not marry him, she was not +going to marry another. He knew quite well that here at Brackenside she +had seen no one; thank Heaven at least for that. + +Then a deep, heavy, dreamless sleep came over him. When he woke again it +was night and honest Mark, with a face full of bewildered pain, was +standing over him. + +"Come, Earle," he said, "this will never do; you have been here all day +without food. You must not give way after this fashion." + +But the troubled eyes raised to his had no understanding in them. + +"Remember," continued Mark, with his simple eloquence, "you are the only +son of your mother, and she is a widow." + +The words, in their simple pathos, struck Earle. He rose from his couch, +and Mark saw, as he did so, that he shuddered and trembled like one +seized with mortal cold. + +"What do you wish me to do, Mark?" he said. + +"Take something to eat, then go home to your mother. The world is not +all ended because a golden-haired lassie has chosen to run away from +you. Women are all very well," continued Mark, with an air of oracular +wisdom, "but the man who trusted his whole heart in them would not be a +wise man." + +"Then I have been foolish," said Earle, "for I trusted my life and my +love together." + +He was standing up then, looking around him with vague, bewildered eyes. + +"I am to go home, Mark?" he said at last. + +And the farmer, believing that air and exercise would be best for him, +said "Yes." + +But Earle turned away with a sick shudder from the food that was offered +to him. + +"I could sooner eat ashes," he said. + +And they forebore to press him. + +"You will feel better to-morrow," said Mark. "A night's sleep makes a +wonderful difference in our way of looking at matters." + +But Mattie and her mother followed him with wistful eyes. + +"She has spoiled his life," said Mrs. Brace. + +"She has broken his heart," said Mattie. + +Then they seemed to remember that all their sympathy was given to Earle, +and they had not thought of being sorry for themselves. + +Mattie had lost, as she believed, her sister, yet her thoughts were all +for Earle. + +The three sat in silence. It was Mark who broke it first: + +"So, after all, it was to Earle and to us she was writing," he said, +"and not to her school-fellows. I wish I had gone in the room and looked +over her shoulder; I should have known, then, what she was doing." + +"It would not have prevented it," said Mrs. Brace. "Doris has always had +her own way, no matter who suffered by it; if she had not gone now, she +would have gone another time." + +Then Mark looked up with a puzzled face. + +"She has seen no one, to my knowledge," he said, "since she left school. +How did she manage, I wonder, to get this situation?" + +The solution of that problem occupied the remainder of the evening. They +could not imagine how she had contrived it. To them it was another proof +of her indomitable will, proving that she would accomplish her ends, no +matter what they were, or at what cost. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII. + +THERE IS NO TRUE LOVE EXCEPT THE LOVE OF A MOTHER. + + +Out once more under the pale light of the stars, repassing the same road +that he had trodden a few hours since, so full of hope and love. + +Earle walked like one dizzy from a great blow; the silent, pitiful +stars, with their great golden eyes, shone down from the depths of the +blue sky; the night wind seemed to hush, the birds were silent, the +birds were asleep. + +"Doris!" he cried, in a loud, passionate voice, "have you really gone +from me, Doris?" + +It seemed to him that the force of his love, the might of his affection, +must call her back--she could not resist him. Surely the most pitiful +cry that rose to the clear heavens that night was the cry of this broken +heart. + +"Doris!" sounded so distinctly that it startled the birds from their +sleep; but no answer came to his call. + +How he reached home he never knew. The stars were shining when he left +Brackenside--they were shining when he reached Lindenholm; but he never +knew how long he had been coming. + +His mother, looking pale and tired, was waiting for him. She had felt +impatient with him before, thinking that as he saw Doris every day, it +was surely not needful to prolong his wooing until late at night, +knowing that she must sit up for him; but one look at his face took away +all thought of self. Wonder and alarm shone in her eyes as she gazed at +his drawn, haggard features. + +Then, as he had often done when he was a boy, he knelt at her feet and +laid his head on her knee. + +"Doris has gone away, mother," he said. + +When she heard that she knew all. They sat talking, mother and son, far +into the night; and then Mrs. Moray learned something of the passionate +love of her son for the girl who had promised to be his wife. In that +hour his whole heart was opened to her, and she listened in wondering +fear. To love anything created, any human being after this wild fashion, +seemed to her most wonderful and most sinful. It was a volcano, this +poet's love. She laid her hand on the fair, bowed head of her son. + +"It is the old story, Earle," she said, "of worshiping an idol, then +finding it clay. You think your pain intolerable, impossible to bear; +yet it is but the same as every man, and woman, too, who sets his or her +heart upon a creature has to endure. There is no true love in this +world, Earle--none," she continued, with passionate bitterness, "except +the love of a mother for her child." + +"I cannot believe it, mother. You loved my father, did you not--and he +loved you?" + +"Yes," she replied, "we had a deep, true, loyal affection for each +other, but, Earle, listen, my son. My first love was a young soldier, +who died in India; and before he knew me, your father had been deceived +just as you have been. Oh! believe me, turn where you will, on which +side you may, there is no reliance to be placed on human love." + +He bent his head with a moan that went to his mother's heart. + +"Then why," he said, "have I youth, and strength, and life, if I may not +have love? I cannot believe it, mother, I love my love, and I will have +her--I will search this wide world over, but I will find her. She is +mine--my promised wife; her hands have been in mine, I have kissed her +lips, and I would rather kill her and slay myself than that any one else +should take her from me." + +And his mother, with all her severity, knew that it was useless to argue +with him then, nor did there come to her for long an opportunity for +saying any more. That night she knelt by her son's bedside, as she had +done many hundreds of times when he was a child; she bathed his hot +brow, she made him repeat, after her, the simple prayers he had said as +a child; and when, at last, the deep yet troubled sleep fell over him, +she prayed as Mattie did--"God save my Earle." + +Hard, bitter thoughts arose in her mind against the vain girl whose +falsity had destroyed him; but the hardest thought, the darkest +imagination she had of her, did not equal the reality, which--Heaven be +thanked!--she never lived to see. + +On the next day, Earle was so ill that she would not allow him to get +up. Whenever she went near him he was muttering to himself about Doris; +and when he spoke aloud, it was always on one subject--going in search +of her. It did not surprise Mrs. Moray, on the third day of his illness, +to find him in a high fever, and to hear the doctor say, when he was +sent for, that he had but little hope of his life. They, for the time, +almost forgot Doris in their fear for Earle. As the long days and longer +nights passed on, and the danger increased, Mrs. Moray aged +terribly--the upright figure grew bent and stooping; the gray hair +turned white; deep furrows came in the pale forehead--her whole, sole +prayer was for the life of her son. + +By her father's desire, Mattie went to Lindenholm, and remained there, +so as to be a comfort to the widow. Mattie never forgot those days, the +breathless suspense, the fear, the earnestness with which the unhappy +mother would follow her about from room to room, saying always the same +thing: + +"Never mind talking to me, Mattie; pray for my son." + +There came a day when the doctor said he feared no human means could +save him--when the white-haired mother flung herself on her knees, +crying loudly to Heaven to spare her son. She had preached, in her +stern, cold way of resignation, to others, but in this, the hour of her +terrible trial, she forgot all; she besieged Heaven, as it were, for her +son. Even Mattie shrank from those wild words. + +"Let me suffer, my God!" she cried; "send me torture and death, but +spare him! let me suffer, let him live! I would give my body to be +burned, my heart to be riven--but spare my only son!" + +Faint with the fervor of her own words, she fell on her face, and there +lay till Mattie touched her gently. + +"He is asleep," she said; "Earle has fallen into a deep sleep, and the +doctor says he has taken a turn for the better." + +She could not thank God, for her rapture of gratitude found no words. + +Who is it that says that "a prayer granted is sometimes a curse?" + +The time was coming when those who loved him best said it was the +greatest pity that he had not died in this illness; he would then have +died with his mother's hope of heaven infolding him. + + * * * * * + +Earle grew better so slowly that the improvement could hardly be seen, +and during the whole of his convalescence, his mind was busy upon the +subject. He would go in search of Doris; nothing should keep him from +that; neither remonstrance nor tears. The idea grew with his strength, +until it became part of his life. He had some little money--money that +he had saved for his marriage; he would spend it in searching for her. + +One day, when the doctor came, he raised his wistful eyes to the kindly +face. + +"How soon shall I be able to travel?" he asked. + +"Not for six weeks," was the reply, "and not even then unless you are +careful." + +Careful he resolved to be, and his mother wondered at his sudden +submission and attention to the doctor's orders; but much that was +wonderful had to happen before those six weeks were ended. + +There had been great anxiety at the farm; one reason of it was, that +very soon after Doris went, the money came as usual, and Mark Brace was +deeply puzzled to know what to do with it. He would have returned it, +but he did not know where to return it to. He took long and wise counsel +with his wife, but Mrs. Brace saw no way out of the difficulty. + +"If we could but write to the person who sent it, and tell her what +Doris has done, it would be some comfort," she said; "but we cannot do +that even." + +It was settled at last, that the money should be placed in the bank, to +await the return of Doris. + +"She will come back," said Mark, "some day, when she has seen enough of +the world she so longed for--to find out how false it is; she will come +back when she wants true friends and true love; though it may be a long +time first." + +After long discussions, they agreed it would be better to sanction +Doris' flight than to call public attention to it. + +"There was nothing so injurious to a girl as to have it known that she +ran away from home," Mrs. Brace said. "We must shield her all we can. We +must shield her even more than if she were our own." + +So, when friends and neighbors asked about her, the farmer and his wife +had but one answer to make, and that was, that she had grown tired of +the quiet of Brackenside, and had gone out as a governess. + +Monsieur D'Anvers was the only one who persisted in his inquiries, and +he asked where she had gone. Mark, who loved truth, and hated falsehood, +looked uncomfortable, then replied that she had gone abroad: but for +himself he did not know the names of foreign places; so it passed over. +The few who knew the family told each other, as a piece of news, that +the pretty Miss Brace had gone abroad as a governess. Some said, with +her beautiful face she would be sure to marry well; and then the matter +died away. + +One day Mark returned home in a state of great excitement and happiness. + +"What do you think has happened," he asked of his wife. + +"You have heard from Doris," she replied. + +Then for one moment his face darkened. + +"No," he replied, "I have not heard from Doris. I wish you did not think +so much of her; it makes you dull. I heard this morning that all the +family were at the Castle again." + +Mrs. Brace, seeing that he really wished her to be surprised, was +surprised. + +"I am very glad they are back," she said. "A great noble like the duke +should live upon his own land." + +"That is not all," said Mark, with irrepressible triumph. "I was walking +through the market-place at Quainton this morning, and I saw the +carriage with out-riders and footmen. Now, what do you think, Patty? +before all the town the duke stopped the carriage and sent for me." + +Then indeed Mrs. Brace felt deeply interested. How could she think too +much of a duke who stopped his carriage in a public market-place and +spoke to her husband? + +"What did he say, Mark?" she asked. + +"He said that he had been away some months, and he hoped we were all +well. That proud, beautiful daughter of his was in the carriage, Lady +Estelle; her voice is like a clear, soft flute. 'How do you do, Mr. +Brace?' she said, and I told her that I enjoyed the best of health, +hoping that she did the same." + +"That was rather free spoken, Mark," said his wife, doubtfully. + +"Not at all," was the sturdy reply. "She looked pleased enough; then she +said: 'How is the young girl you brought to see the Castle?' I told her +that Doris had gone abroad, to be a governess; she leaned back in her +carriage, and held up her parasol. + +"'Was she tired of Brackenside?' she asked, and I said, 'Yes--I thought +she was.' + +"'Is she married?' asked my lady. I said, 'No.' + +"She looked at me strangely, and then the carriage drove on. It was +strange altogether." + +And again Mrs. Brace turned from her husband with a sigh. There was evil +at hand, she was sure. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV. + +"AFTER SO MANY YEARS OF DREAD HAS IT COME AT LAST?" + + +There was no part of the day that the Duke of Downsbury enjoyed so much +as the breakfast hour, when his beautiful daughter and his aristocratic +wife amused themselves by the discussion of letters and papers that had +come by post; then Lady Estelle seemed more lively, and the very +sunshine of the duke's life was the happiness of his only child. As the +day passed on she grew more listless, and the expression of _ennui_ on +her face grew deeper, but with the morning light she had something of +the brightness that had distinguished her as a girl. + +On this morning the sun shone so fairly, the roses were blooming, the +birds were singing, the whole world was bright and gay. The +breakfast-room was, in itself, the very picture of comfort and luxury; +the sunbeams sparkled on the costly silver, the flowers filled the air +with fragrance. The duke, a fine, handsome man, the very type of an +English nobleman, sat with a most contented smile on his face. The cup +of tea by his plate was odorous as a bouquet of flowers. The duchess, +proud and stately, was deeply engaged in the perusal of a +closely-written letter. Lady Estelle, looking more beautiful than ever +in the morning light, was busily engaged in doing nothing; neither book +nor paper interested her; but to one who knew that fair face well, there +was a cloud upon it, an expression of unusual languor and thought. + +Suddenly the duke addressed his wife: + +"Did I tell you, my dear, that I met my model farmer yesterday, the +honest man who amused you so much by his uncertainty over his hands and +feet?" + +"I remember Mark Brace," said the duchess; "how could I ever forget him? +He seemed to me the most honest and sensible man I ever met." + +"You remember, perhaps, the pretty child, and the romantic story?" + +"Yes; and I never prophesied good for that child," rejoined the duchess. + +Lady Estelle raised her fair, proud face. + +"Do not say that, mamma; it seems so hard upon the child." + +"It will be true, my dear," said her grace, calmly. "What has become of +her, I wonder? I have not heard anything of her lately." + +The duke smiled. + +"One part of your prophecy has come true; she was tired of Brackenside, +and has gone abroad." + +"Gone abroad?" repeated her grace. + +It was the calm, sweet voice of Lady Estelle that replied: + +"She has gone as governess to some little children, mamma; surely that +was a sensible thing to do." + +The duchess looked up in surprise at the unwonted interest in Lady +Estelle's voice. + +"It is so sensible, Estelle, that I am disposed to alter my opinion of +her; she has more sense and less vanity than I gave her credit for. I am +much pleased to hear it. But surely you or some one else told me she was +going to be married." + +"She told me so herself," replied Lady Estelle, "on the day she came +here; she was going to marry a gentleman and a poet." + +"Very improbable," said her grace; "gentlemen do not marry beneath them, +as a rule." + +She did not see the quick, hot flush that for one moment burned her +daughter's face. + +Then Lady Estelle leaned back in her chair, as though the subject had no +further interest for her. + +Suddenly the duke looked up from his paper. + +"Of all the strange pieces of news I have ever read, this is the +strangest," he said. + +Both ladies glanced at him; the flush dying from the face of Lady +Estelle left it unusually pale. + +"You remember Ulric Studleigh," continued his grace, "that handsome +'ne'er-do-well?'" + +This question produced a singular result. The duchess looked quickly at +her daughter, then dropped her eyes. Lady Estelle started as though she +had been touched to the heart by some keen, sharp sword. + +"What of Ulric Studleigh?" asked her grace, in a curt voice. + +"You will never believe it, my dear; he is the last man in the world to +whom such luck seemed likely to fall. When he was in London, at the time +we knew him so well, there were seven lives between himself and the +earldom of Linleigh. By a strange chapter of accidents they are all +gone. The young Earl of Linleigh died only last week, and now Ulric +Studleigh has succeeded; he is Earl of Linleigh, and is expected in +England next week. Only think what a change for him!" + +Lady Estelle had left her seat; she stood against the window, and the +face that looked through the glass was so white and wild no one could +have recognized it. + +"It is a great change," said the duchess; "but unless he himself has +changed, fortune will not benefit him much." + +"The greatest fault in him was his poverty," said the duke. "I must +confess I knew little else." + +The proud face of the duchess lighted with scorn. + +"Did you not? I never liked the Studleigh race myself; 'faithless and +debonair'--every one of them, men and women, too, 'faithless and +debonair'--fair of face, light of heart, light of word, light of truth. +When was a Studleigh either true to a friend or loyal to a love?" + +Still no word from the silent figure at the window. + +"I wonder," continued the duke, "if he is married yet?" + +"It is hardly probable; the Studleighs are proud enough. He would not +meet in Indian society any one whom he would care to marry." + +Then the duke looked thoughtfully at his daughter. Not one line of her +white face could be seen. + +"He will succeed to an enormous fortune," he continued. "I should say +the earldom of Linleigh is one of the richest in England. He will be a +great match for one of our fair friends." + +The duchess relaxed some little of her severity. + +"He was certainly a very handsome man," she said; "he always made me +think of one line in the quaint, old song of 'Allan Water:' + + "'And a winning tongue had he.' + +"It was impossible to resist him when with him, his daring was so frank, +his compliments so graceful and well turned, yet one felt, +instinctively, that the truth was not in him. Faithless and debonair. I +should not like any one for whom I felt any great esteem to marry Ulric +Studleigh, were he thrice an earl." + +"Well, I cannot help feeling rather pleased," said the duke. "Perhaps it +was a little for his handsome face, but certainly I liked him." + +"When is he coming home?" asked the duchess. + +"He had sailed for England long before this news could reach him, but it +will greet him as soon as he lands. He is expected next week." + +There was the sound of the quiet closing of a door. When the duke and +duchess looked round Lady Estelle had gone. Then they glanced wistfully +at each other. + +"She liked him," said the duke. + +"I am afraid so," said the duchess. "I half believe that it is for his +sake she has remained single. Poor Estelle! Who would have thought it? +We shall see how events turn out when he returns to England. They are +sure to meet; then we shall see." + +While Lady Estelle walked slowly through the hall, she took her garden +hat and wrapped a lace shawl round her shoulders. Quietly, with her +usual languid, graceful step, she passed out through the hall into the +flower-garden beyond. No sound escaped her lips, and her fair, proud +face was unruffled; but when she was there quite alone, the self-control +and self-restraint fell from her. She raised her face with a despairing +cry to the shining heavens. + +"Oh, my God!" she moaned; "after so many years of dread--after so many +years of unutterable fear and misery--has it come at last!" + +Then she, who had never been seen to shed a tear, laid her face on the +green grass and wept aloud--wept as only calm, proud people can weep +when the depths of the heart are touched. She lay there a long time, +while the sun shone on her, then she roused herself. Tears relieved her +for the time; but in this sudden and cruel emergency they did her no +enduring good. + +"What am I to do?" she cried to herself. "How can I best atone for this +folly and sin of my youth? What will they say to me? Oh, Heaven! if I +could but die!" + +So through the summer hours she wept and moaned. What should she do? The +future looked dark as the past. For so long she had been putting off +this evil day--fighting hard with her conscience and every impulse of +honesty and goodness--hoping against hope that the evil day might, +perhaps, never come at all. Yet here it was, and she was helpless. + +"If she were here," she thought to herself, "it would not be so bad. I +cannot see my way out of this labyrinth." And though she spent hour +after hour thinking and planning, she could decide upon nothing. + +That evening there was a grand dinner party at Downsbury Castle, and the +principal guest was a writer from London, whose name was a power in the +government. During the course of the long, stately dinner the great +writer, turning to the duke, said: + +"You have a famous poet in your neighborhood, or rather you have one who +in time will be a famous poet." + +His grace, who had forgotten what he had heard of the "gentleman and +poet," asked eagerly who it was. + +"The author of 'English Lyrics,'" replied the writer. "He lives, unless +I mistake, at a place called Lindenholm, on your estate. Unless I make +the greatest mistake, that young man has a grand career before him. I +should like to meet him." + +Lady Estelle, pale and stately, listened intently. This was the poet who +was to marry Doris. She listened again. They spoke of the poet's +sterling worth, his wonderful honesty, his noble character, and there +came to her a gleam of hope in her distress. + +She would go to him. In all the wide world there was no one to help her +but him. She would risk all, and try him. If he proved untrue--if he +refused to help her--why, even then, matters could be no worse; whereas, +if he did not refuse, and was willing to come to her aid, her troubles +would at least be lessened, and she could meet Ulric Studleigh with a +calmer face. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV. + +"I MUST TELL YOU MY SECRET." + + +Earle Moray was dreadfully puzzled. Into the threads of his life a +mighty, passionate, wonderful love had been woven, but there had been +nothing of mystery. It had been a beautiful life, full of love, and +dreams, and poetry, but it had all been open to the eye and pleasant to +read. + +He held something in his hands now that puzzled him--a letter written on +thick satin wove paper--a letter asking him if he would be at the gate +leading to Quainton woods at noon to-morrow, there to meet some one who +wanted his aid. + +It was a strange request. If any one wanted his aid, why did the person +not seek him in his own home? Why desire to meet him in Quainton woods? +Then, what could he do to help any one? Of what avail was he? He was not +wise enough to give advice. If money were needed, he would do his best, +certainly, but he could do little. + +Then another thing puzzled him. The letter was evidently written by a +lady. Certainly, the hand was disguised, but it was clear and elegant. +What lady could wish to see him? Not Mattie for he had spent the whole +of yesterday at the farm; he knew no one else, save Doris. His face grew +hot, then cold, as he thought of her. Could it concern Doris in any +way, this strange letter? Had she grown weary of being without him? Had +she sent him a letter or token? Did she wish to see him? He tormented +himself with doubts, hopes, and fears, but resolved to go. He was +getting quite strong now; he was able to travel; he had taken care of +himself; and those who did not know his motive wondered that he +recovered so quickly. He had never swerved from his resolution to go in +search of his lost love. Perhaps the saddest sight of all to him was the +quantity of manuscript lying unfinished in his room--copies of the poems +he had been engaged upon when his life was so suddenly taken from +him--the great work that was to have secured for him immortality. He +sighed when he looked at it, but he had never once attempted to continue +it. If in the time to come he found Doris, and won her for his own +again, then the golden dreams of fame and immortality would return to +him; until then they were like his hopes--dead! + +He had to control his impatience as best he could until noon of the day +following; then he went quickly to the appointed place. An idea occurred +to him that the letter might be a hoax, although on looking round on his +circle of friends, he knew no one who would be likely to play any jest +with him. + +As he drew near the gate that led to Quainton woods, he saw that it was +no jest, for walking down the woodland glade, pausing occasionally to +look from right to left, was the figure of a tall, stately lady, whose +face was closely veiled. + +His heart beat so quickly he could hardly endure the rapid pulsation; +but it was not Doris. This lady was taller, of a more stately presence +than his golden-haired love; still, it might be some one whom she had +sent to him. + +He raised his hat and walked bare-headed to where the lady stood. The +wind lifted the fair hair from his noble brow, and freshened the +spiritual handsome face. As he bent before her, the lady stood quite +still and looked at him long. + +"You are Earle Moray, gentleman and poet," she said, in a voice of +marvelous sweetness. "I recognize you from a description I once heard +given of you." + +"I am Earle Moray," he said; and still the lady looked as though she +would fain read every thought; then, with a deep sigh, she held out her +hand to him. + +"I can trust you," she said. "I have but little skill, perhaps, in +reading faces. I made a great mistake once when I tried, yet I can read +yours. Truth, honor, loyalty, are all there. Nature never yet wrote +falsely on such a face as yours. I will trust you with that which is +dearer to me than my life." + +Then they walked side by side in silence, until they reached a broad, +shady walk which was darkened by the large, spreading boughs of the +trees, Earle wondering who she was--marveling at the rich silk and +velvet she wore, at the dainty grace of the gloved hand, at the proud, +yet graceful beauty, at the sweet voice. Who was she? Some one who +trusted him, and who should find that he was to be trusted even to the +very depths. + +Then the lady turned to him. + +"I know it is an idle question," she paid, "but I ask it for form's +sake. Will you keep true and sacred the trust I am going to place in +you?" + +"Until death!" he replied. "I promise it." + +"Now tell me," she said--"I have a right to ask the question, as you +will learn--you were betrothed to Doris, who was known as Doris Brace." + +"Yes," he replied in a low voice, "I was." + +"Would you mind telling me whether that engagement still exists?" + +His face quivered with pain as he turned it to her. + +"I cannot answer you," he said; "I do not know. To me it exists solemnly +and sacredly. I do not know what Doris thinks." + +Her voice was wonderfully soft and gentle as she continued: + +"I know that I am paining you; I am sorry for it. Was there any quarrel +between you when you parted?" + +"No," he replied, "there was no quarrel." + +"How was it?" she asked, gently. "Do not fear to tell me." + +"I do not know; I was not good enough for her, perhaps--not bright and +eloquent enough. Perhaps I loved her too dearly. She was the life of my +life. She may have got tired of my mad, passionate love--only God knows. +She left me." + +"How did she leave you?" persisted the sweet, pitiless voice. + +"I left her one day, believing she loved me, that in a very short time +she would be my wife. I returned the next, and she had gone away, +leaving a letter for me." + +"What did that letter say?" + +"It said that she could never marry me; that the quiet life and quiet +ways would not suit her; that she had resolved to leave them. She was +going abroad to teach some little children, and she prayed me never to +find her, for she would never return." + +He drew his breath with a hard, painful gasp as he finished the words. + +"I shall find her," he added, with quiet force. "She promised to be my +wife, and in the sight of the just God she is mine. I will never rest +until I have found her, life of my life, the very heart of me. She shall +not escape me." + +"Then she left you and broke her promise without any sensible reason +whatever?" + +"If you will have the truth," he replied, "yes, she did so." + +"Faithless and debonair," murmured the lady, "like all of her race." + +"She is young," said Earle, in quick excuse, "and very beautiful. +Perhaps in the years to come she may have more sense, and will be sorry +for what she has done." + +"All the sorrow in the world could not undo the wrong she has done you," +said the lady. + +"I would forgive her," said Earle. "She could do no wrong so great but +that I could pardon her." + +"You are true and noble; you are of the kind whom women torture and +kill. Tell me, have you no idea where she is?" + +"I have not the faintest," he replied, "I cannot tell even in what +quarter of the world she is; but I have confidence in my own will--I +shall find her." + +"Suppose," said the lady, "that you succeed, that you find her, and that +she is unwilling to marry you--what shall you do then?" + +His face darkened--a new expression such as she had never seen came over +it. + +"That is between Heaven and myself," he replied. "Until I am tried and +tempted I cannot tell you what I should do." + +"You would not harm her!" she cried, laying her hand on his arm. + +"Harm her! hurt Doris! Oh, no! how could I harm her? She is life of my +life, heart of my heart! How could I harm her?" + +"That is well. I am weak and easily frightened; I have lived for nearly +twenty years in one long dream of terror. I was a girl of eighteen when +my fear began--I am a woman of thirty-eight now, and I have never known +one moment's cessation of fear. Do you pity me?" + +"With all my heart," said Earle. + +"After twenty years," she continued, "I stand face to face with the +realization of my fear; the dream that has haunted me has come true; the +sword has fallen; I have to answer for my girlish folly and sin--a +thousand times greater than Doris'!" + +Then between them for some minutes there fell perfect, unbroken silence. +Again the lady broke it. + +"I am in sore need," she said, "and I want a friend. I have sought you +because you love Doris." + +Wondering more and more, he answered that he would do anything on earth +to help her. + +"I feel sure you would," she said; then throwing back her veil, she +asked: "Do you know me?" + +He looked at her. No, he did not know her. He thought to himself that he +could never have forgotten such a face if he had seen it before. + +"I am Lady Estelle Hereford," she continued, "the only daughter of the +Duke of Downsbury." + +He was not surprised; he would not have felt surprised if she had told +him she was Queen of England. + +"Lady Estelle Hereford," he murmured; "but what is it possible that I +can do to help you?" + +"You wonder that I, the daughter of a mighty duke, should be driven to +seek aid," she said. "Oh! believe me, there is no one in all England who +needs it more than I do. Tell me, Earle Moray--'gentleman and poet'--I +like the title--tell me, have you ever heard me discussed--spoken of?" + +"Yes," he replied, frankly, "many times." + +"Tell me how people speak of me!" she asked. "I know what your answer +will be. It will not pain me." + +"I have always heard your beauty praised," said Earle, honestly--"that +you were accomplished and beautiful, but that you were one of the +proudest ladies in the land." + +"It is true," she said; "the time was when no girl in England was +prouder than I." + +He looked at the pale, high-bred face. + +"It was natural," he said, simply; "you had everything to make you so." + +"And now," she continued, "the proudest woman in England, Lady Estelle +Hereford, is here by stealth, asking that aid from a stranger which no +one else can give to her." + +"Life is full of strange phases," said Earle. "But, Lady Hereford, what +is it that you think I can do for you?" + +"I must tell you my secret first," she said, "before you can +understand----" + +"Nay," he interrupted, generously, "I need not understand. If there is +anything in the world that I can do for you, you have but to command me. +I will be blind, deaf, mute, in your service. There is no need for me to +understand." + +"You are very good--I feel your delicacy," she said. "You are loyal and +noble; but I must tell you my secret, and my story is not a short one. I +am tired; can I rest while I tell it to you?" + +In less time than it took her to ask the question, he had cleared away +the creeping moss and trailing leaves from the fallen trunk of a tree. + +"It is a rude resting-place," he said. + +But Lady Estelle seemed grateful enough for it. She drew aside the rich +silk and velvet. + +"Sit down by my side," she said, gently. + +He would have remained at a distance; but, with a little, graceful +gesture, as of one used to command, she called him to her. + +"Sit down here," she said, and he had no resource but to obey her. + +Then again she was silent for some minutes; her face wore a dreamy, +musing expression. + +"What a strange fate!" she said. "After keeping my secret for all these +years--after guarding it jealously as my life--after sacrificing only +Heaven knows what to it--I tell it to you, to you, young, loyal, +true-hearted--you who love Doris! There is a terrible irony, after all, +in fate!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI. + +LADY ESTELLE'S STORY. + + +Looking at Lady Estelle, Earle saw that her face had grown very pale, +and her hands trembled. It was so strange for him, on this beautiful, +sunlit morning, to find himself seated by this pale, high-bred lady. The +sun shone through the thick, green branches, and the light fell in +slanting rays on the greensward; the birds sang gaily in the trees--the +sweet, pitiless birds, who sing whether we are in sorrow or joy; the +wild-flowers raised their beautiful heads, so fair and delicate, so +fragile and sweet; there was no distress in nature. + +"Dear Lady Hereford," he said, "spare yourself. You do not like to tell +me this story--why do it?" + +"I must," she said. "Never mind the pain for me; the pain has been +greater in bearing it for twenty years than it is now in the telling of +it. Looking at me, Earle Moray, can you imagine what I was twenty years +ago?" + +"Yes," he said, gently, "I can imagine it. Time does not dim and line a +face like yours. I can see you now as you were then." + +"The lightest heart--ah, me! the happiest girl--there was not one so +happy! Proud, because every one told me how much I had to be proud of. I +was beautiful, and the Duke of Downsbury's only daughter. What people +call high prizes in this world ought to have been mine. Listen to what I +have won. At eighteen I made my _debut_ in the great world, and before I +had even time to look round me, I had a number of lovers and admirers, +thanks to the prestige of my father's name. I had more offers during the +first season than falls to the lot of most young ladies. There was not +one among the crowd of admirers for whom I cared; none interested me, +none touched me. Young as I was, I longed for something that I did not +find. I had great ideas of the happiness and sanctity of love. In this +new world I heard but little of it. People talked of diamonds, +opera-boxes, country-houses, pin-money, settlements; but I heard little +of love. I had firmly resolved in my own mind that when I married it +should be for love alone. I had everything else--rank, title, wealth, +position. I wanted love. One great man after another--great according to +the world's estimation--laid title and wealth before me, the Duke of +Downsbury's heiress. I had flattery, homage, compliments, praise, but +not what I thought to be love. In discussing different offers my mother +would say: 'This one belongs to the oldest family in England;' of +another, 'He has the fairest estates in the country;' of another, 'He is +a great favorite at court;' of another, 'He can give his wife jewels fit +for an empress;' but she never urged as a recommendation that any one +loved me. As a rule, one values least that which one has, and longs most +for that which one has not. I was born and reared in the very heart of +luxury--I knew nothing else--so that I valued splendor and magnificence, +luxury and wealth far less than I valued love; and while wiser heads +than mine were occupied in discussing which would be the most advisable +suitor for me, I was occupied in looking for some one who would love me. +Is it natural, Earle Moray, that one should long to be loved?" + +He looked at the pale, sad face. + +"Just as natural, Lady Hereford, as that the thirsty flowers should long +for dew," he replied. + +"So I think. I made a terrible mistake. I wrecked my whole life; yet I +think that if I had to live over again I should look first for love. + +"One evening there was a ball at the palace, and I went with the +duchess, my mother. On our way she began to talk to me about a certain +Lord Alverton, whose proposal of marriage had delighted her. + +"'I should certainly advise you, my dear child,' she said, 'to accept +him. He will be at the palace this evening, and I shall be pleased to +hear that you have accepted him.' + +"'But I do not love him, mamma,' I said. + +"She looked surprised. + +"'Never be vehement, Estelle,' she said, in a tone of reproof; 'it is +not lady-like. And, my dear child, remember, rank has its penalty. In +ours we do not marry for love.' + +"She meant it all kindly. She loved me then, and loves me now, better +than half the mothers in this world love their children. She spoke as +she herself had been taught; but I was resolved never to learn the same +lesson. I would marry for love, and nothing else. I entered the palace +gates, resolved to dismiss his lordship, and to wait until some one +loved me. + +"As I was promenading with one of my partners, my eyes fell suddenly +upon one of the handsomest men I had ever seen--a face that irresistibly +drew my attention, it was so handsome, high-bred and debonair. I looked +at him again and again in wonder. I watched him as he spoke to different +people. I saw that he left everyone whom he addressed laughing. I +wondered who he could be. A royal duchess spoke to him, and seemed to +enjoy his conversation; so that he must be 'one of us,' I thought to +myself. Suddenly I asked my companion, 'Who is the gentleman to whom the +Duchess of K---- is talking?' + +"He laughed a little, low laugh. + +"'That is Captain Ulric Studleigh,' he replied, 'the handsomest, the +most popular, and the most good-for-nothing man in London.' + +"'Good-for-nothing,' I repeated; 'how is that? What do you mean?' + +"'Perhaps I should apologize for the expression,' said my companion, +'but really I know of none other so suitable. He is a Studleigh, and you +know the character of the race.' + +"'Indeed I do not,' was my earnest reply. + +"'The Studleighs are all faithless and debonair,' he continued: 'they +have made more love and broken more hearts than any other race even of +twice their number.' + +"'But every one seems to like Captain Studleigh. See how people listen +to him, talk to him, laugh at him.' + +"'I tell you, Lady Hereford, that he is really the most popular man in +London.' + +"'But how can he be popular,' I persisted, 'if he is what you say?' + +"'Faithless and debonair,' he repeated. 'But I do not know that the +world will like him any the less for that. He has a handsome face. Look +at his smile; it is like a gleam of sunshine. And, to tell you the +truth, Lady Hereford, I know of no one else who can talk as he does.' + +"Then my partner left me, and I became engrossed in watching Captain +Studleigh. Surely no one could be more popular; no one passed him +without a word or a jest. I watched him as he bent over the white hands +of fair ladies, and I was mad enough to feel something like jealousy +when he seemed to like one. Then, by some accident, I can never +remember how it happened, our eyes met. I saw him start, and I hoped he +admired me. + +"Ah, dear Heaven! what a foolish child I was! Then he went away +hurriedly, and in a few minutes afterward he was bowing before me, while +some one introduced him to me. The extreme bitterness of the pain has +long since left me, and I can remember that when he asked me to dance +with him, and my hand touched his arm, it was as though the happiness of +my life had suddenly grown complete. Thinking of myself as I was then, +tears of pity fill my eyes. + +"It was a long dance, and when it ended Captain Studleigh did not seem +more anxious to part from me than I was to part from him. The spell was +beginning to work on me as it worked on others. His bright, laughing +eyes, handsome face, rich, clear voice, the inexhaustible fund of wit +and mirth, the tender, chivalrous deference that he knew so well how to +pay, delighted me. He asked me if I should like to see a famous picture +that had been recently sent to the palace. I said 'Yes,' glad of any +pretext for being longer with him. I do not know how time passed. I was +happier than I had ever been in my life before. Suddenly Captain +Studleigh asked me, with a smile, where was my mother, the duchess. I +told him she had been invited to join the royal circle, and was there +now, I believed. + +"'Fortune is kind to me to-night,' he said, with a smile. + +"Simply enough I asked him why he should call my mother's preoccupation +fortunate to him. + +"He laughed outright. + +"'My dear Lady Hereford,' he said, 'if her grace were at hand, do you +suppose I should be allowed this delightful half hour here with you?' + +"'Why not?' I asked, wonderingly. + +"'Because I am what is called a detrimental. I am a poor younger son, +whose presumption, as the dowagers say, is frightful. Have I any right, +possessing under ten thousand a year and no title, to monopolize, even +for five minutes, the smiles of Lady Estelle Hereford?' + +"I knew that he was speaking satirically, but it struck me, at the same +time, that his views and mine would upon many points agree. + +"'What nonsense about being a poor younger son,' I said. 'What +difference does it make?' + +"He laughed again. + +"'That is the most sensible question I ever heard, Lady Hereford, and as +a younger son I thank you for it. It makes a wonderful difference in the +opinion of most people.' + +"'It makes none in mine,' I said, decidedly; and then I saw him look +steadfastly at me. I never even gave a thought to the significance of my +words. Suddenly I remembered the conversation I had had about him. I +looked up into his face. + +"'Captain Studleigh,' I asked, 'why do people call you faithless and +debonair?' + +"'Do they?' he asked. 'I do not think that such a bad character, Lady +Estelle.' + +"'Is it true that all the Studleighs are faithless?' I repeated. + +"'I wish I dared say, try one of them, Lady Estelle. That may be the +tradition of the family, but it would be cruel to judge every member by +it. After all, it is something to be debonair, so I must be content.' + +"Looking at him and listening to him, I did not believe one word of it. +There was a charm about him that no words of mine could possibly +describe--a charm that I believe, even now, belongs to no one else on +earth. I soon found that what he said was perfectly true. As I returned +to the ball-room I saw my mother looking for us. Her eyes did not fall +with a very pleased expression on Captain Studleigh. She came up to us +and made some little observation to him; the tone of it was barely +civil, and he was quick enough to notice it. He gave me one laughing +glance, as though he would say, 'You see, I told you I was a +detrimental,' then he bowed and went away. + +"'My dear Estelle,' she said, 'have you been long with Captain +Studleigh?' + +"I told her how long, and she looked displeased. + +"'Who introduced you to him?'" she asked. + +"Ah! how ashamed I was. I could not remember; I had never even noticed. +She turned to me. + +"'It was a mistake,' she said, gently. 'He is a handsome man, but the +Studleighs are all alike. I should not wish you to fall into the habit +of wasting your time with him.' + +"'Wasting my time.' I repeated that phrase over and over again. The only +gleam of happiness I had found in this great world was looked coldly +upon by my mother, and called 'wasting my time.' + +"I went home with my head and heart full of him, longing only for the +hour to come when I should meet him again. Looking back, I pity myself, +Earle Moray--I pity myself!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII. + +"HE MADE ME BELIEVE THAT I WAS THE WHOLE WORLD TO HIM!" + + +"Do I weary you, Earle Moray, with these details?" Lady Estelle asked, +looking with wistful eyes into his face. "Out of my thirty-eight years, +that was my only gleam of light--does it weary you that I like to dwell +upon it?" + +"No," he replied, "every word interests me; you cannot tell one too +much." + +"I used to wonder," she continued, "when I heard people say that love +made or marred a woman's life. In my own mind I thought such words an +exaggeration. I found that they were most fatally true--my love marred +my life. + +"That night I left the palace, with my heart and mind full of Ulric +Studleigh, and the idea possessed a double charm for me because I was, +as it were, forbidden to entertain it. The duchess, my mother spoke to +me once more on the subject. We were going to a _fete_ at Kensington +Gardens. Before we started she called me to her. + +"'Estelle,' she said, gravely, 'I hope you will not forget what is due +to your position as daughter of the Duke of Downsbury. I hope you will +not forget what is required and expected of you.' + +"I told her that I hoped always to please her, and I intended then to do +so. + +"'If Captain Studleigh should have the bad taste to intrude his society +on you,' she continued, 'without being the least unladylike, you must +let him see that it is displeasing to you.' + +"'But, mamma,' I remonstrated, 'it is _not_ displeasing; it is most +amusing.' + +"'The expression of my least wish ought to suffice, Estelle,' said my +mother, haughtily. 'I tell you to avoid Captain Studleigh whenever you +possibly can; and if you are compelled for a few minutes, by unavoidable +circumstances, to talk to him, I insist upon it that you show no +interest whatever--that you treat him with studied coolness and +reserve.' + +"'Will you tell me why, mamma?' I asked gently. + +"'Yes, I will tell you. The love of a Studleigh never yet brought +anything with it save sorrow. Secondly, were it even otherwise, Ulric +Studleigh, a younger son, is no match for my daughter, Lady Estelle +Hereford. You hear this?' + +"I had heard, and at first my only emotion was one of sorrow that a +pleasant intercourse must be ended. It was very evident that I must not +look again at the laughing face and tender eyes. I hardly understood the +cloud that came over me, or why the thought that he was so soon to be +taken out of my life darkened it. + +"He was at the _fete_, strange to say, with my only and dearest friend, +Lady Agnes Delapain. We had been schoolmates, and the year previous she +had married Lord Delapain. I felt pleased when I saw him with her. My +mother did not see either of them. After a time Lady Agnes left her +companion and came to me. My mother, who knew our great affection for +each other, had no scruple in leaving us together while she joined some +friends of her own. + +"'Estelle,' said Lady Agnes, as we wandered through a beautiful grove of +trees--'Estelle, you have accomplished a miracle.' + +"'What have I done?' I asked. + +"'You have written your name where no one ever inscribed a woman's name +before,' she replied. + +"I had not the least idea what she meant. + +"'Where is that?' I asked. + +"Lady Agnes laughed aloud. + +"'On the hitherto invincible heart of Ulric Studleigh,' she said. 'I +should imagine that he has admired more pretty girls than any one ever +did before, but you are the first who has made a real impression on +him.' + +"'Who says I have done so, Agnes?' + +"'I say so. He has been sitting by me for half an hour, and all his +conversation has been of you. I assure you, Estelle, he is hopelessly in +love.' + +"'The love of the Studleighs always brings sorrow, my mother says.' + +"Lady Agnes laughed again. + +"'I am sure your mother will not like him--no mothers do. Mine used to +torture me about him before I was married. You would not find a dowager +in London who approves of him.' + +"'But why?' I persisted. + +"'A handsome, graceless, penniless younger son? What dowager in her +senses would approve of such a man?' + +"'He cannot help being a younger son and having no money,' I said. + +"'No; he cannot help it. A man cannot help being born blind or lame, I +suppose; but then he does not expect to fare the same as a man who can +walk and see.' + +"'It is not a just world,' I said gravely; and again Lady Agnes laughed. + +"'Yes, Ulric ought at least to have been a prince,' she said; 'there is +now only one resource for him.' + +"'What is that?' I asked. + +"'He has no money, and he cannot make money. Military fame is very +empty; but he could, at least, marry some one who has money.' + +"And Lady Agnes, who, I believe, had a decided liking for him, looked +sharply at me. + +"'Why can he never make money?' I asked. + +"'It is not the habit of the Studleighs: they have a reckless fashion of +spending, but I do not know that they are capable of making money. +Captain Ulric is a soldier, and we all know how empty is fame.' + +"At that very moment he joined us. Lady Agnes turned to me. + +"'I leave you in safe hands,' she said. 'I promised to look after little +Nellie Plumpton, and I have not seen her yet.' + +"Then she went away. It was kind of her in one sense, but wrong in +another. I was terribly frightened. What should I do if my mother found +me here in this grove of trees with Captain Studleigh? I remembered, +too, that I had promised to be very distant and reserved with him: yet +there I was, looking at him, blushing and smiling, utterly unable either +to look or feel anything save happy. + +"He saw, and was quick enough to detect the anxiety on my face. + +"'Ah! Lady Hereford,' he said. 'I was a true prophet--I see it.' + +"Then, without waiting for any answer, he began to talk to me about the +_fete_. I forgot everything else in the wide, world except that I was +happy and was with him. + +"Earle Moray, the sun will never shine for me again as it did that day; +the sky will never be so blue, the flowers so sweet and fair. + +"When he saw Lady Agnes returning to us in the distance, he said, +quickly: + +"'You will not be unjust to me, Lady Estelle--you will not visit the +sins of my race on me?' + +"'No,' I said, 'I will never do that.' + +"'Sometimes you will let me forget graver anxieties, graver cares, the +troubles of my life, in talking to you?' + +"Then I saw my difficulty. + +"'I will do all that I possibly can,' I said; 'but----' + +"'But what?' he asked. 'Tell me the difficulty.' + +"How could I? I could not look into his face, and tell him my mother +disliked and disapproved of him. + +"'I think I understand,' he said, with a low laugh. 'If I were a duke, +with two or three fine estates, there would be no objection to me; as it +is, perhaps her grace has told you the Studleighs are unfortunate?' + +"'Yes, she has told me so, but I do not believe it,' I hastened to +reply. + +"'Thank you; you are generous. I shall trust in your generosity, Lady +Hereford.' + +"Then he went away, and the brightness of the sun, the sky, the flowers, +went with him. Yet I was strangely happy, with a new, strange, shy +happiness. When other people, whom I had neither liked nor cared for, +talked to me, I found that I had a fresh stock of patience--that I had +such a fountain of happiness in my own heart I had abundance to shower +upon others. The whole world changed to me from that day. I lived only +in the hope of seeing Captain Studleigh. I counted the hours when I was +away from him. Unfortunately for me, I found an aider and abettor in +Lady Agnes Delapain. My mother did not even know that she was acquainted +with him, and I--alas!--never told her. + +"Lady Agnes had a beautiful villa at Twickenham, and it was no unusual +thing for me to spend two or three days with her. It was cruel to betray +my mother's trust; there is no excuse for it, nor was there any for my +friend. We never made any positive appointment. I never told him when I +was going to Twickenham, yet he always seemed to know by instinct. Lord +Delapain held some important office under the government, so that he was +seldom at home. We three, Lady Delapain, Captain Studleigh, and myself, +spent whole days together, sometimes in the grounds that surrounded her +home, or on the river which ran close by. + +"The end of it was--see, I offer no excuse--that we both believed it +impossible to live any longer without each other. Oh! folly and +blindness and madness of love! I, who had never disobeyed my parents, +who had always been a docile, obedient child, whose highest ambition had +been to please them. I suffered him, my lover, to talk to me about a +private marriage! He said that if we were once married, my parents would +be very angry for a short time, that was certain: but when they saw +there was no help for it, they would forgive us and all would be well +again. I asked, timidly enough, for I dreaded to displease him, if it +would not be better for him to try to win my parents' consent. + +"'I will try, if you like,' he said. 'I will do anything to please you: +but I am quite sure it is useless. The moment they hear that I care for +you they will take you away, and I shall see you no more.' + +"'Do you really think so, Ulric?' I asked, sadly. + +"'I am quite certain of it: still it shall be as you wish. I cannot live +without you, Estelle. You are the whole world to me; and you love me, +unless the story told by those sweet eyes is untrue.' + +"Lady Agnes knew nothing of these longing entreaties of his for a secret +marriage. If I had told her I might have been saved. She, with all her +imprudence, would never have permitted that. I dared not tell her, lest +she should disapprove. + +"Looking back, I cannot tell what possessed me--what mad infatuation, +what wild folly had taken hold of me. Is it the same, I wonder, with all +those who love--with all girls who surrender heart and judgment as I +did? Yet I did not reply all at once. The step was such a grave and +serious one, even to my inexperienced eyes, that I hesitated long before +taking it. I must do him justice; I think that in those days Ulric +Studleigh did love me very dearly indeed, better, perhaps, than he loved +any one else; and that, for a Studleigh, is certainly saying great deal. +He told me, over and over again, in most passionate words, that he loved +me. He made me believe that I was the whole world to him. Then, when he +still found that I was unwilling--oh! so unwilling--for this private +marriage, he pretended to be hurt, to think that I did not care for him; +and for ten long days he never came near me--ten long, dreary, terrible +days. I can remember even now the misery of each of them--the hours that +seemed to have no end--the nights without sleep. If we met in public, he +passed me with a cold bow, and devoted himself to some one else. I went +through all the tortures of jealousy, my face grew pale and thin. Ah! +what I suffered! Then one evening he came to me and said: + +"'Estelle, have we had enough of this? I feel I can bear it no longer.' + +"'It is your fault,' I replied; 'you have kept away from me.' + +"'Is a man's heart made of wax, do you think? Kept away from you! If I +had not done so I should have gone mad. Your love must be child's play, +judging from the way in which you treat me. How could I bear to be near +you, when you so coldly refused my prayer?' + +"We were standing behind a great cluster of trees, and the next moment +he had clasped me in his arms, crying that I must be his. + +"'I shall be at Twickenham to-morrow,' he said; 'Estelle, I pray you to +meet me there.' + +"And I, weak and miserable, promised him." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII. + +THE PUNISHMENT OF FOLLY. + + +"'I cannot bear it,' said my lover to me," continued Lady Estelle, "when +we met the next day on the green lawn at Twickenham. 'We Studleighs are +just as mad in jealousy as we are in love. When I see you surrounded by +the wealthiest and noblest in the land--men each of whom is more worthy +of you a thousand times than I am--but no one else loves you one-half so +well, I can bear it no longer, Estelle. I will stand by no longer to see +you loved, admired, and sought by other men. I will go away, and never +return to this hateful land again.' + +"'What can I do, Ulric?' I asked. 'I cannot help it--I do not ask people +to admire me.' + +"'You can do one thing, if you will,' he said; 'you can set my heart at +rest; you can consent to what I ask--a private marriage; that will make +you mine, and it will not be in the power of any human being to take you +from me. It will set my heart at rest, and I shall know, no matter who +admires you, that you are mine. If you will not consent to this, I must +go.' + +"I was sorely afraid to lose him, Earle Moray. + +"'But what will become of me when my parents find it out?' I asked. + +"'They need never find it out. When they seem to like me a little +better, we will tell them. No one knows what an excellent thing it is to +make one's self master of the situation. Once done, we cannot be +expected to undo it, and after a few days they will say that we were +naughty; but they will forgive us when they are quite sure that being +angry is of no use.' + +"Those were weak arguments, Earle Moray, to lead a girl away from her +duty. They seem to me so now, though then I fancied them full of wisest +sense. I destroyed myself when I looked up into his face, and said; + +"'But even if I were willing, how could it be managed, Ulric?' + +"He clasped me in his arms. + +"'Only say that you are willing, that is enough. I shall go mad with +joy! Estelle, say that you are willing, and leave the preliminaries to +me.' + +"He looked so eager, so handsome; I was so weak and young. I loved him +so dearly, all higher and better considerations faded away--I promised." + +She buried her face in her hands, and Earle saw the tears fall through +her slender, jeweled fingers. He saw the fragile figure torn with deep, +convulsive sobs, yet he did not dare comfort her. He fell that, for such +a wrong as she had committed, there could be no pardon from those she +had deceived. Yet his feeling of compassion for her was so strong that +he could not refrain from showing her some sympathy. He laid his hand +gently on her arm. + +"Dear Lady Hereford," he said, "I wish that I knew how to comfort you." + +"You cannot," she replied; "there can be no consolation for sins like +mine. Oh! Earle Moray, you see that I am speaking to you as though I had +known you for years. It is because you love Doris. Can you think, can +you imagine how I came to be so foolish?--so mad, it seems to me, +looking back on my past. Incredible! Young, gifted, with everything to +make life desirable, that I should wreck myself, turn every blessing +into a curse! It is incredible to me, I cannot believe it; yet I have +done it. I need not tire you with details. I have dwelt longer than I +need have done on my temptations, because I want you, who love Doris so +dearly, to think the best which is possible of me. Do you agree to that? +Will you try?" + +"Most certainly I will, dear Lady Hereford. Who am I, that I should sit +in judgment over you?" + +"I am ashamed to tell you the rest," she said, in a wailing tone. "It is +a story that would disgrace the humblest beggar--think how it humiliates +me, the sole daughter of one of the proudest houses in the land. No +Studleigh ever failed for want of determination. The more and the +greater the obstacles that rose in my lover's way, the more valiantly he +overcame them. I am too ignorant even to explain _how_ he arranged +it--everything gives way to money, I suppose--the obstacles he +encountered did. I only know two things for certain--we were married, +and our marriage was legal." + +"It seems almost incredible," said Earle, "for one so highly placed, so +constantly guarded as you must have been, Lady Hereford." + +"It was difficult; but I will confess my own duplicity. I told my mother +that I was going to spend two days with Lady Agnes, and I went +accompanied by my maid. It was a very easy matter, on the morning of the +second day, to escape from Lady Agnes, under some slight pretext, and +meet Captain Studleigh. We were married in some old gray church by the +river; and when I returned to Twickenham I did not even dare to tell my +best friend. Yet I remember so well the almost delicious +happiness--perhaps all the sweeter that it was kept so silent--the +happiness of knowing that I had proved to my husband how dearly I loved +him; the happiness of knowing how great were the sacrifices I made for +him. Ah, surely he would be content now, when for his sake I made myself +a living lie--I wore a mask that hid me from the parents who loved +me--surely he would be satisfied now! I dared not tell Lady Delapain +what I had done. Imprudent as she was, she would never have countenanced +that. + +"For some weeks we were happy. My whole life became one intrigue, +arranging how to meet my husband, and how much time it was possible to +spend with him without being found out. Security made me reckless. +Whenever I met him I used to deceive my mother by telling her I had been +with Lady Agnes. One evening, when we were going to some great state +entertainment, I remained with him later than I should have done--time +had flown so quickly I had not measured its flight--and I was late for +dressing. The duchess was not well pleased, although she did not say +much; but a few days afterward Lady Agnes called and wanted me to go out +with her. My mother said 'Yes,' but added, that I must be more careful, +as I had been too late on Tuesday.' + +"'But Lady Estelle was not with me on Tuesday,' said Lady Agnes, +quickly. And my mother looked at her in deepest wonder. + +"'Not with _you_!' she cried. 'Where was she, then?' + +"I turned to my friend, and she alone saw the hot flush on my face. + +"'You forget,' I said. + +"Some inkling of the truth came to her, and she murmured confusedly that +she had forgotten. The duchess looked perfectly satisfied; but when she +had quitted the room, Lady Agnes said to me: + +"'Estelle, I do not quite understand; I never saw you on Tuesday.' + +"'I know that,' was my curt reply. + +"'Then why did you tell your mother you had been with me?' + +"'Because I did not wish her to know where I had been,' I replied. + +"She kissed me, and said, sadly: + +"'You have secrets even from me, then?' + +"And I answered: + +"'Yes.' + +"She looked very unhappy. + +"'Estelle,' she said, 'I hope I have not been foolish, and aided you in +folly?' + +"But I would not listen to her--I only laughed. After that Lady Agnes +became more cautious. I do not know whether she had any suspicion or +not--she never expressed any to me. + +"After that I found more difficulty in meeting my husband. Oh! wretched +story! How I loathe the telling of it! He grew impatient and angry, +while, as the days passed on, I shrank with greater dread from letting +my parents know what I had done. + +"Then jealousy, anger, quarrels, and impatience took the place of love. +I cannot tell you the history of that wretched time--I dare not. I had +to find out then that a Studleigh could indulge in rage as well as love. +It was not long before I learned many bitter lessons. + +"At length one day we had a more than usually angry quarrel, and then my +husband vowed that he would leave me. A regiment was ordered to India +next week; he would exchange into it, and I should never see him again. +In vain I wept, pleaded, prayed. He was in one of his terrible furies, +and nothing could move him. Still, I never believed that he would do it. +Had I even fancied so, I should have instantly, at any cost, have told +my mother all; but I thought it merely a threat, a cruel and unmanly +threat, but an empty one. I resolved that for some days I would not +write to him. + +"Oh, Earle Moray! can you imagine my distress when, one short week +afterward, I heard it carelessly told that Captain Ulric Studleigh had +taken a sudden whim, and had exchanged into another regiment, which had +sailed for India that week, and would not in all probability return for +years. The lady told the news laughingly, as though it were only a piece +of amusing gossip. The comments made were of an indifferent character. +Some said India was the best place for younger sons without fortune. +Others said it was a thousand pities that there was no chance of the +earldom of Linleigh for the gay captain. + +"No one looked at me; no one thought of me; yet I was the wife of the +man they were all discussing. It was many minutes before my senses +returned to me; then I found myself grasping the back of a chair to keep +myself from falling. Unseen and unnoticed, I contrived to quit the room. +Oh, Heaven! when I recall the intolerable anguish of that hour, I wonder +that I lived through it. + +"I had trusted a Studleigh, and had met with the usual reward of those +who place confidence in a perfidious race. I think that on the face of +the earth there was none so truly desolate and lonely, so frightened, as +I was during that time. Married in secret to a man whom my parents +disliked, whom the world mentioned with a sneer--a man whose name was a +proverb for light-heartedness, inconstancy--married and deserted! + +"It would have been bad enough had he been here; it would have been a +terrible ordeal even had he been by my side, to help me with love and +sympathy; but now, alone, unaided--he himself thousands of miles +away--what could I do? + +"I did that which seemed easiest at the time--I kept silence. He had +sailed away, saying nothing of the marriage, neither would I. I would +take the just punishment of my folly, live single all my life, and keep +my dreadful secret. There seemed to me no other plan. To tell the truth, +I stood too much in awe of my father and mother to dare even to tell +them. I dreaded their anger. I dreaded the cool, calm contempt in my +mother's face. I dreaded the disappointment that would, I knew, be my +father's greatest grief. What else could I do but keep my sad secret all +to myself? + +"Yes, I declare to you that the struggle in my own mind was so dreadful, +the pain and sorrow so great, that I almost died of it. No one ever said +anything to me about Captain Studleigh. Even those who seemed to fancy +there had been a slight flirtation between us, considered his going away +as a proof that there was none. I saw that my parents were greatly +relieved by his absence; and after a few weeks the shock began to get +less. Lady Agnes asked me once if I were unhappy over him. I made some +evasive reply. Then, after a time, I began to look my life in the face, +to think that the evil done was not without remedy. I could bear the +penalty of my folly, if the secret of my ill-starred marriage could be +kept." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX. + +A MOTHER'S CONFESSION. + + +"I come now to a part of my story," resumed Lady Estelle, "that I would +fain pass over in silence; but as it touches the matter that brought me +here, I am obliged to tell you." + +The proud, fair woman buried her face in her hands as she spoke, and +Earle understood how terrible was the struggle between her need of help +and her pride. When she raised her face again, it was ghastly white. + +"Captain Studleigh had been gone four months," she gasped, "when I knew +that the most terrible of all my trials had come to me--that I should be +the mother of a child. For a long time--for days and weeks--I was in the +most terrible despair. I often wonder," she said, musingly, "how it was +that the agony of my shame did not kill me--I cannot understand it even +now. I did think in those days of killing myself, but I was not brave +enough--I lacked the courage. Yet I do not think any one in the wide +world ever suffered so greatly. There was I--sole daughter of that +ancient house; flattered, beloved, courted, _feted_, the envy of all who +knew me--with a secret bitter as death, black as sin. At last, when I +found myself obliged to seek assistance, I went to Lady Agnes Delapain, +and told her all. + +"Her amazement and dread of the consequences were at first appalling to +me. After the first expressions of surprise and regret, she said: + +"'So you were married to him--married to him all the time? I never +suspected it.' + +"She was very kind to me--kinder, a thousand times, than I deserved. She +did not reproach me; but when she had recovered, she said: + +"'Estelle, I feel that it is more than half my fault--I should never +have allowed you to meet him here. I should not have dared if I had +foreseen the end. I felt sorry, because you seemed to like each other; +but I have done wrong.' + +"I laid my head on her shoulder. + +"'What am I to do?' I moaned. + +"'I see no help for it now, Estelle; however averse you may be, you must +tell the duchess.' + +"Then I clung to her, weeping and saying: + +"'I dare not--I would rather die.' + +"'But, my dear Estelle,' she interrupted, 'you must--indeed, you must. I +see no help for it.' + +"I remember standing up with a white, haggard face and beating heart. + +"'If you will not help me, Agnes, I must tell her, but I shall do it in +my own fashion. I shall write a letter to her, and kill myself before +she receives it. I will never look my mother in the face again after she +knows.' + +"'Then what is to be done, Estelle?' + +"'Be my friend, as you have always been. You have had more experience +than I have had: you know the world better than I know it. You are older +than I am; help me, Agnes.' + +"'You mean, help you to keep the secret of your marriage?' she asked. + +"'I do; and in asking you that, I ask for my life itself--the one +depends upon the other.' + +"Lady Agnes sat quite silent for some minutes, then she said: + +"'I will do it, Estelle. Perhaps, in making this promise, I am wrong, as +I am in everything else; but I will help you for the sake of the love +that was between us when we were happy young girls.' + +"I had no words in which to thank her; it really seemed to me as though +the burden of my trouble were for the time removed from me to her. + +"'How will it be?' I asked her. + +"'Give me time to think, Estelle; I must arrange it all in my own mind +first. Do not come near me for three days.' + +"At the end of that time my mother received a letter from Lady Agnes, +urging her to allow me to go with her to Switzerland; she was not +strong, and required change of air. My mother had implicit faith and +confidence in Lady Delapain. + +"'You have not been looking well lately, Estelle,' she said to me; 'it +will do you good to go.' + +"Ah, me! what a weight those few words took from my mind. Then Lady +Agnes called upon us, and spoke to my mother about our little tour. + +"'We shall enjoy ourselves after our own fashion,' she said. 'Lord +Delapain goes with us as far as Interlachen; there he will leave us for +a time. You may safely trust Lady Estelle with me.' + +"My mother had not the slightest idea that anything was unusual. The +only thing that embarrassed me was that she insisted upon my taking my +maid Leeson with me. When I told this to Lady Agnes, she was, like +myself, dismayed for a few minutes, then she said, calmly; + +"'It will not matter; we should have been obliged to take some one into +our confidence; as well Leeson as another. We must tell her of the +marriage.' + +"So it was all settled; and I, taking my terrible secret with me, went +abroad. There is no need to linger over the details. No suspicion of the +truth was ever whispered. We took Leeson into our confidence, and my +baby was born in Switzerland. Ah! you look astonished. Now you know why +I am here--Doris is my child!" + +Earle was too bewildered for one moment to speak. Then a low cry of +wonder and dismay came from his lips. + +"Doris your daughter!" he repeated. "Lady Hereford, this must be a +dream!" + +"Would to Heaven it were!" she cried. "It is all most fatally true. Ah! +me, if I could but wake up and find it a long, dark dream! When my +little daughter was some weeks old, we had a letter which caused us some +agitation; my father and mother were on the road to join us, and would +be with us in two days. They were then at Berne. + +"What shall we do?" I asked again of my clear-headed, trustworthy +friend. + +"As usual, she was quite ready for the emergency. + +"'We must do something decisive at once,' she replied; 'send away the +child to England without an hour's delay. I will telegraph to Berne to +say that we have already left Interlachen, and shall be at Berne +to-morrow.' + +"There could be no delay. I sat down to think where it would be possible +to send the little one. It seems strange to own such a thing, but I +assure you that I did not feel any overwhelming affection for the child. +She was lovely as a poet's dream, the fairest little cherub that was +ever seen; but already in that infantile face there was a gleam of the +Studleigh beauty. 'She will be like her race,' I thought, 'faithless and +debonair.' Perhaps the keen anger that I felt against her father, the +sorrow and the shame that he had caused me, prevented me from loving +her; therefore I did not feel any sorrow at parting with her. I might +have been a better woman, Earle Moray, if I had been a happier one. + +"I could think of no one. Leeson suggested that if the child be taken by +some farmer's wife on the estate, it would be the best thing, as in that +case I would see it sometimes, and should, at least, know its +whereabouts. + +"Then I bethought myself how often I had heard my father speak of honest +Mark Brace. The next moment the whole plan came to me. I told Leeson, +and she approved of it. You have probably heard the story of the finding +of Doris; there is no need for me to repeat it. It was Leeson who left +the child at the farmer's gate, and waited under the shadow of the trees +until it was taken indoors; it is I who send the money; and I have seen +the child twice--once when she was young, and the Studleigh look in her +face frightened me, although my heart yearned to her. + +"Then the sense of my unhappiness, of my false position, of my terrible +secret, made me so wretched that I became seriously ill. My father took +me away from England, and I was away many years. I saw her again, not so +very long since, and she was one of the loveliest girls that could be +imagined, yet still with the Studleigh face--'faithless and debonair.' +But this time my heart warmed to her, she was so beautiful, so graceful. +I was proud of her, and she told me of _you_; she said she was going to +marry Earle Moray, gentleman and poet." + +"Heaven bless her!" interrupted Earle, with quivering lips. + +"Still," continued Lady Estelle, "I was not quite satisfied: I saw in +her her father's faults repeated. My heart found no rest in her, or it +would have been misery to lose sight of her again. I did think that when +you were married--you and she--I might see more of her. She would be the +wife of a poet whom we should all be proud to know. + +"Now listen to what I want from you, Earle Moray. In all the wide world; +you love Doris best; I want you to find her. Yesterday I heard that her +father--my husband--is no longer a penniless younger son; that he has +succeeded to the earldom of Linleigh, and will return home. I should +have told you that Lady Agnes Delapain died two years after our return +from Switzerland, so that no person living knows our secret except +Leeson and yourself. Before she died she wrote to my husband to tell him +all about Doris. He seems to have extended his indifference even to her, +for beyond acknowledging the letter and saying that he really +sympathized in my fears, he has never taken the least notice of her. +Now, all is different. He will be Earl of Linleigh, she will be Lady +Doris Studleigh, and I dare not stand between my child and her rights. +Do you understand?" + +"No," he replied, quietly, "you could not do that; it would not be +honorable." + +"So that I must have her here. I will not see him until she is with me. +I shall write to him, and beg of him not to come and see me until I send +for him. He will do me that small grace, and I shall not send for him +until you bring her to me." + +"Then you will keep your secret no longer?" said Earle. + +"I cannot. If my husband had remained Captain Studleigh, I might have +kept it until my death; but, as Earl of Linleigh, he is sure to claim +me, either as his wife to live with him, or that he may sue me for a +divorce." + +"Pardon the question," said Earle, "but would you live with him?" + +A dull red flush covered her face. + +"If ever I loved anything on earth," she cried, passionately, "it was my +husband--I have known no other love." + +"What is that you want me to do?" asked Earle. + +"I want you to go and find her. No one loves her as you do. Love has +keen instincts; you will find her because you love her. Find her--tell +her she is the Earl of Linleigh's daughter--that she must come to take +her proper position in the great world; but do not tell her who is her +mother." + +"I will obey you implicitly," he replied. + +Then she raised her fair, proud face to his. + +"Mine is a strange story, is it not?" she asked. + +"Yes--truth is stranger than fiction," he replied. + +"And it is a shameful story, is it not?" she continued. + +"It is not a good one," he said, frankly. + +She smiled at the honest reply. + +"You do not know," she said, "how my heart has turned to you since Doris +spoke of the 'gentleman and poet.' Aristocrat as I am, I do not think +any man could have a grander title. To your honor, as a gentleman, I +trust my secret--you will never betray it." + +He bowed low. + +"I would rather die," he said. + +"I believe you implicitly. This time, at least, my instinct has not +failed me--I am safe in trusting you. Now, tell me, have you the +faintest clew as to where Doris has gone?" + +"Not the smallest; she has gone abroad--that is all I know." + +"Then do you also go abroad. Remember that no money, no trouble, no toil +must be spared--she must be found. Go first to France--to the cities +most frequented by the English--then to Italy. For Heaven's sake, find +her, and bring her back to Brackenside. When she is once here I can bear +the rest. You will not fail me. Write as often as you can; and Heaven +speed you." + +He felt his own hand clasped in hers; then she placed a roll of +bank-notes in it. The next moment she was gone, and Earle sat there +alone, breathless with surprise. + + + + +CHAPTER XL. + +A CLEW AT LAST. + + +"I feel very much," thought Earle, "as though I had been dreaming in one +of the fairy circles. That proud, fair woman with such a story; and she +Doris' mother. Doris, my golden-haired love, whom I have been loving, +believing her to be some helpless waif or stray. Doris, belonging to the +Studleighs and the proud Duke of Downsbury--what will she say? Great +heavens! what will she say when she learns this?" + +Then the task before him might well have dismayed a braver man. He had +to find her. The whole world lay before him, and he had to search all +over it. Was she in Italy, Spain, or France? or had she even gone +further away? He thought of the proud lady's words--"love has keen +instincts; you will find her because you love her." He would certainly +do his best, nor would he delay--that day should see the commencement of +his labor. Then he began to think. Surely an ignorant, inexperienced +girl could not have left home--have found herself a situation as +governess without some one to help her. Who would that some one be? One +of her old school-fellows? She had made no more recent acquaintances. He +bethought himself of Mattie, always so quick, so bright, so intelligent, +so ready to solve all difficulties. He would go to her. + +He went, and Mattie wondered at the unusual gravity of his face. + +"I have been thinking of Doris," he said, in answer to her mute, +reproachful glance. + +"I wonder, Earle," she said, "when you will think of anything else?" + +"I want to ask you something, Mattie. Sit down here; spare me two or +three minutes. Tell me, has it ever seemed to you that some one must +have helped Doris, or she could not have found a situation as she did?" + +For one moment the kindly brown eyes rested with a troubled glance on +his face. + +"It has occurred to me often," she replied, "but I cannot imagine who +would do it." + +"Did she ever talk to you about any of her school-fellows?" he asked. + +"No, none in particular. Why, Earle, tell me what you are thinking +about?" + +"I should have some clew to her whereabouts, I am convinced, if I could +but discover that." + +She looked steadily at him. + +"Earle," she asked, in a low pained voice, "are you still thinking of +going in search of her?" + +He remembered the morning's interview, and would have felt some little +relief if he could have shared the secret with Mattie; but he said: + +"Yes, I am still determined, and, to tell you a secret that I do not +intend telling any one else. I intend to go this very day." + +He saw her lips whiten and quiver as though from some sudden, sharp +pain, but it never struck him that this quiet, kindly girl had enshrined +him in her heart of hearts. She was quicker of instinct when any wish of +his was in question than at any other time. Suddenly she raised her eyes +to his face, and he saw in them the dawn of a new idea. + +"There is one person," she said, "whom we have quite overlooked, and who +is very likely to have helped Doris." + +"Who is that?" he asked quickly. + +"The artist, Gregory Leslie." + +And they looked at each other in silence, each feeling sure that the +right chord had been struck. Then Earle said, gravely: + +"Strange! but I never once thought of him." + +"Doris talked so much to him while he was here," said Mattie, "and from +his half-bantering remarks, I think he understood thoroughly how much +she disliked the monotony of home. He has very probably found the +situation for her." + +"I should think so too, but for one thing--he was an honorable man, and +he would not have helped her run away from me." + +"Perhaps she deceived him. In any case, I think it worth trying," she +replied. + +"Heaven bless you, Mattie," said Earle. "You are always right. Do not +tell any one where I have gone. I shall go to London at once. I will +send a note to my mother by one of the men. Good-bye! Heaven bless you, +my dear sister who was to have been----" + +"Who will be," cried Mattie, "whether you marry Doris or not!" + +He wrote a few simple words to his mother, saying merely: + +"Do not be alarmed at my absence. I cannot rest--I have gone to find +Doris. I shall write often, and return when I have found her." + +"Poor mother," he said to himself with a sigh, "I have given her nothing +but sorrow of late." + +Then he went quietly to Quainton railway station, and was just in time +to catch the train for London. + +Gregory Leslie was astonished that evening at seeing Earle suddenly +enter his studio, and held out his hand to him in warmest welcome. + +Earle looked first at the artist, then at his hand. + +"Can I take it?" he asked. "Is it a loyal hand?" + +Gregory Leslie laughed aloud. + +"Bless the boy--the poet, I ought to say; what does he mean?" + +"I mean, in all simplicity, just what I say," said Earle. "Is it the +hand of a loyal man?" + +"I have never been anything save loyal to you," replied the artist, +wondering more and more at Earle's strange manner. "I shall understand +you better in a short time," he said. "How ill you look--your face is +quite changed." + +"I have been ill for some weeks," said Earle. "I am well now." + +"And how are they all at Brackenside--the honest farmer and his kindly +wife; bright, intelligent Miss Mattie; and last, though by no means +least, my lovely model, Miss Innocence?" + +"They are all well at Brackenside," said Earle, evasively. + +But the artist looked keenly at him, and from the tone of his voice he +felt sure that all was not well. + +Then Earle sat down, and there was a few minutes silence. At length he +roused himself with a sigh. + +"Mr. Leslie," he said, "when you were leaving Brackenside you called me +friend, and said that you would do anything to help me. I have come to +prove if your words are true." + +"I am sure they are," replied Mr. Leslie, as he looked pityingly on the +worn, haggard face. "You may prove them in any way you will." Then he +smiled. "Has Miss Innocence been unkind to you, that you look so dull?" + +"That does not sound as though he knew anything about her going," +thought Earle; "and if he does not, I am indeed at sea." + +Then he looked at the artist. It was an honest face, although the lips +curled satirically, and there was a gleam of mischief in the keen eyes. + +"Is it a lover's quarrel, Earle?" he asked. + +"No, it is more than that," replied Earle. "Tell me, Mr. Leslie, has +Doris written to you since you left Brackenside?" + +An expression of blank wonder came into the artist's face. + +"Yes," he replied, "she wrote to me twice; each time it was to thank me +for papers and critics that I had sent her." + +"That is all?" said Earle. + +"That is all, indeed. I did not preserve the letters. I have a fatal +habit of making pipe-lights of them." + +"Did she tell you, in those letters, that she was tired of Brackenside, +Mr. Leslie?" + +"No, they were both written in excellent spirits, I thought. I do not +remember that there was any mention of home or any one; in fact, I am +sure there was not." + +"Did she ask you to help her to find a situation?" said Earle. + +"No, indeed, she never did. At Brackenside she pretended often enough to +be tired of the place, and to want to go elsewhere, but I never paid any +serious attention to it. You see, Earle, if you will love a woman who +has all the beauty of the rainbow, you must be content to abide by all +her caprices. I am sure she has done something to pain you, Earle--tell +me what it is?" + +"I will tell you," said Earle. "At first I thought that you had helped +her, but now I believe I am mistaken. She has left home unknown to any +of us. She has gone abroad as governess." + +Gregory Leslie gave a little start of incredulity and surprise. + +"Gone abroad," he repeated; "I can believe that easily; but as +governess, I can never imagine that." + +"She says so. She left two letters, and they both tell the same story." + +"If I should believe it," said Gregory Leslie, "I should most certainly +say, Heaven help the children taught by the fair Doris. Candidly +speaking, I should not like to be one of them." + +"You do not believe it then, Mr. Leslie?" + +"If you will have me speak frankly, I do not. Of all the young ladies I +have ever met, I think her the least likely to become a governess--by +choice, that is." + +Earle looked at him blankly. It had never entered his mind to disbelieve +what she had written. That threw a fresh light upon the matter. + +"Tell me all about it," the artist said, after a few minutes. + +And Earle did as he was requested. Gregory Leslie listened in silence. + +"I know nothing about it," he said, after a time. "It is quite natural +that you should imagine that I did, but I do not. She has never +mentioned it to me. I understand now what you meant by being loyal. Let +me say that, for your sake, if she had asked me to help her in any such +scheme, I should have refused." + +"I believe it. There is one thing," said Earle, "I have sworn to find +her, and find her I will. Can you suggest to me any feasible or sensible +plan of search?" + +Then he uttered a little cry of amaze, for Gregory Leslie was looking at +him with a startled expression in his face. + +"Strange!" he said. "I have only just thought of it. You remember my +picture of 'Innocence?'" + +"Yes," said Earle. + +"Well, there was a great deal of jealousy among my comrades over that +face. They all wanted to know where I had found it, who was my model, +where she lived. One wanted just such a face for his grand picture of +Juliet, another thought it the very thing for his Marie Antoinette, in +the zenith of her glory and beauty. Another declared that if he could +but paint it as Cleopatra, his fortune would be made. Of course I would +not, and did not dream for one moment of gratifying their curiosity. +Perhaps the most curious among them was Ross Glynlyn. He prayed me to +tell him, and was offended when I refused. Now I remember that a few +days ago he called upon me in a state of great triumph; he had just +returned from Italy. + +"'I have found your model,' he said. 'You need not have been so precise. +I thought no good would come of such secrecy.' + +"'What model do you mean?' I asked. + +"'Your model of "Innocence." I have seen the very face you copied,' he +replied. + +"'Indeed, where did you see it?' + +"'In Italy, in a picture-gallery at Florence. She is incomparably +beautiful. But how on earth you managed to induce her to sit for her +portrait, I cannot imagine. They say she is the most exclusive lady in +Florence.' + +"'Indeed,' I said, gravely. + +"'It is true. I saw her twice, once in the gallery, and once in the +carriage with her husband.' + +"Then I laughed aloud. + +"'My dear Ross,' I said, 'I have let you wander on because you have told +me such a strange story; it really seemed quite sad to interrupt you. +You are perfectly wrong. To begin with, the young lady whose face I +copied is young and unmarried; in the second place, I can answer for it, +she has never been near Italy. She is, I know for certain, preparing to +marry a gentleman with whom I am well acquainted.' + +"He looked sullen and unconvinced. + +"'You may say what you will,' he retorted, 'I swear it was the same +face.' + +"'And I swear that it was not,' I replied. + +"So the matter ended. But, Earle, could it be that Ross Glynlyn spoke +the truth--that she is in Florence?" + +"But he said that lady was married," said Earle. + +"That might be a mistake. It seems to me a clew worth following up." + +And Earle thought the same. + + + + +CHAPTER XLI. + +"I CLAIM YOU AS MY OWN; I WILL NEVER RELEASE YOU!" + + +"I call this a coincidence," said Gregory Leslie, as the studio door +opened and a gentleman entered--"a strange coincidence. If I had read it +in a novel I should not have believed it." + +Earle looked up inquiringly as a handsome young man, with a clever, +artistic face, entered the room. + +"Am I a coincidence?" inquired the new-comer. + +"I did not say that; but, decidedly, your coming is one, Mr. Glynlyn. +Allow me to introduce you--Mr. Moray." + +The two gentlemen saluted each other with a smile, each feeling +attracted by the other's face. + +Then Mr. Leslie turned to his brother artist. + +"It is strange that you should come in just at this minute, Ross, I was +telling Mr. Moray how certain you were that you had seen the original of +'Innocence' in Florence." + +"So I did," replied Ross. "You may contradict me as much as you like. It +is not probable that I should make any mistake. The lady I saw had +precisely the same face as the picture. It was the original herself or +her twin sister." + +"She has no twin sister," said Earle, incautiously. + +"Ah! you know her, then," continued Mr. Glynlyn. "I assure you that I +made no mistake. Our friend here may make as much mystery as he will. I +am amazed that he should give me such little credit. Why should I say it +if it were not true? And how could I possibly mistake that face for any +other? If you know the young lady, you can in all probability +corroborate what I say--namely, that she is in Florence." + +"I cannot do so," said Earle, "for I am perfectly ignorant of her +whereabouts." + +Then he shook hands with the artist, for it seemed to him every moment +spent there was lessening his chance of finding Doris. He would start at +once for Florence. It was a frail clew, after all, feeble and weak, yet +well worth following. Of course, it was all a mistake about her being +married--she was a governess, not a married lady; yet that mistake +seemed to him of very little consequence. The only doubt was that having +made one mistake, was it likely the artist had made another? + +"Good-bye," said Gregory Leslie, in answer to the farewell words of +Earle. "Good-bye: you will let me hear how you get on." + +Then he went. He never rested day or night until he was in Florence. +Then, exhausted by the long journey, he was compelled to seek repose. He +did what was wisest and best in going at once to the best hotel, the one +most frequented by the English. There he made many inquiries. There were +many English in Florence, but he did not hear of any young lady who was +particularly beautiful. The people at the hotel spoke freely enough; +they discussed every one and everything, but he heard no allusion to any +one who in the least degree resembled Doris. + +When he had rested himself he began his search in Florence. At first it +seemed quite hopeless. He went through the churches, though he owned to +himself that he need not hope to find her there. He went almost daily to +the principal places of public resort; no evening passed without his +going to the opera, but he never caught sight of a face like hers. Once +he followed a girl with golden hair all through the principal streets of +Florence; when he came nearer to her, he saw that the hair was neither +so bright, so silky, or so abundant as that of Doris. The girl turned +her face--it was not the fair, lovely face of the girl he worshiped. + +He spent many hours each day in the picture-galleries. Some of the +fairest pictures hung before his eyes, yet he, whose love for art and +beauty was so passionate, never even saw them. He feared to look at the +pictures on the wall, lest he should miss one of the living faces. He +saw many, but among them he never saw her. + +He spent a week in this fashion, and then his heart began to fail him; +it was impossible that she should be in Florence, or surely before this +he must have seen her. He wrote to Gregory Leslie and told him of his +failure. + +"I am afraid either your friend is mistaken or that she has gone away," +he said. And if she had gone, where was he to look next? + +Then he bethought himself if he could get an introduction to some of the +principal houses in Florence; then if any party or _fete_ were given, +he should be sure to see her. Even in this he succeeded. With the help +of Gregory Leslie he was introduced to some of the best houses in +Florence. He met many English--he heard nothing of Doris. People thought +he had a wonderful fancy; whenever he heard of any English children, he +never rested until he had seen them. Some one told him that Lady +Cloamell had three nice little girls; his heart beat high and fast; +perhaps Doris was the governess--Doris lived, Doris lived. He armed +himself with some pretty sketches, and then asked permission to see the +little ladies. + +Lady Cloamell was much gratified. + +"Tell the governess to come with them," she said to the servant who went +in search of them. + +And Earle sat down with a white face and beating heart. It was all a +waste of emotion. + +When the governess did come in, she was ugly and gray-haired. + +Poor Earle! he had to endure many such disappointments. + +"She is not in Florence," he said to himself at last. "I must go +elsewhere." + +It was not until the hope was destroyed that he knew how strong it had +been--the disappointment was bitter in the extreme. + +He woke one morning resolved upon leaving Florence the next day. The sun +was shining, the birds singing; his thoughts flew to England and the +sweet summer mornings when he had wandered through the green lanes and +fields with his love. His heart was heavy. He raised his despairing eyes +to the bright heavens, and wondered how long it was to last. + +The morning was fair and balmy; he thought that the air would refresh +him, and perhaps when he felt less jaded and tired, some inspiration +might come to him where to search next; so he walked through the gay +streets of sunny Florence until he came to the lovely banks of the Arno. +The scene was so fair--the pretty villas shining through the trees. + +He walked along till he came to a green patch shaded by trees whose huge +branches touched the water; there he sat down to rest. Oh! thank Heaven +for that few minutes' rest. He laid his head against the trunk of a +tree, and bared his brow to the fresh sweet breeze. + +He had been there some little time when the sound of a woman's voice +aroused him--the sweet laughing tones of a woman's voice. + +"You may leave me," it said. "I shall not run away. I shall enjoy a rest +by the river." + +Dear Heaven! what voice was it? It touched the very depths of his heart, +and sent a crimson flush to his brow. For one short moment he thought he +was back again in the woods of Quainton. Then his heart seemed to stop +beating; then he leaned, white, almost senseless, against the trees; +then he heard it again. + +"Do not forget my flowers; and remember the box for 'Satanella.' It is +one of my favorite operas. _Au revoir._" + +Then there was a sound of some one walking down the river-bank, the +rustle of a silken dress, the half-song, half-murmur of a laughing +voice. He saw a shadow fall between himself and the sunshine. Oh, +Heaven! could it be she? + +He drew aside the sheltering branches and looked out. There, on the bank +below him, sat a young girl. At first he could only distinguish the rich +dress of violet silk and black lace; then, when the mist cleared before +his eyes, and he saw a profusion of golden hair shining like the sun, +then he went toward her. + +Oh, blessed sky above! Oh, shining sun! Oh, flowing river! Oh, great and +merciful Heaven! was it she? + +Nearer, and more like the shadow of a coming fate, he crept. Still she +never moved. She sang of love that was never to die. Nearer and nearer +he could see the white, arched neck, whose graceful turn he would have +recognized anywhere. Nearer still, and he laid his hand on her shoulder. + +"Doris," he said. + +She turned quickly round. It was she. + +He will never forget the ghastly pallor that came over her face. She +started up with a dreadful cry. + +"Earle! Earle! have you come to kill me?" + +It was some moments before he could reply. Earth and sky seemed to meet; +the ripple of the river was as a roar of water in his ears. His first +impulse had been a fierce one. He, worn, haggard, heartbroken; she, +brighter, fairer than ever, singing on the banks of the sunny Arno. Then +he looked steadily at her. + +"No," he said slowly; "I have not come to kill you; I do not wish to +kill you. Death could not deal out such torture as your hands have dealt +out to me." + +"Poor Earle," she said pityingly; but the pity was more than he could +bear. + +"I am sent here," he continued, "by those who have a right to send. I do +not need pity." + +But she looked into his changed face. + +"Poor Earle," she repeated; and the tone of her voice was so kind that +for one moment he shuddered with dread. + +"I must speak to you, Doris. I have been long in finding you----" + +"Earle," she interrupted, "what has brought you here? I am not +surprised. I have always felt that, sooner or later, I should see you. +What has brought you here?" + +"I have something to tell you," he replied. "I would have traveled the +wide world over, but I would never have returned without seeing you." + +"But why, of all other places, did you think of Florence?" she asked. + +Then it seemed to him that she was simply trying to gain time, and to +avoid what he had to say. + +"Doris, I have come expressly to talk to you. Why I chose Florence +matters but little; nothing matters between us except what I have to +say." + +"Oh, Earle," she cried, "I was so tired of Brackenside. I could not +stay." + +"Never mind Brackenside. We will not discuss it now. Will you sit down +here, Doris, while I tell you my message?" + +She seemed to have no thought of disobeying him. Silently enough she sat +down, while he leaned against the tree. She was rather hurt to find that +so much of her old influence over him seemed to be lost. She would have +liked him to tremble and blush, yet he had not even sought to take her +white hand in his own. He had not kissed her face, nor touched the long, +golden hair that he had so warmly praised. He stood looking gravely at +her; then he spoke. + +"Doris," he said, "in the presence of Heaven you promised to be my wife. +I do not absolve you from that promise, and until I do so, I claim you +as my own." + +A hot flush crimsoned his face, sudden passion gleamed in his eyes and +quivered on his lips. + +"I will never release you," he cried. "Death may take you from me; but +of my own free will you shall never, so help me Heaven, be freed from +your promise! You hear me?" + +"Yes," she replied, in a low voice, "I hear." + +"As the man you have promised to marry, as the man who alone on earth +has the right to question you, tell me how you are living here now?" + +"How am I living?" she replied, raising innocent eyes to his face. "I do +not quite understand what you mean." + +"I mean precisely what I say. With whom are you living, and what are you +doing for a livelihood?" + +"What a strange question, Earle. I told you; I am governess to some +little children." + +"You swear that before Heaven?" + +"Before anything or any one you like," she replied, indifferently, +smiling the while to herself. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII. + +"THIS IS YOUR REVENGE--TO HUMILIATE ME." + + +"I am bound to believe you," he said, "although my faith in you has been +terribly shaken. I ask you because I heard that you passed here as a +married lady. Is that true?" + +A keen observer might have noticed that her face grew pale--that she +trembled and seemed for one moment uncertain. + +"Is it true?" repeated Earle. + +In the eyes raised to his face there was such blank innocence of +expression that, in spite of his doubts, he felt ashamed of himself and +his words. + +"You heard such a thing of me!" she said. "Why, who could have told +you?" + +"That matters little; I heard it. Is it true?" + +"You puzzle me," she said, with the same startled expression. "Why +should I do such a thing--why pass myself off as married? I do not +understand--you puzzle me, Earle." + +"Is it true, or not?" he repeated. + +"No," she replied. + +"You swear that, likewise, before Heaven?" + +"Certainly," she said, promptly. "I do not understand." + +Then he blamed himself for being hard upon her. + +"We will not discuss it any more," he said, "I have other things to say +to you." + +She looked slightly embarrassed, the fact being that she had quite lost +her fear of him, and was only pondering now upon what she should do to +get him away. It would never do for Lord Vivianne to return and find him +there; there would be a quarrel, to say the least of it. Besides, Lord +Charles was not the most patient of men. What would he do if he heard +this nonsense about Earle claiming her? She had no idea of going back +with Earle--sooner or later she would tell him so. It was very awkward +for her, and she heartily wished she had never seen him. She had no +idea, even ever so faint, of going back to Brackenside. She resolved +that while he was talking she would settle her future plan of action. At +first she hardly listened to him, then by degrees his words began to +have a strong, weird interest for her. + +"Doris," he said, "I think I have brought the strangest message that one +human being ever brought to another. Give me your full attention." + +She turned her beautiful face to his, thinking that he was going to say +something about love or marriage. Far different were the next words that +fell upon her ear. + +"Doris," he said, "you have always believed yourself to be the daughter +of Mark and Patty Brace, have you not?" + +"Yes," she replied, wonderingly, "what else could I believe? You are the +son of Mrs. Moray, of Lindenholm, are you not?" + +"Certainly; but that is beside the question. You never, even in your own +mind, doubted the truth of what you say?" + +She laughed the little, careless, sweet laugh that he remembered so +well. + +"To tell the plain truth, Earle, I never felt myself quite a Brace--the +manners and tastes of those good people were so different to my own." + +"Then what I have to say will not shock you. You had no great love for +the simple farmer and his kindly wife?" + +"If you wish for the truth, again I say no. I had no great love for +them. They were good in their way--that way was not mine." + +"So it seems," he retorted. "Then you will not suffer any great amount +of pain if I tell you that Mark Brace is not your father, nor his kindly +wife your mother?" + +"Now, Earle, you are inventing a romance to please yourself." + +"Does it please you, Doris? I leave inventions to yourself; I tell you +the plain, honest truth--you are no relation of theirs." + +"Who am I, then? If you take my old identity from me, you must, at +least, give me a new one," she said, laughingly. + +Her utter want of feeling and absence of all emotions annoyed him +greatly. + +"I will tell you a story," he said. + +And with a grace and pathos all his own, he told the history of that +night so long ago, when the little child was found at the door of the +farm-house. + +She looked incredulous. + +"Do you mean to tell me that I was that child? A wretched little +foundling! I do not believe one word of it. This is your revenge--to +humiliate me." + +"You will know better soon," he replied, quietly. "Yes, you were that +little child. Patty Brace took you to her arms, and honest Mark Brace +treated you like his own." + +Her face flushed crimson, her lips curled with scorn, her eyes flashed +light. + +"I look very much like a foundling, do I not? Earle Moray, take your +absurd stories elsewhere." She held up one white hand. "That looks like +the hand of a foundling, does it not? Shame on you for trying to +humiliate me! It is a pure invention. I do not believe one word of it, +and I never shall." + +"You have only heard the commencement," he replied, coolly. "Remember, I +never used the word 'foundling' to you--you used it to yourself. It is +not probable that I should do so _when I know whose daughter you are_." + +"Ah! Do you know? May I ask what honorable parentage you have assigned +to me? This grows amusing. Remember, before you say another word, that I +distinctly refuse to believe you." + +"You will change your mind," he said, quietly. "I have not the least +doubt that I am here to tell you the simple truth, and to take you back +to your father." + +The impulse was strong upon her to say that she could not go, but she +refrained, thinking it quite as wise and politic to hear first to what +she was to return. + +"You must not ask me how I know your history," said Earle, "but it +suffices that I know it. Let me tell you also, it did not surprise me so +very much. I always thought, myself, that you were, as you say, 'of a +different kind.'" + +He saw the color creep slowly over her face and a new light dawn in her +eyes. + +"You will, henceforward, occupy a very different position, Doris," he +said, gravely; "your place will be henceforth among the nobility." + +"Ah! that's better," she said in a low voice. + +But he could see that she trembled with impatience. She had clasped her +hands so tightly that the rings she wore made great dents in the tender +flesh; still she would not betray her impatience. + +"Your father is a nobleman, a wealthy British peer--Earl Linleigh--and +you are his only child." + +She grew white, even to the lips, and her breath came in quick gasps. + +"Earl of Linleigh?" she repeated. "Are you quite sure you are not +mistaken, Earle?" + +"There is no mistake, Doris; your name and title is now Lady Doris +Studleigh. Do you like it? Does it sound well?" + +She drew her breath with a deep, heavy sigh. + +"I cannot believe it, Earle," she said, "it seems quite impossible that +it should be true. It is what I used to dream when a child, but I never +thought the dream would be realized. I cannot believe it, Earle." + +It was significant enough that she refused to believe him when she +fancied that he wished to lower her in the social scale; but she never +expressed the slightest doubt of his truth now, nor did even the +faintest doubt occur to her. After the first emotion of surprise had +passed, she looked at him again. + +"My mother?" she said--"you have told me nothing about her. Who is she?" + +"I have nothing to tell," he said; "I have nothing to say about her. I +was commissioned simply to tell you this. I may add that your father's +marriage was a private one, that he was for many years in India, and is +now returning home to take possession of his estates." + +"A private marriage!" she said, slowly. "I hope he has not married +beneath him." + +"There is no doubt but that the whole story of his marriage will be told +to you," said Earle. "And now, Doris, listen to me--you must return with +me; I cannot go without you. I promised that you should go back with me, +and it is imperative. The marriage will not be declared until you reach +home." + +"It is so sudden," she said. + +"Yes, but you surely cannot hesitate, Doris. Remember not only what +awaits you--your golden future--but remember, also, it is your own +parents who summon you." + +"You do not quite understand, Earle. I have no hesitation in going. Of +course I shall go, but I want time to think." + +"If you fear the people you are staying with will not be willing for you +to go, it is a great mistake; they could not possibly make any +objection. I will see them for you, if you like." + +She raised her head in quick alarm. + +"No, I would rather not, it is not needful. Give me just ten minutes to +decide. You are just; give me ten minutes in silence to think." + +He remained mute and motionless by her side. + +The Arno rippled musically at her feet; birds sang above her head. + +"Tell me again;" she said, "what will my rank and title be?" + +"You will be the Lady Doris Studleigh, only daughter of the Earl of +Linleigh----" + +"And my fortune?" she interrupted. + +"Of that I know nothing; but I should say it must be large. You will +probably be a wealthy heiress." + +"And there is a place waiting for me in the grand world?" + +"Most certainly," he replied. + +"Now, then, let me think, Earle; I am all bewilderment and confusion. +Let me arrange my ideas, then I will explain them to you." + +He did not know why she sat so silent, while quiver after quiver of pain +passed over her face--why her hands were so tightly clasped; but she in +that hour was reaping the reward of her folly. + +What had she done? Had she, by her wicked sin, by her intense self-love, +her eagerness for pleasure and luxury, her little esteem for virtue, her +frivolous views of vice--had she by all these forfeited that glorious +birth-right which was hers? Had she lost all chance of this grand +position which would fill the greatest desire of her heart? It was this +most terrible fear that blanched her face and made her hands tremble, +that caused her to sit like one over whom a terrible blight had fallen. +In her passionate desire for change and luxury, for pleasure and gayety, +she had never even thought of her own degradation; it was a view of the +subject that she had not yet taken; she had only thought of the lighter +side. Now it seemed to look her in the face with all its natural +deformity. She shrunk abashed and frightened--horror-stricken--now that +she saw her enormity in its full colors. + +Still, it was not the sin that distressed her; that was nothing to her. +It was the idea that through it she might lose the glorious future +awaiting her; if this had not happened, she would never have regretted +her fault. If it were known--if this proud nobleman knew that she had +passed as the wife of a man to whom she was not married, would he ever +receive her as his daughter? No; she knew enough of the world to be +quite sure of that. Even Mark Brace would not do it. If he had the +faintest possible idea of what her life had been since they parted, +would he receive her, and think her a suitable companion for Mattie? No; +she knew that he would not; he would have forgiven any sin save that. A +disgraceful sin like hers he considered beyond pardon. + +If Mark Brace, with his kindly, simple heart, could not pardon her, was +it probable that Earl Linleigh would? No! The only hope that remained to +her was to keep her past life, with its terrible blunder, a dead +secret--there was no other resource. Could she do that? It was just +possible. + +Only yesterday she had been railing against her life, declaring that it +was all a disappointment, that she saw no one, and was getting tired of +it; now she felt thankful that it was so, that she had seen but few +strange faces, and most of these had been Italian ones. So that if she +could keep her secret, she trusted no one would recognize in Lady Doris +Studleigh the person who had been known as Mrs. Conyers. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII. + +THE COQUETTE'S BLANDISHMENTS. + + +"Have you finished thinking yet, Doris?" asked Earle, gently. + +"No," she replied. "I am getting a little clearer in my ideas, but I +have by no means finished yet." + +She had two plans before her. One was to wait for Lord Charles and tell +him all--to trust to his generosity to keep their secret. Then she +laughed bitterly as she repeated the word "generosity"--he had none. He +was reckless, extravagant over money, but as for generosity, honor, or +principle, she knew he had none. In trusting to that she would indeed +trust to a broken reed. + +Besides, if she were once established in this new sphere of life, it +would be highly disagreeable and offensive to have any one near her who +knew of this episode. If Lord Vivianne know, he would always have her in +his power; he would hold the secret like a drawn sword over her head. +No; better for her own safety to steal away from him without saying one +word. Even if, in the after years, they should meet again, it was hardly +possible that he would recognize her, surrounded by all the luxuries of +her position, the honored daughter of noble parents. It was not likely +that he would recognize in her the girl who had left Brackenside for his +sake. As for leaving him--far from feeling the least regret, far from +seeing that she was treating him dishonorably, she smiled to herself at +his consternation when he should return to the river-side and not find +her. + +"He will think that I have run away with some one else," she thought; +and the idea amused her so intensely that she laughed aloud. + +"You are well content," said Earle, bitterly. + +"Why should not I be? You have brought me wealth and fortune, title and +honor--all that my soul loves best. Why should I not be content?" + +She had finished her musing now, and it had brought her to two +conclusions: she must leave Lord Vivianne at once, and in silence, while +she must at the same time, at any price, keep her secret from Earle. + +Another and very probable idea occurred to her. It was this: by Earle +being sent to fetch her, it was very evident that her parents approved +of him, and that she would have to marry him. Looking at him, she +thought it was not such a bad alternative, after all. He was handsomer, +younger, stronger than Lord Vivianne; besides, what little affection she +had had to give had always been his. Then she arose from her seat with a +smile. + +"I have finished thinking, Earle. To make matters square, I promise +myself that I will not think again for ever so many months." + +"What is the result of your deliberation?" he said. + +"I wish you would be a little kinder to me, Earle. You speak so gravely, +you look so coldly, that you make me quite unhappy." + +His face flushed slightly and his lips trembled. + +"I do not wish to seem unkind, Doris, but let me ask you--what else +besides coldness and gravity can you expect from me?" + +"You know I always liked you, Earle." + +"I know you betrayed and deceived me about as basely as it is possible +to deceive any one. But we need not discuss that now." + +She looked at him with a smile few men could resist, and held out her +hands. + +"Be friends, Earle; I like you too well, after all, to travel with you +while you look so cold and stern. Give me one smile--only one--then I +shall feel more at my ease." + +"I do not think my smiles cheer, or the loss of them depresses you. +Neither can I smile to order; still you need have no fear of traveling +with me." + +It was in her nature to respect him more, the more difficult he seemed +to please. + +"I shall manage him in time," she thought. + +"I shall return with you, Earle," she said. "I have been thinking it all +over, and I will go at once. I will not wait to say good-bye to the +people here." + +"But that seems strange--not quite right. Why not go and bid them +farewell? Tell them the good fortune that has happened to you." + +"No; they are very fond of me--the children especially. You do not know; +they would not let me come away." + +"But it does not seem right," persisted Earle. + +"It is right enough; if I go back to them I shall not go with you. I can +write to them as soon as I reach England, and tell them all about it." + +"I know you will have your own way, Doris. It is useless for me to +interfere; do as you please." + +"That is like my old lover, Earle; now I begin to feel at home with you. +I did use you very wickedly, but all the time I liked you." + +"I know exactly the value of your liking," said Earle, who had +determined to be cool and guarded. + +She talked to him in the old sweet tones; she gave him the sweetest +glances from her lovely eyes; she remembered all the pretty arts and +graces which had attracted him most; and Earle, despite his caution, +despite his resolve, knew that his heart was on fire again with the +glamour and magic of her beauty; knew that every pulse was throbbing +with passion; and she knew, as well as though he had put it into words, +that the old charm was returning, only a thousand times stronger. + +She laid her white hand on his arm, and he shrank shuddering from the +touch. She only smiled--her time would come. + +"I shall not return to the house where I have been living. The reason is +that I wish them to forget me. I shall not like, when I am Lady Doris +Studleigh, to be recognized by them." + +That pride was so exactly like her, he understood it well. + +"You can return to Florence, if you like," she continued, with the air +of a queen; "but if you wish to please me, you will walk on with me to +the nearest railway station, and let us go at once to Genoa. We can +travel from Genoa to London." + +"But I have left my things at the hotel," he said. + +"Is there anything particular among them, Earle?" + +"No," he replied. + +"Then you can send for them on your arrival. Please yourself. If you do +not go on my terms, I shall go alone." + +Then he looked at the rippling, golden hair, that fell in such shining +profusion over her shoulders, at the dress of rich velvet, silk and +delicate lace. + +"You are not dressed for traveling. Why be so hasty?" he said. + +"I can purchase anything I want at Genoa," she replied. + +Then he noticed for the first time what costly jewels she wore, and how +her hands were covered with shining gems. For the first time a thrill of +uneasiness, of doubt, of fear, shot through him. + +"You have some beautiful jewels, Doris," he said, slowly. + +Her face flushed, then she laughed carelessly. + +"How easy it is to deceive a man," she said; "a lady would have known at +one glance that they were not real." + +He felt greatly relieved. + +"They are pretty, but not very valuable," she continued--"given to me by +the children I have been teaching. If you do not like them, Earle, I +will throw them into the Arno one by one." + +"Why do that, if the little children gave them to you? I am no judge of +precious stones, but looking at the light in those, I should have +thought them real." + +"Do you know that if they were real they would be worth hundreds and +hundreds of pounds? You must think an English governess in Italy coins +money." + +He looked admiringly at her handsome dress, although too inexperienced +to know its real value. + +"This is my best dress, too," she said. "And do you know, Earle, that as +I put it on I said to myself, I do not look amiss in this; I wish Earle +could see me." + +"Did you really?" he asked, a flush of delight rising to his brow. It is +so very easy to deceive a generous and trusting man, that one might +almost be ashamed to do it. "Did you, Doris? Then, although you ran away +from me so cruelly, you did like me, after all?" + +"Oh, Earle, what a question! Like you? Did you not feel sure that when I +had seen something of the world--had allayed the fever of +excitement--that I should return to you? Did you not feel sure of it?" + +No such thought or intention had ever been in her mind, still she wished +to make the best of matters. It was no use for her to return to England +unless she was the best of friends with him. A few untruths, more or +less, did not trouble her in the least, only provided that he believed +them. + +"I never thought so," was his simply reply. "I believed you had left me +forever, Doris." + +"You must never judge me by the same rule you would apply to others, +Earle. I told you so from the beginning of our acquaintance, I tell you +so now." + +"I believe it," he replied. + +Yet, although he saw that she wished to make friends, and was flattered +by the belief, he could not all at once forget the anguish and sorrow +she had caused him. + +Then she took out a little jeweled watch that she wore. Time was flying. +In one short half-hour Lord Charles would be back with her flowers and +news of the opera-box. + +"How angry he will be," she said to herself, "to think that any one +should thwart his sovereign will and pleasure. He will look in every +pretty nook by the river-bank, then he will go into the house and ask, +'Have you seen Mrs. Conyers?' And no one will be able to answer him. I +should like to be here to see the sensation. Then he will be sulky, and +finally come to the conclusion that I have given him up, and have run +away from him." + +She was so accustomed to think of him as selfish, loving nothing but +himself, that she never imagined that he had grown to love her with a +madness of passion to which he would have sacrificed everything on +earth. She had been so entirely wrapped up in her own pursuits, in the +acquisition of numberless dresses and jewels, that she had not observed +the signs of his increasing devotion. Blind to his mad passion for her, +she decided upon leaving him; and of all the mistakes that she ever made +in her life, none was so great as this. + +Ten minutes later they were walking rapidly toward the little town of +Seipia: there they could go by train to Genoa. As they walked along the +high-road Doris laughed and talked gayly, as though nothing had happened +since they were first betrothed. + +"This reminds me of old times, Earle," she said. "How goes the poetry, +dear? I expect to hear that you have performed miracles by this time." + +"You destroyed my poetry, Doris, when you marred my genius and blighted +my life!" + +She laid her hand caressingly on his. + +"Did I? Then I must make amends for it now," she said. + +And he was almost vexed to find how the words thrilled him with a keen, +passionate delight. Suddenly she raised a laughing face to his. + +"Was there a very dreadful sensation, Earle, when they found out I was +gone?" + +The smiling face, the laughing voice, smote him like a sharp sword. He +remembered the pain and the anguish, the torture he had suffered, the +long hours when he had lain between life and death; he remembered the +fame he had lost, the sweet gift of genius, all destroyed; his heart +broken, his life rendered stale and profitless, while she could smile +and ask with laughing eyes if there had been much sensation. + +"I believe," he cried, with a sudden flame of passion, "women are nerved +with heartlessness!" + +She was scared by his manner. Deep feeling and earnestness were quite +out of her line; her bright, shallow nature did not understand it, but +she saw that for the future it would be better to say nothing to him +about such matters as her running away from home. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV. + +THE NOBLEMAN'S OATH. + + +It was a strange journey home, and during its course Earle often +wondered why, at intervals, Doris laughed, as though she found the +keenest enjoyment in her own thoughts. + +He little imagined that she was reveling in the disappointment Lord +Vivianne would feel; and she had enough of the woman in her to rejoice +in his pain, and to feel pleased that she could deal him some little +blow in return for the blow he had dealt her. In her heart she had never +forgiven him that he had not found her beauty and her grace inducement +sufficient to make him marry her. She could not pardon him that, and she +liked to think that he would be annoyed and vexed by her absence. + +She little dreamed of the storm of passion in that heart of his. If she +had had any inkling of it, she would most assuredly have done the wisest +and most straightforward thing--told him her story, trusted him, and +confided in what he called his honor--it would have been by far the +safest. + +As it was, his love became a fury of rage. He had gone into the city of +Florence, thinking of her, anxious to gratify every whim, desirous of +pleasing her. It had been her whim to sit by the river-side and read, +while he went to purchase flowers and to engage an opera-box. She had +plenty of flowers in the luxurious house where he had placed her--she +was surrounded by them--but they did not please her; she wanted some +from a celebrated florist who supplied--so she had been told--the most +fashionable ladies in Florence. Then, too, she had a great desire to +hear "Satanella," and knowing that it would be really impossible, unless +Lord Vivianne went himself, to secure a box, she had taken the pretty +caprice of sitting by the river until his return. + +He returned in the highest spirits, having succeeded in all that she +most desired. He brought with him some magnificent flowers, beautiful in +color, rich in perfume; and he hastened back to the pretty nook where he +had left her. The river ran rippling by, the branches waved in the wind, +the birds sang on the boughs, but there was no Doris. Thinking that she +had gone some few steps further down, he called her by her name, "Dora! +Dora!" It seemed as though the wavelets ran away laughing at the sound, +and the birds repeated it with mocking charms. Then he saw upon the +ground the book she had taken out with her, and smiled to himself as he +picked it up. It was a prurient French romance, and a cynical laugh came +from his lips. + +"I consider myself, to say the least of it, no saint; but it would never +have occurred to me to bring such a book as that out into the sunshine +to read." + +From the river-bank he could see the pretty villa, with its terrace and +balconies. He thought it possible that Doris had gone home in search of +something, and he sat down under the trees where that most momentous +interview had taken place, and sang to himself an opera song. Still, +though the time passed pleasantly, she was long in coming. He occupied +himself in thinking of her--of the wondrous grace and beauty of her +face, of the smile that dazzled him, of the glory of her golden hair, of +her wit, her repartee, her piquant words. He owned to himself that she +made the charm of his life--that without her it would have neither salt +nor savor. Indeed, he had only been absent from her an hour or two, and +he felt dull and wearied. Life without Doris--why it would not be worth +having! + +Then he wished that she had belonged to some station of life so refined +that he could have married her; but he checked the thought with a sigh. +She was beautiful with a rare loveliness, but hardly the one that any +man would choose to be the mother of his children. + +Then the sunbeams fell slanting, and his lordship remembered that lunch +would be waiting. He felt sure that she must be at home. He walked +quickly toward the villa, still carrying the magnificent flowers, but +Mrs. Conyers was not there. He went into her room; it was just as she +had left it--a scene of elegant confusion--dresses, jewels, laces, all +in the most picturesque disorder. The dress she was to have worn at the +opera lay there ready, the jewels with it. Evidently she had not gone +far. He learned from her maid and other servants that she had not +returned to the house since she left with him in the morning. Then Lord +Charles became angry; he was not accustomed to this kind of treatment. + +"She is hiding, I suppose," he said to himself, sullenly; "but if she +expects me to make any fuss about finding her, she is mistaken. She can +do as she likes." + +He slept away the sunshiny afternoon, and awoke to the fact that dinner +was ready, but that Doris had not returned; yet it was not until the +shades of night had fallen that he began to feel any fear; then, slowly +enough, it dawned upon him that she had left him. At first he was +incredulous, and feared some accident had happened: he dreaded lest she +should have fallen into the river, and made an active search for her. +When he felt sure that she was gone, that she had in real truth +abandoned him, his rage was terrible; he could not imagine how or why it +was. + +"She had everything here," he said to himself, "that any woman's heart +could desire. Can she have met any one whom she liked better than me?" + +He judged her quite correctly in thinking that nothing but superior +wealth would have tempted her from him; but no one was missing from +Florence, neither Italian nor English. As for suspecting that Earle had +followed and claimed her, such an idea never entered his mind; he would +have laughed at it. + +When there was no longer any doubt--when long days and longer nights had +passed, and there was no sign of her return--when she never wrote to him +or gave him the least sign of her existence, he was in a fury of rage +and passion. He paid the servants and sent them away. He flung her +dresses and pretty ornaments into the river; he would have none of them. +Then he swore to himself an oath that, let him find her again, as he +would--wherever he would--he would take his revenge. + +It would have been a thousand times better for her had she told him the +truth and trusted him. Then he went away from Florence, but he swore to +himself that he would find her, and when she was found she should +suffer. + +But of this, Doris, triumphant and happy, knew nothing. That journey +home was delightful to her. She gloried in seeing Earle lose the +dignity, the stern self-control, the coldness that had been so +distasteful to her; she delighted in making his face flush, in saying +words to him that made his strong hands tremble and his lips quiver; she +delighted in these evidences of her power. Gradually he became the warm, +impassioned lover that he had been once, and Doris was happy. While +Earle was her friend all was safe. + +"I hope," she said to him one day, "that they will not tease me at home +with tiresome questions; I am so impatient, I should never answer or +hear them." + +"If by home you mean Brackenside," said Earle, "it is not very probable; +you will not be there long." + +"You had better give them a caution, Earle. I know my own failings so +well. Tell them that you met me in Florence. Mind, if you use the word +_found_ I shall never forgive you. You met me in Florence, and hearing +that they were in trouble over me, I returned; that is what you have to +say, Earle, neither more nor less." + +He smiled at her vehemence. + +"I will do all I can to please you, Doris," he said. + +"That is well; if you do so, Earle, we shall be all right together. I +like to be obeyed." + +"It suits you," said Earle; "you were born to be a queen." + +"Do they know anything at Brackenside of this wonderful story, Earle?" +she asked, after a time. + +"No, not yet--not one word; no one knows it but myself and you." + +Yet he could see that, as they drew nearer home, she was nervous and ill +at ease. Once he asked her why it was, and she half laughed as she said: + +"Mattie is so tiresome; I shall have no peace with her." + +And again he repeated his formula of comfort, "It is not for long." + +On the evening they reached Brackenside it was cold and windy. + +Rain had fallen during the day, but the rain-clouds had all disappeared; +the sky was clear and blue, the moon shone, but the cold was great. The +scene in England was quite wintry; there was no Italian sun to warm it; +the flowers and leaves were all dead; the fields looked gray, not green, +and the wind wailed with a sound so mournful that it made one shudder to +listen to it. + +As they walked up the fields together, Earle said to his beautiful +companion: + +"According to Mark Brace's story, it was on such a night as this that +you were brought to Brackenside." + +She laughed. + +"Do you know, Earle," she said, "I am quite ashamed of it, but I have a +very uncomfortable sensation that I am returning home very much after +the style of the prodigal son." + +"Nothing of the kind," said generous Earle. He would not allow her to +depreciate herself. + +The wind was fearful; it bent the tall trees, and swayed them to and fro +as though they were reeds. It moaned and wailed round the house with +long-drawn, terrible cries. + +"One would think the wind had a voice, and was foretelling evil," said +Doris, with a shudder. "Listen, Earle!" + +But the attention of the young poet was drawn to a pretty scene. Through +the window of the farm-house a ruddy light came like a beam of welcome. + +"They are sitting there," said Earle--"the farmer and his wife, with +Mattie. Let us go to the window, Doris; we shall see them, but they will +not see us." + +They drew near to the window. It was the prettiest home scene that was +ever imagined. The ruddy light of the fire was reflected in the shining +cupboard, in Mark's honest face--it played over the bent head of his +wife, and on Mattie's brown hair. + +Tears came into the young poet's eyes as he stood and watched; for Mark +had taken the great Bible down from the shelf, and was reading aloud to +his wife and child. They could not distinguish what he was reading, but +they heard the deep reverence of his voice, and how it faltered when he +came to any words that touched him. They could see the look of reverence +on Mattie's face, and the picture was a pleasing one--it touched all +that was most noble in the heart of the young poet. + +"I have seen just such a look as Mattie wears on the pictured faces of +the saints," he said; and although Doris affected to laugh at his +enthusiasm, she was half jealous of the girl who excited it. + +Suddenly an idea seemed to occur to Earle; he turned quickly to her. + +"Doris," he said, "raise your face to the quiet skies; let me look into +the depths of your eyes. Tell me, before Heaven, are you worthy to +return and take your place as sister by the side of that girl, whose +every thought is pure, and every word devout?" + +"I understand you," she said, coldly. "Yes, I am quite worthy to stand +by her side." + +"Swear it, before Heaven!" he cried. + +And the unhappy girl swore it! + + + + +CHAPTER XLV. + +AN APPEAL FOR FORGIVENESS. + + +The same wind that wailed so mournfully round the farm made sad music +round the Castle walls. Lady Estelle shuddered as she listened to it; it +seemed so full of prophecy, and the prophecy was so full of evil. It +moaned and sobbed, then went off into wild cries, then into fitful +wails. + +A scene was passing just then in the drawing-room of the Castle, such as +the dead and gone Herefords had never seen. A group of four people were +assembled there, the duke looking older by twenty years than when we saw +him last, his head bent, his stately figure drooping, as a man droops +who has just met the most terrible blow of his lifetime. All the pride +and the dignity seemed to have died away from the face of the duchess, +his wife; her eyes were swollen with weeping. + +"I shall never feel myself again," she said to her husband; "it is my +death-blow." + +Two others were in that group--Lady Estelle, whose face was ghastly +pale; and standing near her, a tall, handsome man, fair of face, frank, +careless and debonair. He was evidently trying to look sorry for +something, but had not been able to succeed. + +"It is so long since," he was saying, in a tone of apology; "but really +I fear there can be no excuse offered." + +"No," replied the duke, in a stern voice, "that is certain--none." + +Two days before this two events had happened at the Castle. One was that +Lady Estelle received a note from Earle, brief enough in itself, but +full of import to her. It simply said: + +"I have found her. She is now at home, awaiting your summons. I am +thankful not to have failed." + +Lady Estelle grew white to the lips as she read those lines. Then she +wrote a second letter. It was just as brief, and was addressed to the +Earl of Linleigh. It said: + +"There is no use in further delay; come to the Castle whenever you like, +only give me twelve hour's notice." + +Then came a letter which sorely puzzled the duke. It was from the Earl +of Linleigh, saying that he should be happy to pay the duke a visit if +it were quite convenient, and that he would be at the Castle on +Wednesday, when he would have something particular to say to him. The +duke read the letter, then passed it over to his wife with a very +anxious look. + +"He follows his letter, you see; he gives me no time to refuse him. I +suppose we can both guess what he wants to see me about." + +"I am afraid so," said the duchess, with a sigh. "I am afraid she likes +him. If she does, we must look upon the brightest side. Perhaps time has +steadied him. Certainly, to be Countess of Linleigh is a great thing, +after all." + +"The title is right enough," said the duke; "it is the bearer of it whom +I neither like nor trust." + +Neither of them were prepared to hear the story that Ulric, Earl of +Linleigh, had to tell them. Even to the duchess, who honestly believed +her daughter was in love with the earl, her conduct seemed strange. She +was nervous, she talked but little, yet it was the look of happy, dreamy +content that sat on her face. + +It struck the duchess at last--there was no mistake about it--Lady +Estelle looked exceedingly ill. She had expected to see her daughter +manifest some little sign of delight at the coming of her lover; she +had expected some little attention to dress, some of the many hundred +pretty ways of showing delight, but she saw none. + +Then the day dawned which was to bring the earl, and the duchess felt +sure, from her daughter's face, that she had spent the greater part of +the night in tears. + +Through some mistake in the time of his arrival, Lady Estelle was alone; +the duke had not returned from his drive, and the duchess had driven +over to the neighboring presbytery. The earl was not expected until six, +but he arrived at four. It was perhaps well for Lady Estelle that she +had not more time for anticipation; it was a terrible time for her--a +trying ordeal. + +She was alone in the library when she heard the sound of +carriage-wheels; she never dreamed it was he till the sudden opening of +the library door, and the footman announced: + +"The Earl of Linleigh!" + +She often wondered in after years that she had not died in that moment. +But the pride and self-control of long years came to her aid; she rose, +pale as marble, cold, dignified, ready to die rather than yield to +emotion; and without one word, she held out her hand in greeting to her +husband. He was looking at her with eyes that seemed to devour her. + +"Estelle," he murmured; then, ready, eloquent, debonair as he was, he +could say no more. Was it possible--gracious Heaven!--was it possible +that this pale, proud, beautiful woman, so haughty that she looked as +though nothing could touch her--was it possible that she was the fair +young Estelle who had sacrificed everything for him, and been so cruelly +rewarded? Was this magnificent woman really his wife? + +"Estelle," he repeated. He drew nearer, as though he would caress her. + +She shrunk from him. + +"No," she said, "do not touch me." + +But the earl, so handsome and debonair, was not to be daunted. + +"Why, Estelle, my darling, my wife, surely you are going to forgive +me--I shall never forgive myself. No man ever did behave so vilely, I +believe; but, my darling, you will forgive me, and let us be happy now." + +"After twenty years!" she answered--"after twenty long, sad years." + +"Better late than never, my love. You must forgive me, Estelle. I did +you a most cruel wrong, but the most cruel of all was to quarrel with +you and leave you." + +"No," she said, firmly, "the most cruel wrong you did was to marry me; +and the next, to leave me all these years without one word. No woman +could ever forgive such a wrong." + +"But you are not a woman, you are an angel, Estelle--so it has always +seemed to me. Will you believe me in this one instance--I am full of +faults; I have behaved shamefully; my conduct to you disgraces the name +I bear, the name of a gentleman--but will you believe this, Estelle, my +wife, my silence during all those years has not been because I would +not write, but because I dare not? I never dreamed that you could +forgive me; I held myself unworthy of all pardon. I knew that I had +wronged you so greatly, I deserved no compassion." + +"If you felt so sure that I could never forgive you, why do you come +here now?" she asked, haughtily. + +The least possible gleam of amusement came into his eyes, the least +possible curl to his lip. + +"You see, my darling Estelle, it is in this way: As Ulric Studleigh it +mattered little what became of me--whether I went to the bad altogether +or not, whether I was married or not; but as Earl of Linleigh it is +quite another thing. I must have a wife to reign in my ancestral home; I +must have children to succeed me; therefore, from the depth of my heart, +I say forgive the fault of erring, passionate youth, and be my wife in +reality as you are in name. I promise you, Estelle, I will atone to you +for the evil I have done; that I will make you happy beyond the power of +words to tell; that I will spend my life in your service. Do you believe +me?" + +She looked at him. His face was earnest and agitated, the eloquent eyes +seemed to rain love into her own. It was hard to resist him, and yet he +had been so cruel. + +"Why have you never written to me all these years, Ulric?" she asked, +and he knew that the faltering voice meant good for him. + +"My darling, I tell you I dared not. No man ever so sinned against a +woman as I sinned against you. I took advantage of your youth, your +simplicity, your love for me, to induce you to contract a private +marriage with me. Then my horrible pride got ahead of me, I quarreled +with you and left you for twenty--may Heaven forgive me--twenty years. I +can hardly expect that you will pardon me. How can you?" + +She drew a little nearer to him when she saw how unhappy he looked. + +"Ah, Ulric," she said, "your race are all alike faithless and debonair; +even the little one is the same." + +The words seemed to cost her violent effort; her face grew crimson. + +He looked at her with brightening eyes. + +"The little one--our child? Oh, Estelle, you have never told me anything +of our child." + +"You have never asked," she retorted. + +"No, I am to blame. What dull, stupid apathy has come over me? What have +I been doing or thinking about? My wife and child to drift through all +these years. Well, from the depths of my heart I say Heaven pardon me, +for I am a great sinner. Estelle, tell me something about our child." + +The expression of his face was so pitiful that she could not help +replying. + +"I cannot tell you much," she said. "I have been, like yourself, +careless over the child. I could not keep my secret and keep her, so she +went." + +"Yes, Lady Delapain told me; but have you never seen her? Do you know +nothing of her?" + +"I have seen her twice." + +And then Lady Estelle gave him the whole history of Doris. + +"She is very beautiful," she said, in conclusion, "but she resembles you +more than me. She is a Studleigh in face and in character. She is +faithless and debonair, Ulric, as you are." + +"Perhaps you judge her rather harshly," he said, with great tenderness +in his voice. "Why do you call her faithless, Estelle?" + +"Because she was engaged to marry some one who loved her with a true and +tender love. She ran away from him, and almost broke his heart." + +"Who was the some one?" asked the earl. + +"Earle Moray, a poet and a gentleman--one whom a princess might marry, +if she loved him." + +"Why did the little one run away from him? What was her reason?" + +"She wanted to see something of the world, so she went abroad as +governess to some little children." + +"That was not so very bad," he said. "She might have done much worse +than that. It is quite natural for a girl to want to see something of +life. Where did she go to, dear?" + +"To Florence, with some English people, I believe." + +"Well, I cannot really be very angry with her for it; of course her +position will be changed now. We shall have to think twice before she +fulfills this engagement." + +"I shall never be willing for her to marry any one but Earle," said Lady +Estelle. + +"We have plenty of time to think of that," he said. "I feel rather +inclined to be jealous of this Earle Moray. Estelle, my darling, you +have not said that you forgive me." He drew nearer to her, he clasped +her in his arms, and kissed the pale, beautiful face. He might be +faithless, he had been cruel, but in all the wide world he was the only +love for her. She did not avert her face from the passionate kisses that +he showered upon it. "You forgive me, Estelle, my wife?" + +"Yes," she replied, "I forgive you; I cannot help it; but I know quite +well that I ought not." + + + + +CHAPTER XLVI. + +A THUNDERBOLT IN A DUCAL PALACE. + + +The Earl of Linleigh seemed to be indifferent as to the terms on which +he obtained his pardon, provided only that he did obtain it. His thanks +and gratitude were pleasing to hear. Her pale face relaxed as she +listened. After all she had suffered, the long, silent agony of +years--there was something very delightful in being loved. + +"And you will be good to me, my darling?" whispered the earl. "You will +not do what you might do--take vengeance on me for my many sins?" + +"No," said Lady Estelle, "I will not do that." + +"And you will come with me to my home, Linleigh Towers, and reign there +as its mistress and queen?" + +"I will do whatever makes you happiest," she said, with that sweet +gentleness that seemed to sit so strangely upon her. + +"Estelle," said the earl, "of course the duke and duchess have not an +inkling of our secret?" + +"No, they have not the faintest idea of it." + +"How foolish we were, my darling. It seems like a dream now that we ever +did that wild, foolish deed. It is far more like a dream than a +reality." + +"Yes," she sighed, "it was a sad thing for both of us." + +"I will tell them. You have had quite enough to bear. I will take the +onus on myself. Give me--let me see--ten kisses; they will make me +strong enough to fight any battle in your cause." + +He bent over her, and was busily engaged in taking the accurate number +of kisses, when the door suddenly opened, and the duke and duchess +entered the room, having returned from their drive together. + +The scene is better imagined than described. They were all well-bred +people; but just at that moment the circumstances seemed to bewilder +them. + +Lady Estelle sank pale and trembling into a chair--the moment she had +dreaded for years had come at last. The earl was the first to recover +himself. + +Coolly, as though nothing particular had occurred, the earl went up to +the duke and duchess with outstretched hands. They greeted him kindly, +but he was quick enough to detect something of restraint in their +voices. They spoke of indifferent matters for some few moments, and then +the duke asked if his guest had partaken of any refreshment. + +"We do not dine till eight," he said; "take some wine, at least." + +"No," said the earl; "the truth is, before I can accept your +hospitality, I have something to tell you--something that will cause you +just and righteous anger--to that I submit; but I pray you, as the fault +was all mine, so let the blame be all mine. Spare every one else." + +He looked so handsome, so earnest, so agitated, that the duke felt +touched. What could he have done to offend him? Nothing but love his +daughter; and that was surely no such terrible crime. He merely smiled +as he heard the words; the duchess, with a sudden nervous movement of +the hands, drew nearer to her daughter. + +"I have no excuse," said the earl, "to offer for this story which I have +to tell--no excuse. It was the passionate, mad folly of a boy--the +trusting simplicity and innocence of a young girl." + +Then, for the first time, an expression of fear came into the duke's +face, and the duchess looked as though she were turned to stone. + +"Listen to me, your grace. Twenty years ago, when I was Ulric +Studleigh, a captain in the army, without even the prospect of +advancement, I fell in love with Lady Estelle." + +He was still looking in the duke's grave face, and his words seemed to +fail him, his lips grew dry and hot, his hands trembled. + +"I am ashamed of my folly," he said, in a low, agitated voice, "and I +find it hard to tell." + +"You will remember, Lord Linleigh, that you are keeping us in suspense, +and Lady Estelle is our only child. Be brief, for her mother's sake, if +not for my own." + +The earl continued: + +"Do not think me a coward, your grace; I have faced the enemy in open +fight as often as any soldier. I never fled from a foe, but I would +sooner face a regiment of foes, each with a drawn sword in his hand, +than stand before you to tell what I have to tell." + +"Be brief, my lord," was the impatient comment. "Be brief." + +"In a few words, then, your grace, I loved your daughter. I won her +love, and privately, unknown to any person, save one, we were married +twenty years ago." + +The duchess uttered a low cry of sorrow and dismay. The duke suddenly +dropped into his chair like a man who had been shot. A painful silence +fell over the room, broken only by the sobs of Lady Estelle. + +"Married!" said the duke, at last. "Oh, Heaven! has my daughter so +cruelly deceived me?" + +"The fault was all mine, your grace; shooting would be far too good for +me. I persuaded her, I followed her, I made her wretched, I gave her no +peace until she consented." + +"Oh! Estelle, my daughter, is it true?" cried the duke. "Is it--can it +be true?" + +Estelle's only answer was a series of heartbreaking sobs. + +"It is true, your grace," said the earl. "If any suffering could undo +it, I would suffer the extremity of torture. I repent with my whole +heart; let me pray your grace not to turn a deaf ear to my repentance." + +The duke made no answer, but laid his head on his clasped hands. + +"I had better tell you all," continued the earl, in a low voice. "We +were married. I call Heaven to witness that the fault was all mine, and +that I intended to act loyally, honorably, and truthfully to my dear +wife; but we were unfortunate. I was proud and jealous, she was proud +and impatient; she taunted me always by saying the Studleighs were all +faithless. We quarreled at last, and both of us were too proud to be the +first to seek forgiveness. Then, in a fit of desperate rage, I exchanged +into a regiment ordered to India, and, with the exception of one letter, +no word has been exchanged between us since." + +The duke did not raise his head. + +The duchess gave a long, shuddering moan. + +"There is one thing more--oh, Heaven! how could I be so cruel?--when I +had been gone some five months, my poor wife, my unhappy wife, became a +mother." + +"I do not believe it!" cried the duke. "I will not believe it! It is an +infamous lie." + +"It is the solemn truth, your grace." + +"Stephanie, my wife," cried the duke, despairingly, "do you believe +this? Do you believe the child we have loved and cherished has deceived +us so cruelly?" + +The duchess left her daughter's side and went over to him. She laid her +hand on his. + +"We must bear it together," she said. "It is the first great trial of +our lives--we must make the best of it." + +"To be deceived--to smile on us, to kiss us, to sit by us, to share the +same roof, to kneel at the same altar, and yet to keep such a secret +from us! Why, Stephanie, it cannot be true." + +The duchess was not one of the demonstrative kind, but she was so deeply +touched by the pain in his voice, that she clasped her arms round his +neck. + +"I can only say one thing to comfort you, my husband. We have spent the +greater part of our lives together, and in no single thing have I +deceived you yet. Let the remembrance of your wife's loyalty soften the +thought of your daughter's treachery." + +The next moment the daughter whom he had loved as the very pride and joy +of his life, was kneeling and sobbing at his feet. + +"It was not treachery, papa; do not give it so bad a name. I was very +young, and I loved him very much; except you and mamma, I loved no one +else. Ah! papa, do not turn from me; I have suffered so terribly--I have +never been happy for one moment since. I loved you so dearly I never +could bear to look at your face and remember how I had deceived you. I +have been so unhappy, so wretched, so miserable, I cannot tell you. Pity +me--do not be angry with me. I loved you both, and my heart was torn in +two. Kiss me, dear, and forgive me." + +But he turned away from the pitiful, pleading voice and beseeching face. + +"I cannot forgive you, Estelle," he said; "the pain is too great." + +"Then I will kneel here until I die," she cried, passionately; "I will +never leave you until you say that you pardon me!" + +The duke raised his face, and when the Earl of Linleigh saw it he +started back. It was as though a blight had fallen over it--it was +changed, haggard, gray--twenty years older than when he had entered the +room. The earl felt more remorse when he caught sight of that pale face +than he had ever before known. + +"Lord Linleigh," said the duke, "I want you to give me details--the +details of your marriage; how and where it took place; who were the +witnesses. I shall want to see the copy of the register; I shall want +the certificate of the child's birth and death." + +"It is not dead!" cried Lord Linleigh, in astonishment. + +"Not dead!" repeated the duke. "Do you mean to tell me, my lord, I have +had a grandchild living all these years, and have known nothing about +it. Do you mean to tell me that a descendant of the Herefords has been +born, and I have never even seen it? Great Heaven! what have I done, +that I should have this to endure?" + +"I was ashamed of the story of my marriage," said the earl, "but, if +possible, I am still more ashamed of the history of my child. My poor +wife was ill-advised when she acted as she did." + +A certain nervous tremor came over the duchess. She remembered many +things that the duke had forgotten, and a presentiment of the truth came +over her. + +"Estelle," she said, "tell us where your child was born, and who helped +you to deceive us?" + +Obediently enough, she told the whole story. + +"We must not blame poor Lady Delapain," said the duke, kindly; "of the +dead no ill should be spoken. Rely upon it, she did it for the kindest +and best. Now, tell us, Estelle, what you did with this unhappy child." + +But Lady Estelle hid her face. + +"Ulric," she said to her husband, "will you tell for me?" + +They listened with a shock of horror and surprise. So this little +foundling, over whose story they had wondered and pondered, of whose +future the duchess had prophesied such evil, was of their own race, a +Hereford. It seemed to the duke and duchess that they could never forget +that humiliation, never recover from it. + +The duke rose from his chair; he held out one trembling hand to his +wife. + +"Come away, Stephanie," he said; "this has been too much for me. I +thought I was stronger. Come away! We can talk it over better alone--we +shall get over it better alone. We have no daughter now, dear--we are +quite alone. Our daughter has been some one else's wife for twenty +years. Come away!" + +The duchess, since Lord Linleigh had told Doris' story, had never once +looked at her daughter. She seemed the stronger of the two as they +turned to quit the room together. The duke, never speaking to his +daughter, said to his guest: + +"I will talk this over with my wife, and we will tell you after dinner +what is our decision." + +"Oh, Ulric!" cried Lady Estelle, "they will never forgive me. What shall +I do?" + +But he kissed her face and consoled her. + +"It will all come right," he said. "Of course it was a terrible shock to +them both, that Brackenside business especially. I am very sorry over +that; but they will forgive you. By this time to-morrow we shall all be +laughing over it, trust me, darling." + +But Lord Linleigh, before this time to-morrow, had to hear something +which startled even him, and he could boast of tolerably strong nerves. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVII. + +THE DUKE'S PLAN. + + +That was surely the most silent and somber dinner-party ever held at the +Castle. The four who sat down to the table owned to themselves that it +was a terrible mistake--they ought to have had some stranger present, if +only to break the ice. Even the servants wondered, as they looked from +one grave face to another, what unusual cloud had fallen over their +superiors. The duke looked as though years had passed over his head +since morning, when he went riding away, the picture of a prosperous, +genial, happy-hearted nobleman. His hair seemed to have grown grayer, +the lines on his face deeper; the stately figure stooped as it had never +done before; the star on his breast shone in mockery, and contrasted +cruelly with the worn, haggard face above. + +The duchess, in her superb dress of black velvet, with its point-lace +and diamonds, looked unhappy. She had lost none of her dignity--women +reserve that under the most trying circumstances--but there was a +hesitation and faltering in her clear voice no one had ever heard +before. + +Lord Linleigh did his best to restore something like cheerfulness. The +worst was over for him now; the story was told, and it was not given to +men of his race to feel dull for long. They had the happy faculty of +recovering from any blow, no matter how severe, in a marvelously short +space of time. His confession was made, the story told, the worst known, +and what had he to fear? Things would soon come right. He should take +his beautiful wife to Linleigh, and their daughter would soon join them; +the whole story would soon blow over, then who so happy as he? He was +not troubled with any extra amount of conscience, with any keen sense of +regret, so he told stories of his Indian life, and as far as possible +tried to improve the general aspect of things. + +Lady Estelle had, perhaps in all her life, never looked more beautiful. +Her usual gentle languor had left her; there was a rich color on her +fair face, a light in her eyes--she, too, was relieved. The ordeal she +had dreaded for so many years was over at last--the punishment would +follow. She read her father's face too accurately to doubt that; still, +the worst was over. + +Dinner was ended at last. The well-trained servants had quitted the +dining-room, the door was closed, and then the duke, looking very grave, +said: + +"Her grace and myself have been talking over matters, and have decided +upon a certain course of conduct. I shall be happy if it suits your +views, if it does not, however deeply I may feel it, you must henceforth +both be strangers to me." + +Lady Estelle looked wistfully at him; but his face was stern, and she +knew that just then all pleading would be vain. + +"You owe me something, Estelle," he said. "You have dealt me a blow I +never thought to suffer, and you ought to sacrifice something to atone +to me for it." + +"I will sacrifice almost anything," she said; "that is, anything except +my husband." + +"I need not tell you," continued the duke, "that I feel the disgrace and +shame of the story I have just heard far more than you do who have told +it. I feel it so keenly, that if it were known, I should never again +show my face. I should never hold up my head again among my peers; in +fact, I could not endure to live and to know that such a history could +be told of my daughter. My wife feels it as keenly as myself, therefore +we have come to a fixed resolution." + +"May I ask what it is?" said the earl. + +"It is this--that the shameful secret be kept a secret still. I do not +question the validity of the marriage. I own that, as far as I can see +and understand, it was a perfectly legal ceremony; but with my consent +it shall never be known. I would rather--far rather, Heaven knows--see +the daughter whom I have loved so tenderly and so proudly, dead, than +have this known." + +The Earl and Countess of Linleigh looked at each other. This was very +different to what they had expected to hear. + +"I do not see," murmured the earl, "how it can possibly be avoided--it +must be known." + +"I have thought of a plan which will obviate the necessity," said the +duke, in his most stately manner. "Permit me to explain it. I grant that +the existence of this unfortunate girl renders it doubly difficult. +Still, I protest, by the spotless name the Herefords have ever borne, by +my pride of race, by the nobility of my ancestry, by the honor of my +house--I protest against letting the world know how my daughter has +deceived me. But for the existence of this girl, I would propose that +the marriage be annulled. Respect must be paid to her rights; she is at +present your sole heiress, and the heiress of my daughter. In all +conscience, honor and loyalty, we are bound to recognize her rights." + +"We cannot do otherwise," said the duchess, with a stately bend of her +head. + +Lady Estelle looked up with an expression of relief. + +"I must ask you," continued the duke, "to follow me attentively. I am +anxious to do two things--I wish to preserve the unsullied honor of my +house, and I wish to do justice to her whom I must, in spite of my +objection, call my grandchild. I propose to do it in this way: Let the +secret of this private marriage ever remain unknown and unsuspected. It +was known that Captain Studleigh admired Lady Estelle before he went +abroad; it will not seem strange to any one that, having succeeded to +the earldom, and finding her still with us, he seeks to marry her. Visit +Downsbury Castle when you will, my lord; you can speak of Lady Estelle +with all the rapture of a Studleigh. It will soon be rumored about that +you have renewed the old love. At the end of six weeks I will take my +daughter to Paris, you can follow us. I will not ask you to go again +through the religious ceremony--I have too much respect for religion to +suggest it; but you can go through the civil forms, with all the pomp +and splendor due to your own rank and ours. Every paper in England will +then have an account of the marriage of Lady Estelle Hereford with the +Earl of Linleigh, and I shall be saved the greatest disgrace--the +greatest shame that could have befallen me. Do you agree to my proposal, +Lord Linleigh? In making it there is nothing against your interest or my +daughter's--nothing against justice, loyalty, or honor; it is simply a +subterfuge to save the honor of a noble house. Do you agree?" + +"I see no objection," said the earl, cautiously. + +"I shall dower my daughter right royally," said the duke--"as +munificently as though she were marrying the man whom I should have +chosen for her." + +"It would save an immense deal of scandal, and rumor, and remarks," said +the duchess, gravely; "it would save us from a thousand taunts and +jeers. We have been so proud of you, Estelle!" + +"But the child," said the earl--"she cannot be ignored after that +fashion." + +"Certainly not. My plan you will find best for her as well as for you. I +have told you before that I cannot and will not submit to the +degradation of hearing this story laughed at by half London. This is +what I propose for the child: You, my Lord Linleigh, were in your youth +famed for eccentricity. Tell the world openly, as you please, that you +were married before you went abroad, and lost your wife. That is +perfectly true, and you will not find many questions asked. Add that, +unable to burden yourself with the care of a child in India, you were +compelled to leave her with friends of your wife--every word of which is +literally, strictly, and perfectly true. The only secret that I charge +you to guard as you would guard your life, is this--the name of your +wife. You will not find people curious to know it. They will conclude +that you married some poor, pretty girl, and not tease you with +questions. You can claim your daughter at once, and take her home with +you." + +The earl looked quite content, but there was a pitiful expression on the +face of Lady Estelle that was painful to see. + +"I understand," she said; "but, papa, if we do this she will never know +who is her mother. She will never know that she is my child." + +"It is not needful," was the stern reply. "I should think that any +mother would shrink from letting her child know such a history as yours. +She will be with you--under your charge--you can do all a mother's part +toward her, and yet save the honor of our name." + +The face of Lady Estelle grew crimson as she listened. + +"My marriage was a legal one, papa," she said. + +"Certainly, but not an honorable one. I do not, however, insist upon it; +you can please yourself. You know the alternative--if you make the true +story of her birth known, I shall leave England, and never look on the +faces of my old friends again." + +"I do not see, Estelle," said the duchess, in a grave, cold voice, "what +difference it can possibly make to you. If you acknowledge her as your +daughter twenty times over, you could not do more than let her live in +your house, and take charge of her. You can do that now." + +"Oh, mamma, it will be so hard!" + +"I do not think you will find it so. You must remember that, with the +unfortunate training the child has had, it is quite impossible that she +can be any credit to you. You should have looked better after her +education, had you ever intended to acknowledge her. Spare me this +disgrace; do not let the world know that a girl brought up in the +kitchen at Brackenside is my grandchild. I must confess that, even under +the circumstances, bad, painful, as they were, I cannot imagine why you +acted so with the child." + +"I wanted her to be good and happy in a simple fashion. I never dreamed +that these events would happen." + +"I think," said the duchess, "that you should be willing to adopt your +father's suggestion. It is by far the most sensible one." + +"I quite agree with it," said Lord Linleigh. "Then the chief burden +falls upon me--I have but to own to a private marriage, as your grace +suggests. It is doubtful whether any one cares to inquire the name of my +wife. I was but Captain Studleigh, and a Mrs. Studleigh is of no note. +Even if the girl herself should question me, I should merely say that I +prefer not to mention her mother's name." + +"It will be far the best plan. The girl has a Studleigh face; claim her +at once, and let her take her station as your daughter and mistress of +your house until you take Estelle home." + +"I think it will be the best plan," said the earl. + +"If I were in your place," continued the duke, "I should not go to the +farm; I should at once return to Linleigh Court; and when you reach +there, send for the farmer, his wife, and your child--it will make far +less sensation. They are honest people, too, and if you ask for silence +they will keep it. It is not probable that any one will ever see her +again who knew her here. The farmer and his wife have shown good tact +and good sense in keeping friends and acquaintances at a distance." + +"I am sure you are right," said Lord Linleigh. "Estelle, do you +consent?" + +She was silent for some few minutes; they saw her face quiver with pain. +Then she left her seat and went round to her father, and knelt down by +his side. + +"Dearest," she said to him, "I owe you this reparation. The dearest wish +of my heart was to hear my child call me mother. I renounce that wish +for your sake--I promise to do as you suggest. Will you, in turn, +forgive me?" + +Perhaps he was glad of the opportunity; for, bending over, he kissed her +face, and she saw tears in his eyes. The duchess came round and joined +the little group, but even in that moment Lady Estelle felt that the +full pardon of her stately mother would indeed be difficult to win. + + + + +CHAPTER XLVIII. + +AN IMPORTANT LETTER. + + +A few days after the events described in the previous chapter, a +paragraph went round the principal English newspapers which created some +little sensation. It was headed "Romance in High Life," and ran as +follows: + + "It is not generally known that the Earl of Linleigh has been + married and lost his wife. The marriage--which took place + when the young and gallant captain had little expectation of + the earldom of Linleigh--was in itself, we believe, a + romance. Whether the sudden departure of the young officer + for India was caused by the death of his young wife, we are + not aware. As it was impossible to take his infant daughter + with him, the child was left in charge of his wife's friends. + We learn, on the highest authority, that the young lady, who + will henceforth take her title as the Lady Doris Studleigh, + is a most beautiful and accomplished girl, who will be a + great addition to the shining lights of society. The earl is + about to take up his residence, with his beautiful daughter, + at Linleigh Court." + +Considerable sensation was caused by this, but no one was in the least +surprised. Captain Studleigh had been known as a great flirt: those who +remembered him as the handsome young man of his day, smiled and said, +"There, _that_ is why the gay gallant never married. I thought there was +some reason." + +How many rich widows smiled on him, and smiled in vain. They wondered a +little when he had married, and all agreed that it was most probably a +nobody--a girl with a pretty face; he never cared for any other--neither +birth nor money, that was certain. The announcement caused no other +remark, and was very soon forgotten. If Lady Doris Studleigh was +anything like the Studleighs, she would be sure to be beautiful--they +had always been, without exception, the handsomest family in England. +She would be a great heiress, no doubt, and her _debut_ was most +anxiously looked for. + +It was, perhaps, a fortnight after that paragraph had been well +discussed, that another appeared. It was as follows: + + "MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE.--We are informed that a noble earl, + whose recent accession to a magnificent estate and ancient + title caused some little sensation in the fashionable world, + will soon lead to the hymeneal altar the lovely and + accomplished daughter of one of our most respected peers." + +Every one knew at once that the Earl of Linleigh was meant; but who was +the lady? First a rumor--a whisper; then a certainty--it was Lady +Estelle Hereford. People remembered that he had liked her, and had tried +hard to get up a flirtation before he went abroad. Gossip gradually wore +itself out. In the meantime strange events had occurred at the farm. + +There came a cold, snowy morning when Doris had been home some few days. +She was growing impatient. The change was so great from gay, sunny +Florence to cold foggy England; from that luxurious villa, where +flowers and light abounded, to the homely farm-house; from the honeyed +words of her lover to the somewhat cold disapproval of Mattie and Mrs. +Brace. Mark had said but little to her. + +"You tired your wings, my bonny bird," he said; "I am glad they brought +you back here." + +He did not seem quite so much at home with her as he had been. More than +once Earle saw him look in wonder at the lovely face and white hands; +then he would shake his honest head gravely, and Earle knew that he was +thinking to himself she was out of place at the farm. Mrs. Brace had +said but little to her; she knew it was useless. Earle had begged her to +be silent, while Mattie looked on in sorrowful dismay. Would Earle never +see that Doris was unworthy of him? + +Of her adventures but little has been said. Earle told them that he had +met her in Florence, where she was staying as governess to some little +children, and had induced her to come home with him--that was all they +knew. Of the story told to Earle they were in perfect ignorance. + +Doris had shown some little sense; she had taken the costly gems from +her fingers. In any case it would never be safe to wear them again; they +would attract too much attention. She told Earle, laughingly, that she +had thrown her pretty false stones away, when, in reality, she had +safely packed them where no one but herself could find them. Then, after +the novelty of receiving Earle's homage again had worn off, she began to +grow impatient. + +"I cannot stay here long, Earle," she said; "it is too terrible. When +shall I hear any news?" + +"Soon, I am certain," was the reply. "Do not--pray, do not precipitate +matters by any imprudence, Doris. Wait a few days longer." + +But the news came at last. On a cold, snowy morning, while the farmer +and his wife sat at breakfast, they heard the postman's horn outside the +gate. + +"News ought to keep this weather," said Mark, laughingly; "it is cold +enough." + +Mrs. Brace hastened to the door. There was a steaming cup of coffee to +be carried to the frozen postman, who took it gratefully, and gave her a +large, thick letter. + +"It is registered, Mrs. Brace," he said, "and your husband must sign the +receipt." + +Now, if there was anything in this world of which Mark Brace really +stood in awe, it was of pen and ink. He could plow, sow, reap with any +man; place a pen in his hand and an inkstand before him, and he was +reduced to a state of utter imbecility. + +"Sign a receipt!" he said to his wife. "The man knows he has brought the +letter; that ought to be enough." + +When he found it must be done, he submitted to it. Then it was +discovered that the only inkstand in the house was in Doris' room, and +that young lady asked wonderingly what they wanted ink at that early +hour of the morning for. + +"Surely my father is not taking to literature, Mattie!" she cried. + +"My dear sister, when will you learn that it is in bad taste to be +always sneering at our father?" was Mattie's answer. + +"What does he want the ink for? Tell me?" + +"There's a letter--a thick, registered letter--seemingly a very +important one, and the receipt had to be signed." + +She wondered why the mocking smile died so suddenly from Doris' +face--why she grew pale, and agitated, and unlike herself. + +"I shall be down in one moment, Mattie," she said. + +When she was left alone she clasped her hands together. + +"It has come at last!" she said--"at last!" + +It was ten minutes before she went down; then Mark had almost recovered +from the effort he had made in signing the receipt--the postman had +departed--and, like all simple-minded people, Mark and his wife were +wondering from whom the letter had come, and what it was about. Doris +listened quietly for a minute. Mattie was engaged in preparing tea for +her sister. Then Doris said: + +"Do you not think it would save all trouble and discussion if you opened +the letter?" + +Mark laughed sheepishly, and said: + +"She is right, you know." + +Then he opened the letter. It was not very long, and they saw a slip of +pink paper fall from it. Mrs. Brace picked it up and saw that it was a +check for fifty pounds. + +Meanwhile Mark read on slowly and laboriously; then he looked around him +with a bewildered face, and read it again. + +"What is it, Mark?" asked his wife, anxiously. + +"Stop!" said Mark, waving his hand. "Steady. I have had many a hard +puzzle in my life, but this is the hardest--I _cannot_ understand it. +Either the man who wrote it is mad, or I am--I cannot tell which. Patty, +read that letter aloud; let me see if it sounds as it reads." + +Mrs. Brace took the letter obediently from her husband's hands. No one +saw the torture of suspense in Doris' face. Mrs. Brace read aloud: + + "The Earl of Linleigh presents his compliments to Mr. Mark + Brace, and begs that he will grant him a favor. The earl + desires most particularly to see Mr. Brace at once, on very + important business, and as the earl cannot go to Brackenside, + he will be glad if Mr. Brace will start without delay for + Linleigh Court. It is also absolutely necessary that Mr. + Brace should bring with him his wife and the young lady known + as Doris. The earl incloses a check for fifty pounds to cover + traveling expenses, and he earnestly entreats Mr. Brace not + to delay one hour in coming." + +"Send for Earle," gasped Mark, "before there is another word said about +it--send for Earle." + +Then he was struck by the peculiar expression of his wife's face. She +bent down and whispered to him. + +"That is it!" he said, with sudden conviction; "that is it! Heaven bless +me! I never thought of it; send for Earle." + +"Is it anything of any harm to you, father?" asked Mattie, anxiously. + +"No, my child. Doris, you say nothing." + +"What can I say? You are a great man to be sent for by a mighty earl. +What can he want us for?" + +"It has come at last!" said Mark. "Well, thank Heaven, we have done our +duty. I shall not be afraid to face him or any one else." + +Then Mark sat in silence till Earle came, when he dismissed the two +girls from the room, little dreaming that Doris knew far more of her own +story than he did. + +"Read this," he said, placing the letter in Earle's hand, "then tell me +what you think." + +Earle read the letter attentively. + +"I think," he said, "that this concerns Doris, and that you will most +probably find the earl is either her father, or that he knows something +of her parentage." + +"I expected it," said Mark, with a deep sigh; "and Heaven knows, Earle, +I shall be thankful to get the girl off my hands without any more +trouble. She frightens me, my dear boy--she does, indeed; she is so +unlike the rest of us. I am always wondering what she will do or say +next; she is out of place here altogether. It will be a relief to me." +And honest Mark wiped his brow with the air of one who was glad to get +rid of a great burden. "My wife has more sense and better judgment than +any woman in England," he continued, "and she thinks he will turn out to +be Doris' father. Where is the mother, I wonder? What do you advise, +Earle?" + +"I advise you to do exactly what Lord Linleigh says. Start at once, and +take the ladies with you. The matter is evidently pressing, or he would +not write so urgently." + +"I must go, then; but it is really a trouble, Earle. I can get on with +an honest plowman or a sensible farmer, but with lords and ladies I am +quite at sea. My dear boy, I dread them. I shall never forget what I +went through with the duchess. Of course I know about all mankind being +sons of Adam to begin with, but I like my own sort of people best, +Earle." + +"I do not know that you are wrong," was the reply. + +"Earle," said Mark, suddenly, "will you tell Mattie about this affair +when we are gone? I know she will feel it terribly; she is very fond of +Doris, and neither her mother nor I have ever hinted it to her." + +"I will tell her," said Earle, gravely. "Now let me do what I can toward +helping you. I will drive you to Quainton Station; you must go to London +first, and from London to Linleigh. It is in the south of Kent." + +"I believe that you know every place in the wide world, Earle," said the +farmer, admiringly. + +In a short time they were all on the road to London, while Earle, left +alone with Mattie, told her the whole story, and had the satisfaction, +for once in his life, of seeing genuine surprise. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIX. + +"WELCOME, MY DAUGHTER, TO YOUR FATHER'S HEART." + + +Linleigh Court stands on the southern coast, where the southern sea +kisses the shores, and the fertile lands yield sweetest fruits and +flowers. It has not the stamp of antiquity which makes some of the fair +homes of England so celebrated. The architecture is not of the grand old +Norman type; it is of modern build, with large, cheerful, airy, sunlit +rooms, each having a balcony filled with fairest flowers. + +The chief recommendation of Linleigh Court is that the whole place does +not contain one dull room; they are all filled with warmth, light, and +fragrance. The grounds are large, extensive, and magnificently laid out, +and slope to the very edge of the sea. They are sweet, old-fashioned +gardens, where grow all the flowers poets have ever loved. + +On a bright summer's day, when the sun was shining on countless flowers, +when the white doves and birds of bright plumage fluttered among the +trees, it would have been impossible to have found a fairer home than +Linleigh Court. On this bright, cold winter's day it looked warm and +cheerful; the evergreens were all in perfection. + +The journey had been a comfortable one, thanks to Earle. He had seen +that the travelers went first-class, which, notwithstanding the fifty +pounds, would never have occurred to Mark. He had attended to every +detail of comfort, liberally fed the guards and porters, in spite of the +printed regulations looking him in the face and forbidding any such +enormity. + +When they reached Anderley station, there was a carriage with a coronet +on the panels, a smart coachman and footman awaiting them. Mark looked +aghast; the grandeur of the whole affair dismayed him; while Doris +stepped into the carriage with the dainty air and grace of one who had +always been accustomed to such luxuries. Then they drove through the +rich Kentish scenery until they came to the park. Mark first caught +sight of the tall towers of the Court from between the trees, and he +cried out in surprise: + +"This is a magnificent place, Doris. I think it is even better than +Downsbury Castle." + +"If you had seen the grand old Florentine, palaces, you would not think +much of either," said Doris, indifferently. + +Whatever happened, she had made up her mind not to admire; they should +not find her easily surprised. Yet as the magnificent terraces, the +fountains, the superb building itself, came into sight, her heart +swelled higher and higher with vanity and gratified pride. No sweet +compunction or humility such as sometimes visits a monarch about to +ascend a throne came to her. No gratitude to Heaven that she was to +share in such glorious gifts; no resolve to make others the happier for +her happiness; nothing but a sudden elation, a vain, self-glorious +sensation, and contempt for the life she had left behind. + +"So this is my father's house," she mused. "I have yet to see why he +has lived in this affluence, while I have been brought up as a farmer's +daughter?" + +The two who were watching her wondered what brought that rapt expression +to that beautiful face. They little guessed the nature of her musings. + +"I wish this was all over," said Mark, as the carriage drew up at the +stately entrance. "Only Heaven knows what we have to do now." + +Doris laughed, a low, rippling laugh of perfect content; then the great +hall door was flung open, and they saw the magnificent interior, the +liveried servants, the shining armor, and Mark's heart sank within him. +Then he recovered himself a little, and when he looked around him, they +were all three standing in one of the most magnificent halls in England. +A servant was bowing before them, and Mark heard him say: + +"My lord is anxiously expecting you; will you come this way?" + +They passed through two or three rooms which, by their splendor, +completely awed the farmer and his wife. Mark's shoes had never seemed +to be so large and so thick as when they trod on that velvet pile. The +wondrous mirrors, pictures and statues dazzled him, the quantity of +ornaments puzzled him; he wondered how one could possibly move freely in +such over-crowded rooms. + +"We cannot all be earls," thought Mark, "and I am not sorry for it. I am +more comfortable in my kitchen than I could be here." + +Mrs. Brace followed with a pale face. She wondered less about the +externals, and more what they were about to see. When they reached the +library, chairs were placed for them. + +"My lord will be with you in a few minutes," said the servant, and they +were left alone. + +"I cannot help trembling," said Mrs. Brace. "What have we to hear?" + +The words had hardly left her lips, when the door opened, and a tall, +handsome man entered the room. They saw that his face was pale and +agitated, and his lips trembled. He looked at the farmer and Mrs. Brace, +but not at the young girl who stood near them. As yet his eyes never met +hers or rested on her. He went up to Mark with outstretched hands. + +"You are Mr. Brace," he said. "Let me introduce myself--I am the Earl of +Linleigh." + +"I thought as much," replied Mark, anxious to do his best. "I have done +what you wished, my lord--brought Mrs. Brace and Doris with me." + +The earl held out his hand in silent greeting to the farmer's wife, but +never once looked at the young girl. Then he drew a chair near to them. + +"I must thank you for coming," he said. "You have been very prompt and +attentive. I hoped you would come to-day, but I hardly dared expect it." + +"We thought it better to lose no time," said Mark. + +"You did well, and I thank you for it. I have something of great +importance to say to both of you--something which ought to have been +told years ago. You, perhaps, can almost guess it." + +Mark nodded, while his wife sighed deeply. + +"Twenty years ago," continued the earl, "I was a young man, gay, +popular, fond of life, an officer in the army, and the younger son of a +noble family, but poor. You do not know how poor a man of fashion can +be. I was very popular--every house in London was open to me--but I knew +that I was sought for my good spirits and genial ways. As for +marriage--well, it was useless to think of it, unless I could marry some +wealthy heiress." + +He paused for a few minutes, and Mark shook his head sadly, as though he +would say it was indeed a wretched state of things. + +"I speak to you quite frankly," said the earl. "It might be possible to +gloss over my follies, and give them kindly names--to say they were but +youthful follies, no worse than those of other young men: I might say +that I sowed my wild oats; but I come of a truthful race, and I say I +was no better--not one-half as good, in fact, as I ought to have been. +Then, as a climax to my other follies, I fell in love, and persuaded the +young girl I loved to marry me privately. That was bad enough, but I did +worse. When we had been a short time married, we quarreled. Neither +would give in, and we parted. It matters little to my story who my wife +was, whether above or below me in station, whether poor or rich--suffice +it to say that we parted. + +"Some time after I left England a little daughter was born to her. She +still kept her secret. This little child she confided to the care of a +servant. The servant must have known you or heard of you, for she left +the little one, as you both know, at your door, and you took her in. +They wrote to me and told me what they had done, far away in India. I +was helpless to interfere. Then I lost my wife; but the child continued +with you. I made no effort to reclaim her. I do not seek to gloss over +my fault, believe me. The truth is, to a soldier in India a baby is not +a very desirable object. The existence of this child was a source of +embarrassment and confusion to me. I had not the means of supporting it +as a daughter of the house of Studleigh should be supported, so I did +what seems so fatally easy, yet always leads to bad consequences--I let +circumstances drift along as they would. The end of it was that as years +went on I almost forgot the child's existence." + +"But the money," said Mark, wonderingly, "always came the same." + +The earl looked up quickly. + +"Yes--oh--of course that was attended to," he said; but his face flushed +and his eyes fell. + +"To my great surprise," he continued, "I found myself, by a chapter of +accidents, suddenly raised to an earldom. I am Earl of Linleigh, now, +and that is a very different matter from being simply Captain Studleigh. +The daughter of Captain Studleigh might always remain unknown; the +daughter of the Earl of Linleigh has a title and wealth of her own. You +understand the difference, I am sure, Mr. Brace?" + +"Yes," said Mark, "I understand." + +"One of the first things I turned my attention to, after my accession to +the estates, was the daughter my wife sent to you." + +He looked nervously at the farmer and his wife, still never looking at +Doris. + +"Well, my lord," said Mark, "we have done our best by her; she has had a +good education, and she is clever. The money sent has always been spent +upon her. We love her very much, but she is not one of us, and never +could be. So that it is something of a relief to us to give her back +into your own hands. Doris, my dear," he continued, turning to the +beautiful girl by his side, "it is of you we are speaking. You are not +my daughter, my dear; my good wife here is not your mother; but we have +been very fond of you since you were left a little helpless baby at our +door, in the cold darkness and pouring rain." + +The girl's face turned deadly pale. It was no news to her--this secret +which poor Mark never dreamed she knew; it had long been no secret to +her. She caught her breath with a low, gasping sigh. + +"You have been very kind to me," she said--"very kind." + +"Poor child," said Mrs. Brace, gently. "You see she loves us after all, +Mark." + +Then, for the first time, the earl turned slowly to look at his +daughter. They could all see fear as well as anxiety in his eyes. At +first his lips quivered, and his face grew deadly pale; then gradually +every other emotion became absorbed in admiration. He came up to her and +raised her face to the light; then, as the two faces looked at each +other, the wonderful likeness between them became apparent. + +"Nay, daughter," said the earl, gently, "no need to ask Mark Brace if +this be indeed my daughter. Her face tells the story--she is a +Studleigh. She seems like one of the family pictures come down from its +frame. Welcome, my daughter, to your father's heart and home!" + +And as he spoke, the earl kissed most tenderly the lovely, blushing +face. + + + + +CHAPTER L. + +"ONLY ONE OTHER PERSON KNOWS MY SECRET." + + +Then, with the gallantry that was always natural to him, the earl placed +his daughter in a chair. He turned with a smile to Mark. + +"I was a coward," he said, "for the second time in my life. I was afraid +to look at her; now I do not see how I can look anywhere else. How am I +to thank you? You have brought me the fairest and most graceful daughter +in England!" + +"Well," said Mark, with an air of great consideration, "you see, my +lord, we had nothing to do with her grace and beauty; but my wife has +certainly done her best to teach the young lady little tidy ways, and +such like." + +"I hope she has learned them," said the earl, kindly. "Mrs. Brace looks +as though she could teach all goodness. And this is my daughter! Child, +how like you are to me." + +"I am very glad, papa; am I not like mother, too?" + +"No," he replied, gravely, "not in the least. Thank Heaven for it!" + +When they heard those words they thought that he had certainly married +beneath him--that his marriage had not turned out happily. + +"There are some necessary legal forms to be gone through," said the +earl, "and as business is always disagreeable, it will be well, perhaps, +if we settle that at once. My lawyer is in attendance. It will be +necessary for you and Mrs. Brace to make an affidavit stating that this +is indeed my daughter, the infant placed under your charge." + +"That will be easy enough," said Mark. "If some one does the writing, I +will sign." + +Lord Linleigh laughed; Mrs. Brace looked a little scandalized at the +very free-and-easy speech. The earl said, laying his hand caressingly on +the girl's shoulder: + +"This becomes a very important lady now; we must be careful what we do +about her. She is Lady Doris Studleigh, and that is one of the oldest +titles in England." + +"Who could have thought it?" said kindly Mrs. Brace. "Lady Doris +Studleigh, let me be the first, your ladyship--my dear--to wish you +health and strength to enjoy your good fortune." + +The earl was pleased when he saw his daughter clasp her arms round her +foster-mother's neck. + +"She has a loving, grateful heart," he said to himself, "and that is +rare enough in a Studleigh." + +He little dreamed that in those few minutes Doris had read his character +accurately, and that the action was performed entirely to please him. + +The bell was rung, and the lawyer appeared. The affidavits were soon +drawn out. Mark and his wife each swore solemnly that the young lady +they brought to the earl was the child who had been left under their +charge. Mark was greatly relieved when he found that he had nothing more +to do than to sign his own name. + +"Affidavits were certainly never less necessary," said the lawyer--"the +Lady Doris has a true Studleigh face." + +How the girl's heart beat with high pride and gratified vanity as she +heard her title from strange lips! + +Then the lawyer was dismissed, and the earl led the way to the hall. To +the surprise of the three strangers, all the servants of the household +were assembled, evidently by the earl's desire. He stopped one moment, +looked at them, then taking his daughter by the hand, led her before +them. + +"My good friends," said the earl, "I have a few words to say to you, and +those few words are better said in public. You are, most of you, aware, +I suppose, that years ago I was a captain in the army, without any +expectation of ever being an earl. I married before I went to +India--some of you know it, some do not. One daughter was born to me, +and I lost my wife. My daughter has lived under the charge of her worthy +foster-parents, and I trust you will pay all obedience, all respect, all +honor to Lady Doris Studleigh." + +There was not a heart present which was not touched by emotion. All eyes +were fixed on that beautiful face turned half-wistfully toward them. + +"Long live Lady Doris Studleigh!" said some of the more enthusiastic. + +"Long life and happiness!" said the others. + +The earl looked pleased, then he led the way to the dining-room, where a +grand banquet was prepared. + +Mark never forgot that dinner--the plate, the wines, the fruit, the +exquisite dishes, the number of well-trained servants. His embarrassment +was at times something dreadful, but the earl was so kind, so +considerate; he helped him at such critical periods, keeping during the +whole time an observant eye on his daughter. He was charmed with her +grace, her dignity; and her perfectly easy manner delighted him even +more than her marvelous beauty. He saw that she was quite familiar with +all the little details of table etiquette; and while he inwardly thanked +Heaven that it was so, he secretly wondered how she had acquired it; +evidently the good farmer and his wife had not taught her. + +When dinner was over, the earl would not hear of their return, as Mark +wished. He declared that they must remain and see all the sights of +Linleigh, to the secret annoyance of Doris. + +"The sooner she had finished with these vulgar people," she said to +herself, "the sooner she should be able to take her own place." + +But she was quick enough to take her cue from the earl's kindly behavior +to them. Lord Linleigh had indeed quite sense enough to appreciate a +noble, sterling character like Mark's. He made them happy as possible +all the evening, and when they had retired he drew his daughter to his +side. + +"I have made no arrangements for you, my darling; shall we discuss them +now?" + +"No," she replied, quickly, "not until Mr. and Mrs. Brace are gone away. +I want to think of nothing but them while they are here." + +He was so delighted that he drew her closer to him, saying: + +"You are a treasure--you are, indeed, my darling. The housekeeper has a +niece who will act as your maid until you choose one. The blue-room has +been prepared for you; to-morrow you shall choose a suit for yourself." + +She thanked him, and then bade him good-night. + +He watched the graceful figure and beautiful face until the door closed, +then he sank back in his chair in unutterable relief. + +"Thank Heaven!" he said, "that is all over. I must write to Estelle and +tell her how well it has all passed off." He sat musing for a short time +with a smile on his face. "I ought, most certainly, to think myself a +very happy man," he said. "In all my life I have seen nothing to +compare with that girl's face. Estelle will be very proud of her." + +Meanwhile his daughter was rehearsing her first lesson in the dignified +retirement of her own room. She had found in the pretty chamber, known +as the blue-room, a pretty, rosy maid waiting for her; a bright fire was +burning, the lamps were lighted on the toilet-table: the room looked the +very picture of luxury and comfort. The maid greeted her with a most +respectful courtesy. + +"If you please, my lady, the housekeeper desired me to remain here at +your service." + +"Draw that easy-chair to the toilet-table," said Lady Doris; "find me a +footstool, and give me from my box there a book bound in yellow paper." + +Her orders were obeyed with a quickness and dexterity that amazed her, +imperious as she was. + +"Now," said Lady Doris, leaning back in her chair so as to enjoy the +fire and bright pearly light, "you can brush my hair; but be very +careful--I am very particular over it." + +It was certainly a sight to be seen, that long, rippling golden hair, +bright as the sunbeams, soft as silk, fine, abundant, full of natural +waves. The girl looked at it admiringly as it hung over her arms in a +great shower. + +"It really does seem a pity to sleep in it," she thought. "If it were my +hair I should like to take it off at night." + +When sufficient of that ceremony had been gone through, Lady Doris +turned round: + +"Will you go to the housekeeper and say I should like some wine and a +bunch of grapes, if she has any?" + +The maid complied. The housekeeper, all anxiety to please my lady, sent +a bottle of finest Burgundy, with a bunch of rich grapes that were +tempting enough. + +"My mistress is as beautiful as an angel," said the maid, "but she knows +how to look after her own comforts." + +"So do all ladies," was the housekeeper's reply; "what else have they to +do? But when you have lived as long as I have, Emily, you will know how +to wait upon people without making comments upon them." + +The maid returned to the room; her lovely young mistress still sat +reading by the fire. + +"What shall I do for you in the morning, my lady?" she asked. + +"See that I am not called too early; let me have some chocolate just +after I awake, and see that the water of my bath is both warmed and +perfumed." + +Emily opened her eyes in wonder, but thought it better to say no more. +She contented herself by thinking again that Lady Studleigh knew how to +study her own comforts. + +"Is there anything more I can do to-night, my lady?" + +"Nothing more," was the reply, given with a smile that won the maid's +heart forever and ever. + +She hastened to the housekeeper's room to make her report. + +"So beautiful, kind, and gracious; but so thorough lady--no nonsense, +no freedom--a lady who looked as though she would keep the whole world +in its place." And the servants crowded round her to listen and admire. + +Lady Doris was impatient to be alone--impatient to lock the door between +herself and all human kind, in order that she might give some little +freedom to the emotions pent up in her heart. + +She had controlled herself so well; she had won surprise, admiration, +and wonder by simply refraining from expressing any of the three. Now no +curious eyes were gazing at her, no curious ears were listening to what +words in her triumph escaped her. She locked the door, then stood before +the large mirror and steadfastly looked at herself. + +"All this is mine!" she said. "I have every wish of my heart at last! I +have luxury such as I never dreamed of--magnificence suited for a queen! +I have a title that makes music in my ears! I have one of the noblest +earls in England for my father! Ah, how near I have been to losing all +this; even now I might lose it if that terrible secret of mine became +known--it would be taken from me. My father would forgive me many +things, but never that." + +She stood quite still; the color faded from her beautiful face; a cold +chill seized her. + +"How foolish I am," she said. "What need have I to fear? Only one other +person knows my secret, and he would be the last, I know, to make it +known. If ever he attempts it, he shall die!" + +Then she laughed; but there was something dreary in the laugh. + +"I shall never see him again," she said to herself; "and if I did--if he +declared that he knew me--I should look quite steadily in his face and +say--swear, if necessary--that in all my life I had never met him +before. I am Studleigh enough to have nerve for that. Who was my mother, +I wonder? Some one of whom the earl is evidently ashamed; therefore she +can have little interest for me." + + + + +CHAPTER LI. + +A NOBLEMAN'S GENEROSITY. + + +Notwithstanding all the kindness and hospitality that the earl had shown +to Mark, it was some relief to the farmer to know that when morning +dawned he was that day to return home. The grandeur of Linleigh Court +oppressed him; he longed to be with his laborers and his cattle, at +work. + +The earl took breakfast with them; Lady Doris was not down--"she was +tired," the maid said. + +"I was afraid it would be too much for her," said Mrs. Brace. "I am +sure, my lord, the more I think of it, the more wonderful it seems." + +"Yes, it is quite a romance," laughed the earl. But neither he nor those +with whom he spoke dreamed how that romance was to end in a tragedy. + +The morning being fine, though cold, the earl asked them to visit the +conservatories. By this time Doris had come down, and was ready to join +them. While they were going through one of the large conservatories, +Lady Doris suddenly caught sight of the Indian plant she had admired so +much at Downsbury Castle--the plant with scarlet bells and sweet, subtle +perfume. She hastened to it, and clasped a spray in her white hands. + +"That is like the face of an old friend," she said. + +"Why?" asked the earl, amused by the action. + +"I saw some flowers like them at Downsbury Castle," she replied. + +The earl looked keenly at her. + +"Downsbury Castle!" he said. "I know the Duke of Downsbury. What took +you there, Doris?" + +"What takes half the world everywhere?" she replied. "Curiosity. I +wanted so very much to see the interior of a castle, and to see if the +people living there really led fairy lives." + +"And what did you think?" he asked, still in the same voice. + +"I liked it very much; but, papa, I like Linleigh Court better--it is +more Italian, with sunshine and flowers everywhere." + +"So you saw all the flowers at Downsbury Castle?" he continued, in the +tone of one who asks a question. + +"Yes, and beautiful enough they were; but I saw something even fairer +than the flowers, papa." + +"What was that, Doris?" + +"I saw--listen gravely--I remember the whole of the name--I saw the Lady +Estelle Hereford, only daughter of his serene and mighty highness, the +Duke of Downsbury." + +He laughed, but there was something forced and unnatural in the sound. + +"I know her," he said, trying to speak calmly; "they are very dear +friends of mine. What did you think of her, Doris?" + +It was wonderful how he learned to appeal to and rely on the judgment of +this fair young daughter. + +"I thought her perfectly beautiful, perfectly graceful, perfectly +gentle, but tame, papa." + +"Tame, child! What do you mean?" he asked. + +It was such a novel and not over-pleasant sensation for him to hear a +mother called "tame" by her daughter, although it was done in supreme +ignorance. + +"I cannot explain the word, papa, if you cannot understand it by +instinct. Earle would if he were here. I liked her very much; but she +puzzled me; her face kept changing color: she was proud, yet familiar; +haughty, yet gentle. She talked to me about love and marriage, just as +Mattie would have talked." + +"Poor Estelle!" murmured the earl; then he said aloud: "How would Mattie +have talked? Give me an example." + +"My lord!" cried Mrs. Brace, in alarm, "I am quite sure that Mattie +never said a wrong thing in her life." + +"I am equally sure of it," said the earl, kindly. + +"Mattie, like Lady Estelle, has great notions, papa--duty and all those +disagreeable things were first." + +"That is right," said the earl. Even to himself he did not own how the +introduction of Lady Estelle's name had startled him. + +Doris hastened on among the flowers. Lord Linleigh lingered behind, +while he said to Mark and his wife: + +"You are tenants of the Duke of Downsbury, are you not?" + +"Yes," replied Mark. + +"Then I do not mind telling you, in all confidence, that you will +probably hear or read something about Lady Hereford and myself which +will please you." + +Mrs. Brace understood him at once. + +"My lord," she said, "I am so sorry that Lady Doris called her tame." + +He laughed good-naturedly. + +"She speaks her mind frankly," he said, "and that, at least, is a +recommendation. Lady Estelle would only be amused if she heard it." + +"He means to marry her," said Mark to his wife, as the earl hurried +after his daughter; but Mrs. Brace had the strangest expression on her +face. + +"What is it?" Mark asked. "Surely you are not ill?" + +"No, I am not ill; but I will say this, Mark, it is a most awful +world--no one can understand it." + +"Do as I do, my dear; the world never troubles me, because I take no +notice of it." + +But that philosophy was not in the way of Mark's wife. + +"Doris," said the earl, when he overtook his daughter, "I wish to +consult you." + +"I am not a very wise person to consult," she replied, with a charming +little smile, "but what little wit I have is quite at your service, +papa." + +"My dear child," he said, "between ourselves, the Studleighs have never +been deficient in wit, but there has hardly been one steady head in the +whole race." + +"That is deplorable enough. We must try to alter it," she said, +laughingly. "To begin with, I will steady my own. What do you wish to +consult me about, papa?" + +"I want to do something substantial and handsome for your +foster-parents," he said. "What shall it be?" + +"A steam-plow for Mark, and a black satin dress for his wife--that is +the highest ambition of both." + +"Then you shall present them those gifts. But I mean something +substantial. What do you think of a thousand pounds as a dowry for his +daughter, and a thousand to be spent in improvements on the farm?" + +"I think you are very fortunate to have thousands to spare; and I think +also that it is very charming of you to give them so much," she replied. + +Lord Linleigh looked wistfully at her. + +"Money could never repay such a benefit as Mark Brace and his wife have +conferred upon me, Doris," he said. "I am an aristocrat, it is true; but +I shall be more proud of reckoning that honest farmer among my friends +than I should of calling a king brother." + +"That is a very grand sentiment, papa," laughed Doris. "It is almost +worth printing in a book. I must confess I would rather have a king for +my brother than any man for a friend. I think Mark will be delighted +with the steam-plow. After all, what you are pleased to call the benefit +they conferred on you was not without its reward. Mark Brace was very +fond of me--he always said I made the sunshine of Brackenside." + +The earl looked amused at this fashion of making matters straight; but +before they went away, he gladdened the hearts of the farmer and his +wife. + +"A thousand pounds!" said Mark, looking in the most bewildered fashion +at the check he held in his hand--"a thousand pounds, my lord, to spend +as I like! It is impossible--it cannot be true. I must not take it--I +have done nothing to deserve it." + +But Lord Linleigh greeted his scruples with: + +"You have done for me and my daughter that which few would have done so +well," he said. + +"I did my duty, my lord--no less, no more; and a thousand pounds for +doing my duty is an enormous reward." + +But his surprise was redoubled when, added to this, the earl insisted +that he should take a thousand pounds for Mattie's dowry, and would not +hear of any refusal. Then, indeed, the tears stood, warm and bright, in +Mark's eyes, and Mrs. Brace wept like a child. "A dowry for +Mattie!"--the brightest hope, the maddest dream they had ever +entertained. Mattie to have a fortune! Not that it would make her a +wealthy heiress, but it would at least secure her from all want. Let +them die now, whensoever Heaven pleased--their daughter would never +want. + +Lord Linleigh could never forget the thanks that were lavished on +him--the gratitude, the warmth of emotion. + +"And now," said the earl, "there is one thing more that I wish you to do +for me. It relates to my daughter's engagement with Earle Moray." + +Mark looked at him with anxious eyes. + +"We have been speaking of that, my lord--my wife and I. It may not +perhaps seem much of a match for her, now that she is my lady; but if +you were to search the wide world over, you would never find any one who +loved her so dearly as Earle--no one so honest, so good and true. It +will be but a poor chance for her, my lord, if she finds a fortune and +loses Earle." + +"So I believe," said the earl. "It is about that I wish to speak to you. +You will see Earle on your return; tell him from me that the change in +my daughter's position need make none in her engagement to him; tell +him, from me, that as far as my consent can ratify and approve it, I +most freely give that consent. Tell him also that I will do my best to +push his fortune." + +Mrs. Brace looked at him with grateful approval. + +"My lord," she said, in her simple fashion, "they speak truthfully when +they call you a noble man." + +Lady Doris, proud of her name, her fortune, her position, did not feel +quite so pleased when she heard this. It had been all very well when she +was Doris Brace--it had been all very well in Florence, when Earle had +become tiresome, she had been compelled to repeat her promise of +marriage, and pledge herself to him over and over again; but there had +been a faint hope in her mind that when she was once with her father, +under the shelter of his roof, he would never allow her to fulfill the +engagement. She never dreamed that he would chivalrously exact its +fulfillment. Still, she was wise enough to be silent, and not say what +was in her mind. She had learned that great lesson women so often fail +in--when to be silent and when to speak. + +When they were once more alone, Mrs. Brace expressed her great sense of +the earl's kindness and real goodness. She thought it so noble of him +that he should wish the engagement to continue. + +"It would break Earle's heart to lose you," she said. "When you went +away--abroad, I mean--I thought he would have died." + +Lady Doris raised her head with the lofty air natural to her. + +"You do not understand," she said. "The earl could not break his word, +or persuade another person to break a promise. _Noblesse oblige!_" + +"Ah, my dear," said the kindly woman, "you are far ahead of me--I never +did quite understand you--you are clever and learned; you have speech of +your own that I cannot follow: but however great or grand you may be, +you will never find any one to love you so truly as Earle does." + +"I am sure of that," she replied, then turned hastily away. She was +growing tired of hearing of nothing but Earle. Surely they were all in a +conspiracy, all plotting for Earle. Yet, despite her impatience, she +owned to herself that all the love she had to give away was given to +him. + + + + +CHAPTER LII. + +"BE KIND TO HER, AS THOUGH YOU WERE HER OWN CHILD." + + +The atmosphere seemed clearer to Lady Doris Studleigh when the kindly +farmer and his wife were gone; she wanted nothing to remind her of what +she chose to call that miserable period of her life. She was always +vexed that the earl had spoken so frankly of them as her foster-parents. +There was no need, surely, for all the house to know that she had been +brought up at a farm. She would have been surprised if she could have +known the amount of respect that the servants, one and all, felt for +Mark Brace. No person could know him without feeling for him the +greatest possible liking; his honesty, the simple, rugged grandeur of +his character, attracted all. She, who measured men by the length of +their pedigree and purses, was quite unable, even in her own mind, to do +justice to Mark Brace. He might be as chivalrous as Bayard, self-denying +as Sir Philip Sydney, brave as the Black Prince, but, for all that, he +was only a farmer. Therefore it was a relief to her when he was gone. +She felt more at ease in her father's house when they were gone. + +When Lord Linleigh, after seeing them off from the station, had returned +to the Court, he sent for his daughter to the library. + +"Now, my darling," he said, "it is quite time we had a little serious +talk together. How strange it seems to me to have a grown-up daughter +like you. Sit down; I have so much to say to you. To begin with, do you +find yourself at home?" + +"I have never felt more at home in my life," she replied, calmly; "and I +think it is because I am in my right place at last." + +"Most probably so. Now, Doris, there are several things that you want, +and must have at once--a Parisian waiting-maid, and a wardrobe suited to +your position. Do you ride?" + +"Yes; it is one of my favorite amusements." + +"That is right; you must have a horse and groom; there will be a +carriage also at your disposal. But over your wardrobe we must have some +advice. You will require everything, just as though you were being +married." + +"That is certain," she replied, with a quiet smile; "but I do not think +I shall need advice. I am quite competent myself to select what I want." + +"But, my dear child, how can you be?" + +"You forget that I went out as governess, and so had the opportunity of +studying those things. Trust me and see. I shall go at once to Madame +Francois, the head court milliner, and you will be satisfied, I am sure, +with the result." + +"I shall be delighted, I am sure, if that be the case," said the earl. +"Then you will want jewels. Studleigh jewels are very fine ones--I +suppose we have the finest jewels in the world." + +"Why will they not do for me, then?" she asked. + +"Because they must go to my wife. The family jewels are always the +property of the reigning Countess of Linleigh." + +"But, papa, there is no reigning Countess of Linleigh," she said, with a +little laugh. + +"No, my dear--not just at present; but I hope that there soon will be." + +His face flushed slightly, and he looked confused for a few moments. +Then he said: + +"That is another of the things I want to speak to you about. I ought, +perhaps, to tell you that I think of marrying again." + +There was a few minutes of dead silence. She did not quite like it; it +was not what she had expected. She had anticipated being mistress of +Linleigh Court. The earl continued: + +"It will be much happier for me, Doris, and decidedly better for you. +You labor under great disadvantages at present, although I acknowledge +your beauty, your grace, and your tact to be perfect; still, you +require, before you make your _debut_ in the great world, to spend some +little time in the society of a well-trained woman of the world." + +She was quick enough to know that this was perfectly true. + +"You are right, papa," she said, and the admission pleased him. + +"It will also be greatly to your advantage, Doris," he continued. "When +you make your _debut_ in the great world, you will find the +_chaperonage_ of a lady essential to you. Still, my child, although +there are many advantages for you, do not let me mislead you. It is not +for your sake I am going to marry; it is for my own, because I really +love the lady who will soon, I hope, be Countess of Linleigh." + +She made a violent effort to conquer herself. There was nothing to be +gained, she knew, by opposition--everything by cheerful acquiescence. +She went to him and clasped her arms around his neck, and kissed his +face. + +"I hope you will be happy, papa," she said--"I hope you will be very +happy." + +"Thank you," he replied, cheerfully; "I do not doubt it, darling. I +think we shall all be happy together. Guess, Doris, who it is that I +hope soon to bring here." + +"I can't guess, papa. I do not know the ladies of your world." + +"You know this one," he said, laughingly, while she, half-frightened, +said: + +"How can I?" + +"You have been to Downsbury Castle, have you not?" + +A sudden light came over her face, then she laughed. + +"Can it be Lady Estelle Hereford?" she cried. "Oh, papa, you will never +forgive me for calling her tame." + +"I have forgiven you. Do you not think you will be very happy with her?" + +"I am sure I shall like her very much; she is so fair, so well-bred, so +gentle. How little I dreamed, papa, on that day I was sitting so near to +her, that she would be my step-mother--that I should ever live with her. +I am so glad!" + +She did not understand why his face quivered, as with pain. He drew the +bright golden head down to his breast. + +"My darling," he said, gently, "you shall have all the love, the care, +the affection that a father can show his child--you shall have +everything your heart desires and wishes for, if you will do one thing +in return." + +"I will do anything in return," she said. + +And for once there was something like deep feeling in her voice. + +"I want you to be kind to this wife of mine, Doris. She is not very +strong: she has been petted and spoiled all her life. Be kind to her as +though--as though you were her own child, or her own younger sister. +Will you, Doris? Promise me that, and you will give me the greatest +happiness that it is in your power to confer upon me." + +"I do promise," cried Doris. "I cannot say that I will love her as my +mother, but I will be everything that is gentle and obedient." + +"Thank you, my darling! Only do that, and you will see what return I +will make to you. There is another thing, Doris, I wish to speak to you +about. You heard and agreed with what I said to Mrs. Brace, that I wish +your lover, Earle Moray, to understand that I shall consider the +engagement between you as binding as though you had always remained at +the farm." + +"You are very kind, papa," she said; but this time there was no ring of +truth and tenderness in her voice. + +"It is but just, Doris. I shall make his advancement in the world my +chief study. Money can be no object in your marriage--you will in all +probability have a large fortune--still I should like the man you marry +to hold some position in the world. From what you tell me of Earle +Moray, I should imagine that he is a man of great talent. If so, there +can be little difficulty." + +"He has something more than talent," said Doris, proudly; "he has +genius." + +"My dear child, you will know, when you are as old as I am, that talent +and industry are worth any amount of genius." + +"I am sure that he has industry, papa," she said. + +"Then, if he has industry and genius, his fortune is sure," said the +earl. "As soon as we have a Countess of Linleigh to do the honors, we +must ask Earle Moray to come and see us." + +Of all things, that was what she desired most, that he should see her in +her true place, surrounded by all the luxury and magnificence that +belonged to her station. It was the strongest wish of her heart. + +"Can we not ask him before then, papa?" + +"No; there, you see, Doris, the laws of etiquette and ceremony step in. +Until you have some lady to _chaperone_ you, we cannot receive any young +gentlemen visitors. That will be one convenience of a step-mother." + +"Yes," she replied: "but the traditional step-mother generally +interferes in the love affairs of the household. However, I feel quite +sure Lady Estelle will never interfere with mine." + +"The Duke of Downsbury goes to Paris this week," continued the earl, +"with the duchess and Lady Estelle. I thought of following them." + +"That will be very nice for you, papa," she said. + +"It is really some comfort to have a daughter whom one can consult about +such matters. I want to marry as soon as I can; but marrying a duke's +daughter in England is a tremendous undertaking, Doris. The amount of +ceremony and form to be gone through with is something dreadful. I +should not mind about that; but, you see, the great embarrassment is +this--the duke is very particular, and he would naturally think it too +soon after the late earl's death for me to make any great public +sensation--that is the difficulty." + +"Yes, that is a difficulty," said Doris. + +"All that would be obviated entirely if I went to Paris, and could +obtain their consent to a quiet ceremony at the embassy, or something of +that kind." + +"It would be a very wise course, papa." + +"So I think, my dear, and I shall start for Paris next week. I may be a +month absent. Now comes the great difficulty of all, Doris--what is to +be done with you?" + +"I can remain here," she said. + +"Not alone, my dear, not alone--it would not do. I thought if I were to +ask that nice daughter of Mark Brace's she would stay with you; then I +should feel quite at my ease." + +"I should be much pleased," said Doris. + +It would indeed be a triumph to show Mattie, upon whom she had always +looked down, the difference that really existed between them. + +"Then all our difficulties are silenced," said the earl. "I have often +heard people say how difficult their daughters are to manage; but if +they are like you, Doris, there cannot be such great difficulty." + +She laughed, wondering to herself if he would say the same in a year's +time. + +"You understand, Doris, that it will not do for you to go into society +at all just yet. You must neither receive or pay visits. No young lady +does anything of that kind until she has been presented at court." + +"When does my presentation take place, papa?" + +"If all goes well, I think next May. Lady Estelle or the duchess will +present you; then you may consider yourself fairly afloat--until then, +solitude. You can spend the intermediate time in the acquisition of all +kinds of little accomplishments; not that you are deficient, for you are +a perfect wonder to me. The next thing to be done, Doris, is that you +must choose a suit of rooms for yourself. I give you permission to +choose which you will; and when we go to London, you shall go to Mantall +& Briard's, the famous decorators and house-furnishers, and choose +anything you like. It will amuse you during my absence to superintend +the fitting-up of four rooms--it will give me a fair idea of your +taste." + +They went together through Linleigh Court. Until then Doris had no just +idea of the immense extent of the place--she was amazed at it. And the +rooms were all so light, so sunny, so bright, she was quite at a loss +which to choose. One suit delighted her very much--four large, lofty +rooms, with ceilings superbly painted, looking south, so that the warmth +and brightness of the sun was always on them. The windows were built +after the French fashion--long, reaching from the floor to the ceiling, +and opening on to balconies filled with flowers. The great charm to +Doris of these rooms was, that the boudoir opened on to a balcony, and a +small flight of steps led from the balcony to the ground, so that she +could go from her own rooms to the gardens without passing through the +house. + +"That is very nice," said the earl, "for young ladies who love the early +dew and the flowers. Do you think it safe, Doris? Suppose you forgot to +fasten the door leading on to the balcony?" + +It was an evil fate that led Lady Doris to choose that suit of rooms. + + + + +CHAPTER LIII. + +A YOUNG LADY PLEASANTLY OCCUPIED. + + +A few days afterward the Earl of Linleigh, with his daughter, went to +London. He had decided not to go to his own house, which was one of the +most beautiful mansions in Hyde Park--Hyde House. They were going simply +on business, and would spend the greater part of their time driving from +one store to another. The first visit, of course, was to Madame +Francoise, to whom the earl explained that his daughter required, in one +word, everything needful for a young lady of rank and position. + +"It will take many hours, Doris," said the earl; "such things cannot be +hurried. I can leave you here while I drive on to my lawyer's, to +transact some business with him. Remember, my darling, you have _carte +blanche_--every whim to be gratified." + +Then he drove away, leaving her with Madame Francoise. How forcibly it +recalled to her the time when Lord Vivianne had done the self-same +thing. + +"Truly," she laughed to herself, "history repeats itself. How little +then did I foresee this." + +So little that if even in a dream she could have been warned of it, she +would never have spoken to Lord Vivianne. + +"Never mind," she said to herself, with the light-hearted _insouciance_ +of her race. "Never mind, no one knows--nothing will come of it; but it +would certainly be a relief to me to hear that Lord Charles Vivianne was +dead." + +The pity of it was that Lord Charles could not hear the remark; it would +have given him a lesson that he would not have forgotten. + +Madame wondered what had brought so grave an air of preoccupation over +the beautiful young face. Surely, if any human being was to be envied, +it was the young girl who had _carte blanche_ in her elegant +establishment. + +"She must know what she is about, though," thought madame. "Dreaming is +useless here." + +She little knew Lady Doris. Going up to her with a book of patterns in +her hand, she was almost startled by the clear, keen gaze that met her +own--by the perfect judgment and cool, clear, calm sense of the earl's +daughter. + +"There will be some few things, madame," said the clear, haughty voice, +"that you will understand far better than I do, others in which I shall +prefer to please myself." + +And madame found that Lady Studleigh had a taste and artistic sense of +what is beautiful far superior to her own. The next few hours were +delightful to Doris. The rarest and most costly laces, the most +beautiful embroidery, the finest silk, the richest velvet--there never +were such purchases made. She did not limit herself either as to quality +or quantity, and nothing was forgotten--tiny slippers fit for +Cinderella, dancing shoes, fans, gloves. She might have been a practiced +old dowager, selecting a _trousseau_ for her youngest daughter. The sum +total was something enormous. Even madame, accustomed as she was to +large accounts, looked slightly frightened. + +"My Lord Linleigh placed no limit," she said to Doris. + +"No, I must have all I require; I shall not return to town until the +season begins," was the perfectly self-possessed reply. + +Then Lord Linleigh returned, and madame watched his face intently as +that wonderful account was placed before him. + +"It takes four figures," he said, with a smile; "that is quite right, my +darling. I hope that you have everything you want. To-morrow we will pay +a visit to Storr & Mortimer's, the jewelers. These packages, madame, are +all to be sent to Linleigh Court." + +Doris was in the highest spirits. She said to herself--and it was +probably true--that no girl in England, not even a royal princess, had +such a _trousseau_; but she had too much good taste to show any undue +elation over it. When they had dined she said to her father: + +"Papa, you will not care to spend the evening here; it will be dull for +you, and I cannot go out. Should you not like to go to your club?" + +"Yes; but what of you, my dear?" + +"I am tired, and shall be very glad to take a book and go to my own room +with it." + +"My dear Doris," said the earl, who had slightly dreaded the long, +lonely evening, "you are a most sensible girl. If you treat Earle as you +treat me, he ought to be the happiest husband in the world." + +"I hope he will be, papa," was the quiet reply. And she wondered what +her father, the Earl of Linleigh, would say if he knew from whom she had +taken her early lessons in the art of managing men. + +"If you want a man to be really fond of you, Doris," he used to say, "to +feel at home with you, and never to be bored in your society, let him +have his own way--offer him his liberty, even when he does not seem +inclined to take it; suggest to him a game at billiards, a few hours at +his club--you have no idea how he will appreciate you for it." + +She had found the charm work perfectly in the case of Lord Charles, and +now her father, too, seemed to admire the plan. What would he say if he +knew who had instructed her? + +She went to her room. Lady Doris never traveled without a pleasant +little selection of light French literature--"it prevented her from +forgetting the language," she said. + +The earl, inwardly hoping his wife would be as sensible as his daughter, +went off to spend a quiet evening at his club. + +The day following was one of genuine delight to Lady Doris. The first +visit the earl paid was to the establishment of Messrs. Storr & +Mortimer; there she was to select for herself what jewels she would. She +had glanced once wistfully at the earl. + +"Jewels are not like dress, papa. It is a dangerous thing to leave me +unlimited powers here." + +"Lady Doris Studleigh must have jewels fitting her position," he said. +"Dress wears out, but jewels last forever." + +So Lady Doris stood in that most tempting place, almost bewildered, +while sets of pearls, of diamonds, of rare emeralds, of pale pink coral, +then case after case of superb rings, were placed before her. She +thought of those so securely packed in her box, and wondered what would +be thought if their history could be known. + +She chose some magnificent pearls; there were none fairer, even in that +place where the finest stones abound. Then she chose a set of emerald, +golden-green in their beautiful light; a set of pearls and rubies mixed; +rings until she had more than enough to cover the fingers of both hands; +golden chains of rare workmanship and beauty; watches of great value; +and when she could think of nothing else she could desire, she looked up +in the earl's face with a smile. + +"That is not bad, my dear, for a beginning," he said, laughingly--"not +bad at all." + +"You do not think I have purchased too much, papa?" + +"No, my dear, you have not enough yet. I merely said it was very well +for a beginning." + +What the amount of the bill was, or how many figures it took, she never +knew. The earl had said good-naturedly to himself that it did not +matter--he had many thousands to spare. + +"There is yet another place," he said; "we must go to Parkins & Gotto's. +You require many things from there. You must have a dressing-case, a +lady's writing-table, and all kinds of knickknacks for your rooms." + +The day following was spent at Mantall & Briard's, where Lady Doris gave +such orders for the fitting up of her four rooms as made even those +gentlemen open their eyes in undisguised wonder. Nothing was spared--no +luxury, no comfort; and that evening, when they sat together, Lady Doris +said to her father: + +"I wonder if, in all the wide world, there is another girl in my +position." + +"What position?" he asked. + +"Why, it is a positive fact that I have not one single wish left +ungratified. If a fairy were to come and ask me to try and find one out, +I could not--I have not one." + +He stooped down to kiss the beautiful face. + +"I am glad to hear it," he replied. "I certainly do not think any one +else could say quite as much. I could not." + +It was not of herself alone that Doris had thought that day. She had +been with the earl to give orders respecting the steam-plow; she had +chosen such a dress, such a shawl and cap for Mrs. Brace, that she knew +would bring tears of delight into that lady's eyes; she had chosen a box +full of millinery, with pretty ornaments, for Mattie; she had chosen for +Earle a box full of books such as she had often heard him long for. And +Lord Linleigh, while he admired her goodness of heart, her affectionate +memory, never for one moment thought that her quick study of him had led +her to do these different things. She longed for the hour in which she +should return to Linleigh; she wanted to see all the magnificent +purchases she had made placed at her own disposal. The Parisian +waiting-maid was found and one bright, clear, frosty morning they +returned to the Court. + +"It looks like home," said Lady Doris. Her heart warmed to it, and beat +faster with a thrill of pride. It was her own home, from which nothing +could dislodge her! + +She had had one fright in London; and though her nerves were strong, her +courage high, it had been a fright. + +She was driving with the earl through New Bond Street, when on the +pavement she saw Gregory Leslie. There was no avoiding him--their eyes +met. His were filled with recognition and surprise--hers rested on him +with calm nonchalance, although her heart beat high. Then he smiled, +bowed, and half stood still; but the calm expression of her face never +wavered. + +"Is it some one who knows you?" asked the earl. + +"It is some one who has made a great mistake," she replied. + +And then they passed out of sight--not, however, before Gregory Leslie +had seen the coronet on the panel. + +"What a mistake I have made," he said to himself. "I certainly thought +that was my beautiful 'Innocence.' How like her! It cannot be such an +uncommon type of face, after all, when there are three now that +different people have seen--all so much alike. What would my 'Innocent' +do in an earl's carriage?--that is, if all be well with her; and Earle +said all was well." + +She would not recognize him, for the simple reason that she feared to do +so. He was a man of the world, always in London, familiar with all the +little rumors at the clubs, and she dreaded what he might say afterward. +If by chance she should meet him when she was with the earl and +countess, she would recognize him, but not just then. + +"It was an unfortunate thing for me," she said to herself, "having that +picture painted. If I had known then what I know now, it never would +have happened. Mark Brace and his wife were foolish to allow it." + +But she had forgotten the whole matter when they reached Linleigh Court. +All the packages were there, and she was as happy as a queen +superintending the arrangements, the unpacking, the stowing away in +beautiful old wardrobes made of cedar. + +Even the Parisian waiting-maid, who rejoiced in the name of Eugenie, +owned to herself that not one of the great ladies with whom she had +lived had a wardrobe like Lady Doris Studleigh's! + +Then came the day for the earl's departure--he would not go until Mattie +had arrived. + +"You cannot be left alone, my dear," he said, so decidedly that Doris +had not dared to urge the matter. + +Mattie came, and was delighted. She cried a little at first, for, +despite all her faults, she had most dearly loved the young girl she +believed to be her sister. The story of Doris had been a great trouble +to her, and she had felt it bitterly; but after a time she forgot her +grief in the wonder excited by the magnificence of Linleigh Court. Lady +Doris was very kind to her; nothing of patronage or triumph was to be +detected in her manner. + +The first time they were left alone together in what was to Mattie the +bewildering glories of the drawing-room, the brown eyes were raised +timidly to the fair face. + +"Doris," said Mattie, "who could have believed that you were such a +great lady after all?" + +"I had faith in myself, my dear," was the superb reply, "and that is a +great thing!" + + + + +CHAPTER LIV. + +"I MUST BEAR IT FOR HIS SAKE." + + +The great world did own itself to be surprised--not angry, nor shocked, +nor even vexed or offended, but surprised. It had not taken newspaper +rumors for gospel truth. It had prided itself on superior knowledge, and +had seen nothing of the kind; but this fine spring morning it was taken +by surprise. + +The fashionable morning papers all told the same startling story--the +Earl of Linleigh was married, and married to Lady Estelle Hereford, the +Duke of Downsbury's only daughter. They had defrauded the fashionable +world of a grand spectacle. The marriage of a duke's daughter with an +earl would naturally have been a grand sight--such a grand duke, too, as +his Grace of Downsbury. Then private rumor came to the rescue, and told +how it would have been impossible for the marriage to have been +celebrated with any degree of ceremony in England, owing to the fact +that the late earl had not so very long been dead. Rumor added also, +how, long years ago, when he was a penniless captain, Lord Linleigh had +been hopelessly attached to the duke's fair, proud daughter, and how, on +his accession to the estates, he had instantly renewed his suit; how he +had followed them to Paris, would take no nay, and had married Lady +Estelle in spite of all obstacles. There was one singular omission, +though it was not of the least consequence--none of the papers said +where the marriage had been performed, or by whom. Those who noticed the +omission thought it would be supplied next day, then forgot all about +it. + +The earl had been absent six weeks, and Lady Doris had spent them very +comfortably, with the help of Mattie. There was nothing in Mattie to be +ashamed of. True, she was only a farmer's daughter; but for all that she +was a well-bred girl. Her politeness and natural grace of manner came +from that best and sweetest of all sources, a good heart. She might be +deficient in some little matters of etiquette, but she was always true, +sincere, kind and good. Not even in outward appearance could the +fastidious Lady Doris find the least fault with her foster-sister, while +her thoughtful consideration made her liked and esteemed by every one in +the house. Indeed, there were some who compared the two unfavorably, and +wished that the haughty Lady Doris had some of her foster-sister's +gentleness. + +The suit of rooms were finished, and Doris had taken possession of them +before the earl returned. + +The fair spring was coming; already the cuckoo had been heard in the +woods; the first sweet odors of spring seemed to fill the air; the green +buds were on the hedges--such a fair, sweet, odorous spring. It seemed +to have touched the heart of Earle, the poet, and have turned his poetry +into words of fire. He wrote such letters to Lady Doris that, if it had +been in the power of words to have touched her heart, his would have +done so; but it was not; and one morning, when the sun was shining more +brightly than usual, when the first faint song of the birds was heard, +Lady Doris received a letter to say that day the earl and countess would +be at home. + +The earl gave many directions how his beautiful and stately wife was to +be received; how the Anderley church bells were to ring, the servants be +ready; how a grand dinner was to be prepared an hour later than usual, +so as to make allowance for any little delay in traveling. + +"I trust everything to you, Doris," said the earl, "and I know that I +may safely do so; you will keep your promise." + +He trusted well. Her energy and quickness were not to be surpassed. +Every arrangement was made, every trifling detail attended to, and the +astonished servants, looking at each other in wonder, owned that their +young lady was a "regular locomotive" when she liked. Great fires were +burning in the dressing-rooms, the bedrooms--every place where she +thought a fire would be pleasant. + +"The Countess of Linleigh shall have the three things that I like best +to welcome her home," she said, laughingly. + +"What are those?" asked Mattie. + +"Warmth, light, and flowers. Those are three grand luxuries, Mattie, and +if people either appreciated them better, or cared more about them, the +world would be a much more comfortable dwelling-place than it is now." + +Lady Doris took especial pains over her own toilet that evening. The +Countess of Linleigh was a duke's daughter, and her good opinion was +worth having. She wished to impress her favorably, and she knew that she +must choose the happy medium. She must not be too plain--that would seem +like rusticity: nor too magnificent--that would be ostentation. + +"I wish now," she said to herself, "that I had never gone near Downsbury +Castle: it was one of the most unfortunate things I ever did in my life. +I wonder what she thought of me that day?" + +She did look exceedingly beautiful when she was dressed. She had chosen +a costume of pale lilac silk, with golden ornaments. The silk was shaded +by fine white lace--nothing could have suited her better. The ripples of +golden hair were drawn loosely together, and fastened with a diamond +arrow; the lovely face, with its dainty flush and bright, deep eyes; the +lovely mouth, so like the soft petals of a rose; the white, graceful +neck, the polished, pearly shoulders, the rounded arms--all made up a +picture not often seen. Mattie looked at her in honest amaze. + +"You are very beautiful; you dazzle my eyes, dear," she said. "What +shall you do with your beauty, Doris?" + +"Enjoy it," was the laughing reply. + +But Mattie looked grave. + +"It seems to me," she said, "that beauty such as yours is full of +peril." + +"I do not see it," was the laughing answer. "Now, Mattie, it is time we +went to the drawing-room; in one half hour from this my lord and my lady +will be at home." + + * * * * * + +Faster and faster they seemed to drive; and with every minute that +brought them nearer, Lady Linleigh grew paler. + +"It is an ordeal, Ulric," she said, in her clear, sweet voice; "it seems +to me that all I have gone through is as nothing compared to this. It +was very hard of papa--very hard." + +"He meant it for the best, Estelle, and we must bear it, love; it might +have been much worse." + +"Yes; but to hear her speak, to be with her every moment of the day, yet +never once to call her child, or hear her say 'mother'--it will be very +hard, Ulric--you do not know how hard." + +"I can guess, my dear; but why dwell on this, the darkest side? Think of +the happiness in store! Your father and mother both friends with us, +having quite forgiven us, and, I venture to think, growing quite fond of +me; they will come to see us, and we shall visit them; and you will +always have Doris with you. Think of all those things!" + +"Do you think I shall betray myself, Ulric?" she asked, simply. + +"No, my wife, I do not. You kept your secret when you saw her at +Downsbury Castle, and you will keep it now. As for loving her, indulging +her, saying all kind and gentle words to her, that will be quite natural +in your position. Try to be happy, my darling wife; there are happy days +in store for us." + +"I will try," she said. + +At that moment they heard the chiming bells of Anderley Church, filling +the air with rich, jubilant music. + +"Listen, Estelle," said Lord Linleigh; "that is our welcome home." + +Listening to the joyous bells, watching the last golden gleam die out in +the western sky, no dream of tragedy to come disturbed them. + +"Home at last," said the earl, as the carriage stopped. "I really think, +Estelle, I am the happiest man in the world." + +He looked wistfully at his wife's face--it was white as death. + +"My darling," he whispered, as he led her into the house, "for my sake +try to cheer up. Do not sadden the happiest hour of my life." + +She made a violent effort to arouse herself. She returned with her usual +high and gentle courtesy the greetings of the domestics, and walked with +graceful steps to the library; then she hardly knew what took place. She +saw a face and a figure before her lovelier than the loveliest dream of +an artist. She saw two white arms around her husband's neck, while a +voice that made her heart thrill said: + +"Welcome home, dear papa--welcome home!" + +"I must bear it," she thought, "for his sake." + +Then the beautiful face was looking in her own. + +Oh, Heaven! that she should bear such pain, such joy, yet live. + +A soft voice said: + +"Welcome home, dear Lady Linleigh. I hope you will let me love you very +much." + +She felt as though she held her heart in her own hands when she kissed +the white brow, saying: + +"I am sure to love you very much." + +The earl, who was watching her closely, saw that she had just as much as +she could bear--it was time to interfere; so he took Mattie by the hand +and led her to the countess. He introduced her in a few kindly words, +and then Lady Linleigh replied: + +"I remember you, my dear, though you have probably forgotten me. I saw +you when you were quite a little child." + +"I do remember you," said Mattie, gratefully. + +Then Lord Linleigh interfered again. + +"Estelle," he said, "we are just ten minutes behind our time. You would +like to change your traveling dress." + +She looked at him like one roused from a dream, hardly seeming at first +to understand him; then she walked slowly from the room. Lord Linleigh +followed her, leaving the two girls alone. + +"I think she will like me," said Lady Doris, "and it will be really a +boon to me to have such a graceful, high-bred lady in the house. I shall +study her, imitate her. Now, Mattie, does she not, as I said before, +seem to move to the hidden rhythm of some sweet music?" + +"Yes, she gives me exactly that impression. But how pale she is, Doris, +and her hands trembled. She looked as though she was going to faint." + +"She is not strong--papa told me so--and traveling has perhaps tired +her. Do you think she will like me, Mattie?" + +The tone of voice was very anxious. Mattie looked up quickly. + +"You will say I am full of foolish fancies, Doris, but do you know I +could not help thinking that she loved you; she looked as though she +did. Her eyes had quite a strange light in them as they rested on your +face, and the expression on hers was wonderful." + +"That is certainly all fancy," replied Doris. "I have only seen her +twice in my life; it is not possible she can love me. Perhaps she +thought I was not so bad-looking--she admires beauty in everything, I +know; she told me so herself. She married papa, I suppose, for his +handsome face." + +"Hush!" cried Mattie, "you must not say such things--it is wrong." + +She could say no more; the earl and countess returned, and the +dinner-bell rang. During dinner it seemed to Mattie that, so far from +being mistaken, she was quite right--the countess certainly loved Doris; +her voice took quite another tone when she addressed her. She fancied +the earl noticed it too, and was pleased. + +When Mattie was near, and Lady Linleigh was arranging some presents she +had brought home for the girls, he said. + +"The countess will be quite happy now; she is so fond of young girls, +and she has two to spoil." + +"I don't think I shall spoil either of them," said his wife, with a +happy light in her eyes; "they are both too good to be spoiled." + + + + +CHAPTER LV. + +"MY QUEEN ROSE OF THE ROSEBUDS." + + +The Countess of Linleigh sat anxiously watching the fair face of Lady +Doris. All was going on well at Linleigh. The gentle, stately countess +was already half worshiped there. The earl considered himself the +happiest of men. One conversation had both pleased and touched Lady +Linleigh. When she had been at home some days she fancied Mattie looked +grave and almost sad. She had been thinking seriously about the +girl--whether it was advisable to ask her to remain with Lady Doris as +friend and companion, or whether it would be better to permit her to +return to Brackenside. The earl had spoken of their going to London in +May, if they did so, could Mattie go with them? Would it not be rather +cruel than kind to give her notions, or accustom her to a life which it +would be impossible for her to lead? + +The countess saw Mattie walking one morning in the early spring alone, +with a most thoughtful look on her face, and she went to her. + +"I have been looking for early violets," said Mattie, glancing with a +smile at Lady Linleigh, "in that pretty little dell--Thorny Dell, Doris +calls it. The air is filled with their fragrance, yet I cannot see them. +At Brackenside, at this time, the woods are full of them." + +The countess laughed. + +"There is no place like Brackenside, is there, Mattie?" + +"No," replied the girl, earnestly, "none--at least it seems so to me, +because I love my home so very dearly." + +Then Lady Linleigh placed her hand caressingly on the girl's shoulder. + +"Mattie," she said, gently, "you were looking very sad and thoughtful a +few minutes since. What were you thinking of?" + +"Home--and Earle," was the frank reply. + +Lady Linleigh was half startled. + +"What about Earle?" she asked. + +The brown eyes were raised wistfully to hers. + +"Earle will be so unhappy, Lady Linleigh, without Doris. No one +knows--no one can imagine how he loves her. I cannot think what his life +is without her." + +"But he will not be without her long," said the countess. "Did you not +know that he was coming here in February?" + +She saw a rose-colored flush underneath the brown skin; she saw a +sudden warm light in the brown eye; and without a word, almost by +instinct, the Countess of Linleigh guessed the girl's secret, and how +dearly she loved Earle. + +"Coming here!" repeated Mattie. "I am so glad!" + +"So am I," added Lady Linleigh. "I have the highest opinion of your +friend Earle." + +She did not know how grateful those words were to the girl, who never +heard Earle spoken of save as Doris' own peculiar property. "Her +friend!" She could have blessed Lady Linleigh for it. The words seemed +to have made that sweet spring sunshine brighter in some strange, vague +way--the odor of the hidden violets and the sound of Earle's voice +seemed to harmonize. + +"And you yourself, Mattie," said the countess, more touched than she +cared to own by that unconscious revelation--"would you be happier to +remain here, or to go home? You shall decide for yourself, and do which +you will." + +"My place is home," was the simple reply. "I have seen my dear Doris +happy. I shall always be able to picture to myself what her manner of +life is like. I shall know that Earle is content, being with her; so +that it seems to me now my place and my duty alike are at home." + +"I think you are right, dear child," said the countess. + +She had read the girl's secret rightly, and knew that, from +henceforward, for Mattie Brace, there would be but one consolation, and +that she would find in doing her duty. + +"You would like, perhaps," she added, "to wait and welcome Earle?" + +But Mattie remembered how many things he would require, what +preparations would be necessary for a visit to Linleigh Court; and she +divined, with the rapidity of thought natural to her, that she must go +home and help Earle. Lady Linleigh was infinitely touched by the young +girl's simplicity, her loving heart, her complete sacrifice. Even the +earl wondered how it was that his wife showed such sincere affection for +Mattie. + +Mattie went away, and on this morning, some few days after her +departure, Lady Linleigh sat anxiously watching the face of the +beautiful Doris. Had she any heart, or was she a true Studleigh? The +countess had been thinking of her all the morning, for at breakfast-time +the earl, with a smile of happiness, had given her a letter, saying: + +"This is from Earle; how he loves Doris. He is coming to-day." + +Lady Linleigh's thoughts had flown back to the time when she sat with +Doris in the conservatory at the Castle, and had argued so strongly with +her on the point of love. She was disappointed, for the beautiful face +did not brighten, no warmth came into the lovely eyes, when she heard +the announcement of her lover's coming. + +"Coming to-day, is he, papa?" + +And Lady Linleigh, quick to judge, felt a sure conviction that the tie +which bound Lady Doris to Earle Moray, gentleman and poet, was +burdensome to her. + +"Perhaps she is ambitious," thought the countess; "it may be that with +her wealth and title she thinks a marriage with Earle beneath her." +Again she felt somewhat reassured when she saw that Lady Doris took some +pains to please her lover. He was to reach Linleigh in the evening. + +When the dressing-bell rung, Lady Estelle hastened her toilet, in order +that she might do what she was very fond of doing--spend a short time in +Lady Doris' dressing-room. She loved to see the shining ripples of +golden hair loose and unbound, she liked to watch the glorious face, and +to see the graceful figure arrayed in dress of fitting splendor. + +There were times when Lady Doris herself wondered at the great +tenderness of the duke's daughter. + +"As fate ordained me a step-mother," she would say to herself with a +smile, "I cannot be sufficiently thankful that she likes me so well." + +On this evening Lady Linleigh started with surprise. Accustomed as she +was to the girl's beauty, it had never seemed to her so striking or so +graceful. Lady Doris had indeed arrayed herself so as to charm the eyes +of her lover. + +A little cry of admiration came from Lady Estelle; it escaped her +without her knowledge. + +Lady Doris looked round with a blush and a smile, and nodded her +graceful head. + +"I am being poetical, Lady Linleigh," she said, laughingly. "Earle is a +poet, and I am dressing in character, as a poet's bride, you see." + +There was the least possible suspicion of mockery in her words and +laughter, but looking at her, the countess could find no fault. The +tall, graceful figure seemed to rise from clouds of rich white lace; the +white, rounded arms were bare to the shoulder; the graceful neck was +clasped by neither diamond nor pearl; on the white breast a diamond +glittered like flame; the golden hair, with its shining waves, was +beautifully arranged; the little ears were like pink sea-shells; a few +green leaves were carelessly entwined in the golden hair--she looked +like the very spirit of love, beauty and song. + +"Then you _do_ care to please Earle?" said Lady Linleigh, as she kissed +the fair face. + +"Certainly," was the coquettish reply. "I have no thought of failing, +either." + +Even the earl stood and gazed for a few moments in mute admiration of +his daughter's loveliness; then he shook his head, and said, gravely: + +"There was no need for it, Doris--no need." + +It was characteristic of this father and daughter that they understood +each other perfectly; they were so much alike that the medium of words +was not always required; they seemed to read each other's thoughts by +instinct. While Lady Linleigh stood by, quite ignorant of her husband's +meaning, Lady Doris understood it perfectly. It meant that Earle loved +her already so dearly, there was no need for her to try to win more love +from him. + +The earl did not profess to be a man of sentiment. As a rule, he +considered love a kind of weakness to which one was especially liable in +youth, but this wondrous love of Earle Moray's impressed him greatly. He +had decided to drive himself to the station to meet his young guest, to +whom he desired to show all honor; then Lady Linleigh had said it would +be less embarrassing for them to meet alone. + +"What a fund of sentiment you have, Estelle," laughed the earl. "By all +means, arrange a _tete-a-tete_ for them. My honest belief is that women +never tire of love-stories." + +He did not know how such speeches as these jarred upon the tender, +sensitive heart of his wife. But Lady Linleigh was considerate. + +"Doris," she said to the proud young beauty, "it is some time since you +have seen Earle, and he will perhaps feel some restraint in my presence, +and not talk to you as freely as he would in my absence; I will leave +you to receive him." + +And Doris laughed with some of the earl's half-contempt for sentiment. + +Yet she owned to herself that she was really glad there was no one to +see poor Earle's extravagant delight and wild worship of her. + +In the burning intensity of his desire to see her, all other things were +entirely lost. It never occurred to him that the Earl of Linleigh had +purposely put himself to inconvenience to meet him at the railway +station; he never gave even a passing thought to the grand carriage, the +liveried servants, the magnificent mansion; he thought only of +Doris--the birds sang of her, the wind whispered her name. Lord Linleigh +smiled more than once as his remarks were unheard, his questions +unanswered. + +After all, there was something very beautiful, half-divine, in such +love. He envied the young poet who felt it and the girl who was its +object. He understood that all the glories of Linleigh were for the +present quite lost on Earle. + +When they reached the Court, the earl looked at the poet with a smile. + +"If you were an ordinary visitor," he said, "I should suggest the +dining-room and instant refreshment; but knowing you to be far away from +all such earthly matters, I merely mention them. My daughter, the Lady +Doris, is in the drawing-room there--will you join her?" + +Earle had longed with the intensity of longing to see her again. His +life had been one long fever, one fire of desire, one constant thought +of her; yet, when he stood once more in her beautiful presence, he was +mute, dumb. She smiled at him, and held out her white, jeweled hands to +him. + +"Earle," she said, and at the sound of her voice his whole soul seemed +to wake up. "Earle," she repeated; and the next moment he held those +white hands in his, he drew her to him, he kissed her face, her brow. It +was pitiful to see a strong man's soul so bound down with a mighty love. + +"Earle," she repeated a third time, "it is certainly an excellent thing +that I do not wear chignons. How do young ladies manage, I wonder, with +chignons and such a rapturous lover as you. Look at my flowers and +dress; it is not, really, etiquette to kiss any young lady _en grande +toilette_." + +He only laughed at the mocking words. What cared he, when his arm was +round her, and he looked into her face again. + +"My darling," he said; "my queen rose of the rosebuds." + +She laid her hand on his lips. + +"That is Tennyson's poetry," she said, "not your own. Are you so very +pleased to see me, Earle?" + +"So pleased that I cannot find words--so pleased that the wonder to me +is that I can bear so much happiness." + +"If you think you are too happy, Earle, I can soon alter that state of +things," she said, laughingly. + +"You cannot alter yourself," he replied. "While you are what you are, +and as you are, I must be the happiest of men--I cannot help it. Mattie +told me that I should find you changed. Why, my darling, you are +beautiful, graceful, noble as a queen. In all the wide world I am quite +sure there is no one like you--none." + + + + +CHAPTER LVI. + +"WHEN SHE WAS YOUNG, PERHAPS SHE LOVED SOME ONE LIKE ME." + + +Dinner was over, and Earle had recovered some little sense and reason. +He had hardly looked at Lady Estelle. They had met as perfect strangers, +and the earl introduced them. + +It struck the earl that his wife looked pale and strange; but whenever +there was anything about Lady Linleigh that he did not understand, he +always attributed it to sentiment. + +Then in her calm, high-bred fashion she bade Earle welcome to Linleigh; +she spoke to him several times during dinner. That dinner seemed to +Earle more like a dream than a reality. Whenever he looked at her he +thought of Quainton woods and the strange story she had told him there, +the truth of which seemed only known to herself and him. He wondered if +she would speak to him about it--if she would allude to it in any way. +He had never seen her since, although he had so well carried out her +commands. After dinner all wonder on that point was at an end. + +"Doris," said the countess, "sing some of your pretty French _chansons_ +for us. Mr. Moray, will you look over these sketches by Dore?" + +While Doris' rich voice filled the room, and Earle sat with the sketches +in his hand, she, feigning to be interested in them, said: + +"I have never had a chance to thank you, but I thank you now, with all +my heart, with gratitude that words cannot express. Can you understand +how grateful I am to you, Earle Moray?" + +There was a pretty, musical lingering on his name which charmed him. He +looked into the proud, fair face, and said, simply: + +"A man might be proud to give his life for you, Lady Linleigh. I am +happy to think that it was in my power to be of service to you." + +"You will keep my secret always, Earle?" + +"Always, Lady Linleigh, as I would guard my life or my honor." + +"Even after you are married, when it will be most difficult to keep a +secret from Doris, you will keep this--you will never let her know that +I am her mother?" + +"No; you may trust me until death," he said. + +Then for some minutes there was silence. Lady Linleigh was the first to +break it. + +"Do you know how I shall try to reward you, Earle?" she asked. + +"I think less of the reward than of the kindness that prompts it," he +replied, gratefully. + +"I shall do my best to further your interests in life--to help you to +reach such a position as shall please Doris. I will hasten your marriage +by every means in my power, and I will love you as though you were my +own son. Do not look so grateful; they will wonder what I am saying to +you. You understand, once and for all, I shall never allude to this +again." + +The next moment Lady Doris was laughingly accusing the countess of +having asked her to sing, in order that she might talk at her ease. + +"We are quite a family party," said Lord Linleigh. "Earle, do you play +billiards?" + +"No," he replied, "I do not." + +"Then come at once, and let me give you your first lesson. No man can +hope to succeed in this world who cannot play billiards." + +Doris went into the billiard-room to see the first lesson given and +received, while Lady Estelle pondered over the same problem--did Doris +love Earle, or did she not? + +On the morning following the earl and the poet had a long conversation. +It was a fine spring day, with the odor of early violets and the song of +the birds in the air. + +"Come out with me, Mr. Moray," said the earl; "we can talk more at ease +under the broad blue sky." + +Then, as they walked through the stately domain, the earl talked more +seriously than he had ever done before. + +"Some men," he said, "might object to seeing an engagement of the kind +fulfilled. I do not. When Doris, as you knew, had no name, no home, you +would have been proud to make her your wife; she, in her turn, should +be, and is, I do not doubt, proud to reward your love. Now, it would be +very easy for me, Earle, to imitate one of the fathers in heavy comedy, +and say: 'Take her--be happy; here are fifty thousand pounds and my +blessing.' I repeat, that would be easy, but it would be an injustice to +you. I prefer that you shall make a position for yourself, and win her; +you will be happier." + +"Yes," replied Earle, "a thousand times happier. I love her so +dearly--pardon me, my lord--so dearly, that I would work, as Jacob did, +seven years to win her, and, because of my great love, they would seem +as one day." + +"I will take your fortunes in hand," said the earl, "as I told you +before. It would be easy to give you one; but I will give you what is +far better--the means of making one. I will place you in such a position +that it shall not be in the power of any person to say, when he hears of +my daughter's marriage, that she had made a _mesalliance_." + +"I thank you, my lord; my deeds, my life shall thank you," said Earle, +earnestly. + +"You have already," continued the earl, "made for yourself some +reputation as a poet; now tell me, have you ever turned your attention +to politics?" + +The young poet's face glowed again; it was so sweet to him, for her dear +sake, this high hope of fame. + +"I have studied the leading topics of the day," he replied, modestly. + +"I know you have the gift of eloquence, and my first effort on your +behalf shall be that you be returned a member for Anderley. The late +member died a few weeks since, and I am repeatedly asked to put forward +a candidate. You shall be that candidate, Earle Moray, and you shall +succeed. When you are M. P. for Anderley, we will talk of the next +step." + +"I cannot thank you," said Earle, breathlessly; "it would be quite +useless for me to try." + +"In the meantime there is an appointment in London, in the civil +service, vacant, and I think my influence can procure it for you. It +will bring you in an income of seven or eight hundred pounds per annum. +The expenses of the election will, of course, be mine." + +Earle raised his hand to his head with a bewildered expression. + +"I think," he said, "I must have had a fairy godmother." + +"Genius is a fairy godmother," said the earl, laughingly. "We shall all +be very happy, Earle. Doris is young--too young to marry yet; a year or +two in the great world will not hurt her. I do not think anything will +ever take her from you, Earle." + +"I am sure of it, my lord. I have full faith in my love." + +That very evening Lord Linleigh wrote to London, to secure the +appointment of which he had spoken. It was characteristic of him that +more than once during the course of that letter-writing he laughed to +himself for being sentimental. + +"I should have done better," he thought, "to have given the young man +something handsome, and have let Doris marry as my daughter ought to +marry." + +Then, again, he would reproach himself with the thought, and his heart +would warm with the consciousness of doing a good and generous action. + +It would have been impossible, even had he desired it, to have kept the +household in ignorance over Earle. + +He had not been there twenty-four hours before the whole body of +domestics were interested in his wooing. He was universally admired; +the susceptible portion of the establishment declared that he was as +handsome as Apollo, with a voice like real music, while languid footmen +and knowing grooms declared him to be the "right kind of gentleman." + +The Lady Doris had said little, but she had watched him with jealous +eyes. If he had failed in any little observance of form or etiquette, +she would never have pardoned him; if she had heard even the least hint +that he was not perfectly well-bred, that he was not accustomed to the +manners of good society, her angry resentment would have known no +bounds. As it was, she was flattered by the universal praise and +admiration. Earle might have lived with dukes and earls all his life. It +never occurred to him, this terrible distance in rank; he did not think +of it. As he once said to Doris, "He was a gentleman--a king was no +more." She had half anticipated feeling ashamed of him; she found, on +the contrary, that she had ample reason to be proud of him. + +The earl told his wife and daughter what he hoped and intended to do for +Earle. He almost wondered that the countess should be so pleased; her +face flushed and her eyes filled with tears. + +"You are very good, Ulric," she said, very gently. + +He fancied that it was for her daughter's sake that she felt pleased. +But there were no tears in his daughter's beautiful eyes. + +"I am a deal of trouble to you, papa," she said. "It is not enough that +you must have a grown-up daughter, but you must also provide her with a +husband! It is rather too hard on you." + +"But, Doris, you--you love Earle?" he said, anxiously. + +"Oh, yes, I love Earle. It is a thousand pities, though, that he has not +a ready-made fortune and position--it would save you so much trouble." + +"My dear Doris, there can be no trouble for me where you are concerned; +you know how anxious I am that you should be happy. You will be happy +with Earle?" + +"I am one of those singularly fortunate people, papa, who are happy +anywhere," she replied. Then, seeing a very discontented expression on +his face, she hastened to add: "Remember how often you have called me a +true Studleigh, papa. I find it more in my nature to laugh than to +sentimentalize; indeed, under pain of instant execution, I fear that I +should not, could not grow sentimental. At the same time believe me no +one could be more grateful than I am to you about Earle." + +And with that the earl was forced to be content. She sat down to the +piano shortly afterward, and he heard the gay voice singing of love and +flowers. He looked at her--the same puzzle came to him. + +"Has she any heart?" he asked himself. + +That was a question which no one yet had been able to answer. + +"Earle," said Lady Doris, as they sat together in the morning-room, "do +not read any more to me. I always tell you that reading poetry aloud to +me is a waste of time and of talent. I want you to talk." + +The next moment he had closed the book, and was sitting on the little +ottoman at her feet. + +"I am only too delighted," he said. "It is not often that my beautiful +queen wishes to talk to me." + +"Your beautiful queen wishes to know, Earle, what you think of my lady?" + +"My lady!" he repeated wonderingly. + +"Yes! try and not be dull of understanding--nothing tries me so severely +as that. My lady! I mean, of course, the Countess of Linleigh. What do +you think of her, Earle?" + +"I think she is very kind, very beautiful, very stately, and very +charming." + +"I agree with you; but do you not think that she is rather sentimental?" + +"I hardly know. Why, Doris?" + +"She has a fashion of dropping into my dressing-room at all hours, of +taking this long hair of mine into her hands, and looking as though she +would fain kiss it, of kissing my face, and talking about you." + +"That seems very natural, Doris, and very kind," he said. + +"When she talks about you, Earle, the tears come into her eyes, and she +is so eloquent about love. Do you know what I fancy sometimes?" + +"No," he replied, "I do not." + +"You need not look so strangely at me; but I do fancy at times that when +she was young, perhaps she loved some one like me, who is dead. What do +you think, Earle?" + +"It is very possible, darling. I should be so kind to her, Doris, were I +in your place." + +"I am kind, I never interfere; I let her do just as she likes with me. I +am sure, Earle, it is not possible to be any kinder than that." + + + + +CHAPTER LVII. + +THE YEARNINGS OF A MOTHER'S HEART. + + +The appointment was secured. It was hardly probable that the Earl of +Linleigh should ask anything from the government and be refused. He was +the rising man of the day, and the government was anxious for his +support. He had great influence, and it was all needed. When, therefore, +he made a special application for this choice bit of patronage, it was +agreed on all sides that it would be most unwise to refuse it. + +Earle was made perfectly happy. The income of eight hundred pounds a +year did not seem such a great or wonderful thing to him as the fact +that he was a public man, that his footing was firmly established, and +that every day brought him nearer to Doris. + +In his simplicity, he often wondered how it was that little paragraphs +continually appeared in the leading papers of the day about him. One +time it was to the effect that it was not generally known that Earle +Moray, Esq., recently appointed to the royal commission service, was the +poet with whose last work all England was delighted. Again, that Earle +Moray, Esq., the poet, intended to contest the borough of Anderley. He +found himself continually mentioned as one of the leading men of the +day, one to whom the eyes of the country turned with hope. Earle could +not imagine how it was, and in his perplexity he spoke of it to Lord +Linleigh. + +"If I did not know that it was impossible," he said, "I should imagine +some one was always sending little paragraphs to the newspapers about +me." + +"It is the price of celebrity," said the earl. "A man who wishes to +advance with the public must always keep himself before the public eye. +You would be surprised how famous these little paragraphs, as you call +them, have made you already. People often ask me about Earle Moray. You +will have a greater name than this some day, and you will wonder how you +have acquired it." + +In the meantime he was wonderfully happy. He was not to commence his +engagement until the middle of April, and the earl insisted upon it that +he should continue at Linleigh Court. + +"Lessons in social life are as needful as any others," said Lord +Linleigh. "You cannot do better for the next few weeks than spend as +much time as possible with Lady Estelle. I will introduce you to the +chief magnates of the county; and so you will be acquiring knowledge of +one kind, if not of another." + +The next great event was a visit from the Duke and Duchess of Downsbury +to Linleigh Court. The duke had long desired to go, but the duchess, +prouder than himself, constantly refused. At last curiosity prevailed. +Lord Linleigh wrote such glowing accounts of his happiness, and such +descriptions of the beauty of his daughter and the happiness of his +wife, that it was not in human nature to keep away any longer. + +Then, indeed, was Lady Doris puzzled. The countess seemed to have but +one anxiety: it was not for herself at all, but for Lord Linleigh's +daughter--that she should look beautiful, that they should admire her, +that she should make the most favorable impression on them, seemed to be +her sole desire. The young beauty was highly amused at it. They were +talking one morning, and Lady Estelle held a long, shining tress of +Doris' hair in her hand. + +"I hope," she said, suddenly, "the duchess will admire your hair, +Doris." + +"Do you, Lady Linleigh?" was the reply, with a little raising of the +eyebrows. "I am not very anxious about it myself." + +"My darling," said the countess, impulsively, "do not say that. I want +my mother to admire and to like, even to love you." + +"It is very kind of you, Lady Linleigh, but it is very improbable. I +fancy that I remember her grace. She is very tall and stately, is she +not? with a proud, high-bred face--not handsome at all, but very +aristocratic?" + +"Yes," said Lady Estelle, faintly, "that is she." + +"Then I am quite sure, dear Lady Linleigh, she will not like me. I must +have been quite a child when you paid that memorable visit to +Brackenside, but I remember her much better than I remember you, and I +am quite sure that she looked as though she would like to shake me." + +"But, Doris," said the countess, earnestly, "you must try to make the +duchess like you. You will try, will you not, my dear?" + +"Will you tell me why, Lady Linleigh?" asked the young girl. + +The countess grew pale and agitated. + +"Do it to please me, my darling, because I want her to like you--do it +for my sake. Will you, Doris?" + +The girl laughed--a low, rippling laugh, that had no music in it. + +"I will do anything, Lady Linleigh--anything to please her, but if my +own mother were living, provided that I loved her myself, I should not +be very anxious for any one else to love her." + +Lady Estelle drew back with something like repulsion in her face. + +"You are mistaken; you cannot judge. It is only natural that we wish +every one to love and admire what we love ourselves." + +Doris looked at her with laughing eyes. + +"I cannot see it. I should like every one, for instance, to admire +Earle, but I do not care about any one loving him." + +Lady Linleigh sat in silence for some minutes, then looking up, she +said: + +"We will not argue over it, my dear child; but you will promise to be +very nice to the duchess, and try to win her liking?" + +"Certainly, I promise, Lady Linleigh. Tell me, is the duchess a lady of +great importance?" + +"Yes, she is, indeed, she has much influence at court and in society." + +"Then I will do all I can, not only to make her like me, but to make her +speak favorably of me. Shall you be pleased, then, dear Lady Linleigh?" + +Yes, she would be pleased; but she owned to herself, with a deep sigh, +that it was impossible to arouse any deep or true feeling, any noble +sentiment, any generous idea, in the girl's mind. Appeal to her vanity, +her interest, her ambition, you were sure to find some answering chord. +Appeal to anything else was utterly in vain. + +Lady Doris laughed to herself as the countess, with something like +disappointment in her face, quitted the room. + +"I have heard the proverb, 'Love me, love my dog,'" she said to herself. +"I never heard, 'Love me, love my mother.'" + +Still, the fact that the coming visitor was a duchess, and a person of +very great importance, the wife of one of the wealthiest dukes in +England, was not without its influence on her; she resolved, therefore, +to be most charming and gracious. + +She was secretly amused at Lady Linleigh's anxiety over her dress. On +the day when the visitors were expected, she said to her: + +"Take great pains with your toilet this evening, Doris--wear that set of +pearls and rubies." + +"If the duke were a widower," laughed Lady Doris to herself, "I should +feel sure that the countess wanted me to make a conquest." + +She was awed and impressed, in spite of herself, when she stood before +the Duchess of Downsbury. The duke she remembered well; she felt no +especial awe of him; she could tell, from the expression of his face, +that he thought her beautiful. She was accustomed by this time to see +men fall prostrate, as it were, before her beauty, but there was +something in the high-bred, stately duchess before which my Lady Doris +owned herself vanquished. She did not understand the emotion in Lady +Linleigh's face as she led her to the duchess. + +"Mamma," she said in a voice that trembled, "this is Lady Doris +Studleigh, my husband's daughter." + +The jeweled hands of the duchess trembled as they lay for one half +minute on the golden head. + +"I am pleased to see you," she said. "You are very fair; I hope you are +as good as you are fair." + +Lady Doris wondered why, for one half minute, every one around her +looked so solemn, why her father's debonair face had lost its color, why +Lady Estelle turned so hastily away, why Earle stood looking on with a +strange light in his eyes. It was droll. Then she dismissed the thought. +They were all more or less sentimental, and there was no accounting for +sentimental people at all. + +She was destined the same evening to feel a little more surprised. There +had always been the most perfect harmony and sympathy of taste between +the earl and his daughter, they resembled each other so closely. Lady +Doris felt half inclined to dislike the duchess; her exclusiveness, her +hauteur, awed her after a fashion that was rather disagreeable than +otherwise. As usual, she went to the earl for sympathy. + +"Papa," she said, "the worst enemy her grace ever had could not call her +lively." + +"She is no longer young; liveliness is one of the attributes of youth, +you know, Doris." + +"Yes, but a little more of it would certainly not hurt her, papa." + +The earl went to his daughter and laid his hand on her shoulder. + +"Doris," he said, "I want to speak to you most particularly, and I want +you to pay the greatest attention to what I have to say." + +She looked up in wonder at this preamble. + +"Let me impress upon you," he said, "that it is my earnest wish that you +should treat the duke and duchess with all the respect, attention, and +affection that lies in your power. You cannot show them too much, and +the more you show them the better shall I be pleased. They are my wife's +parents." + +"I suppose," thought Doris, "he expects they will leave him a fortune. +However, I must trim my bark according to the sea I have to sail on." + +So she promised to show all deference, all homage, all respect. She did +so. The duke admired her beyond everything; he thought her one of the +most beautiful, most graceful, one of the cleverest girls he had ever +met. But the duchess did not like her; she had never forgotten her first +impression, that the girl was both vain and wanting in goodness. She +tried to like her, to make the most of her beauty, her talent, but there +was no real warmth in her heart toward her daughter's child. Earle, on +the contrary, won her honest liking. In her own mind, although she knew +that Doris was the daughter of Lord Linleigh, and the descendant of the +Herefords, she thought her inferior to Earle Moray. So this strangely +assorted household remained until the time drew near when the earl +thought of going to London. + +The Duke of Downsbury had promised to do his best in helping to forward +the fortunes of Earle Moray. He by this time had recovered from the +shock his daughter's story had inflicted on him; still, he considered it +best, for many reasons, that the secret should be kept. Lady Doris +wondered often how it happened that she was so great a favorite with the +duke. He made her costly and beautiful presents; he liked to ride out +with her; he enjoyed watching her beautiful face. + +"Your daughter is unique," he said one day to Lady Estelle, and her face +grew white as she heard the words. + +"My daughter!" she repeated. "It seems so strange, papa, to hear that; +no one has ever called her 'my daughter' before." + +How the gentle heart yearned over her, the proud young beauty, in the +flush of her triumph, never knew. She looked upon Lady Linleigh's great +love for her as rather tiresome than otherwise; it was annoying to her +that she should be visited every evening, and that the countess should +study so attentively her every look and word. More than once she spoke +impatiently of it to Earle, and wondered that he looked so gravely at +her. + +"It seems to me," she cried, "that every one studies Lady Linleigh a +great deal more than they study me." + +She wondered why it was that the fair, proud face was always so tender +for her; why the calm eyes always rested on her with a loving light; why +the voice that never varied for others, faltered and grew so loving when +speaking to her. Once or twice it occurred to her that if her own mother +had been living, she could not have shown greater affection for her than +did Lady Estelle Linleigh. + + + + +CHAPTER LVIII. + +BEFORE THE QUEEN. + + +Such a May day! like one of those that the poets of old described when +they wrote of mead and honey. A flash of heaven's own sunshine, a murmur +of heaven's own music, a foretaste of the golden glories of summer which +were soon to shine over the land. A May day, when, in the green heart +of England, the hawthorn was budding, the perfume of violets filled the +air, the cuckoo remained lord of the meadows, the wood pigeons began to +coo, the butterflies to coquette with sweet spring flowers--a very +carnival of nature. + +London had never looked so bright or so gay. The queen had thrown off +the black mantle of sorrow, and had come forth once more to gladden the +hearts of her faithful people. She had opened Parliament, and a series +of royal _fetes_ had been announced that cheered the whole city with the +hope of future prosperity. Trade, commerce, literature, and art were all +encouraged; as all drooped in her absence, so they all revived in the +gracious promise of her serene presence. + +There was to be on the third of May a grand drawing-room. Great +excitement was caused by the announcement that the Countess of Linleigh +and the Lady Doris Studleigh were both on this eventful day to be +presented, the countess on her marriage, the Lady Doris as a +_debutante_. + +Rumor was very busy. There was nothing to wonder about over the +countess--she was well-known for many London seasons; she had been a +belle and a reigning beauty, she was married at last to a popular +nobleman, and would doubtless take her place as one of the queens of +society; she would give brilliant _fetes_, head the gayeties of the +season. Hyde House would doubtless become one of the most fashionable +resorts of the day; but there all sensation about her ceased. + +With Lady Doris it was different; more curiosity was felt to see Lord +Linleigh's daughter than his wife. People heard that she was a regular +Studleigh, and the memory of the handsome, debonair race was still +living among them. + +In the time of Charles the Second there had been ladies of the Studleigh +family whose names were proverbs for beauty, wit, and recklessness. +Strange stories were told of deeds of fun and daring that in people less +noble would have been called crimes. + +And now on the great world--always a little _blase_, a little tired of +itself, always athirst for novelty--a new star was to shine--a +Studleigh, with all the fatal, witching beauty of her race, and the +inheritance of wit that was always pointed. + +Rumor said she was the loveliest girl on whom the English sun had shone +for many years. She would be wealthy, too, for Lord Linleigh was rich. +Expectation was for once fairly aroused; then, too, there was something +of romance about her story. The marriage of the handsome, popular earl +had been a private one; the Lady Doris, it was said, had been educated +in the strictest retirement. People were impatient to see her and +pronounce their verdict. She was to be presented by the Duchess of +Downsbury, whose name was a guaranty for every good quality. + +The eventful day dawned at last. Lord Linleigh had been somewhat anxious +over it. True, his daughter's fate in life was fixed--he would not have +had her engagement with Earle Moray broken on any account--yet he +desired that she should receive all the homage due to her rank and her +beauty. No word of her engagement had been made public; that was by +Lady Linleigh's advice. + +"Give her all the time possible, all the liberty that her heart can +desire, and then we shall see if she really prefers Earle to all the +world," she said to her husband. + +Though he laughed at the advice, he owned it was good. + +On that May day surely Lady Doris' dressing-room was one of the +prettiest scenes in all London. The sunbeams crept through the +rose-colored blind, and fell on the shining jewels, the costly dresses, +the flowers and laces. For the first time in her life Lady Doris was +arrayed in full court costume, and certainly nothing could have suited +her better. The Duke of Downsbury had insisted on presenting her with a +magnificent set of diamonds for the occasion, and she wore them now for +the first time. She stood in all the splendor of her marvelous beauty +and rich costume, smiling at herself in the mirror. + +"I do not look much like Doris Brace, the farmer's daughter, now," she +said to herself. + +Then Lady Linleigh entered the room. + +"I could not rest, Doris," she said, "until I had seen you, and knew +whether you felt nervous or not." + +Something like a smile of contempt wreathed the beautiful lips. + +"Nervous, Lady Linleigh! not one whit," she replied. "Now, if I were +about being presented to a handsome young monarch, who wanted a queen to +reign by his side, I might feel nervous." + +"When I was presented," said Lady Linleigh, "I did feel very nervous. I +thought of it for days and weeks beforehand." + +"You and I, dear Lady Linleigh, differ considerably," said Doris. "I +often think myself it is strange, but I am really wanting in that +respect--I have no organ of reverence; I do not believe that I stand in +awe of any human being." + +"It is strange; and I am not sure that such total independence is +altogether good for you, my dear. I should like you to bear more on +others, less on yourself." + +"I am as I was made," laughed the girl; then she blushed slightly, for +the earl stood at the door of her dressing-room, looking at her with +such admiration in his eyes as they had seldom expressed before. She +could not help feeling embarrassed by it. Then she went up to him, +saying: + +"Now, papa, imagine yourself the queen; let me make you my grand +presentation courtesy." + +He never forgot her as she stood there, the light flaming in her jewels +and falling on the golden hair, the face softened into unusual beauty by +the slight flush. + +"My darling," said Lord Linleigh, us he laid his hand on her head, "my +darling, I am proud of you." + +The words were few, but they expressed a whole volume. + +"There will not be a fairer girl at the drawing-room to-day," he +continued, "Yet you must look out for your laurels, Doris. Lady Blanche +Trevor is presented to-day, and the Trevors have always been considered +the handsomest family in England." + +"I am not afraid, papa," was the calm reply. "We should be going now; it +is some time since the carriage was announced." + +"Doris," said the countess, "stop one minute, dear." + +Doris turned, wonderingly. She detected a faint tremor in the voice; +Lady Linleigh's face, too, was very pale. + +"Come here one moment," she continued, and Lady Doris went up to her. + +The pale, lovely face looked into hers, the gentle hands touched her, +the sweet lips caressed her. The countess took one long tress of the +golden hair in her hands. + +"I could not let you go out into the world, my dear," she said, slowly, +"without first wishing you all happiness." + +All her heart was on her lips, and her voice trembled with emotion. Lady +Doris looked at her in a perfect bewilderment of surprise. + +"You are very kind to me, Lady Linleigh," she said; and there was +something of haughty surprise in her voice which fell like cold snow on +the gentle heart. "You are very kind," she repeated, "but I have no +fear." + +"It is such a brilliant world, Doris, but so full of pitfalls--oh! my +dear, so full of pitfalls for the beautiful and young." + +"I will steer clear of them, dear Lady Linleigh," said the impatient +voice. "While the May sun is shining and the carriage is at the door, +there is hardly time to talk about the dangers of the world. I am quite +willing to take them for granted." + +Lady Linleigh said to herself that she could not alter her nature--that +she was brilliant, polished, cold, beautiful, without warmth of heart, +and that she could not help it. Yet she felt most bitterly disappointed; +her heart had yearned for one kind word, for one token of affection from +her, but it was not to be. + +The earl looked in surprise from his wife to his daughter, but he made +up his mind never to interfere between them, or to appear to notice +anything that passed. Then they entered the carriage and drove to St. +James'. + +Those present will not soon forget the beauty of the women or the +splendor of the whole scene. Never since the days when her royal consort +stood by her side had the queen looked better or happier than on this +day, when she woke to the sense that the great voice of a mighty nation +was calling her. Noble sons and fair daughters stood around her; the +noblest of the realm had hastened to do her homage. The sun that shone +upon the palace walls and streamed through the windows, fell on no more +calm or royal face than hers. + +There was some little excitement when the name of the Countess of +Linleigh was announced. Many there remembered her years ago, when she +had made her _debut_, and smiled to think that for love of the gallant +earl she had remained unmarried all these years. With the entrance of +Lady Doris Studleigh into the royal presence, there was a sensation such +as had not been made at the court for many long years. The girl's +glorious beauty, her imperial grace, the proud carriage, the splendor +of her jewels, the fascination that seemed to clothe her as a +garment--even the royal face lighted up with admiration as the queen's +eyes fell on her. Words more kind than usual came from the royal lady's +lips, and her heart beating high with triumph, her position secure, the +Lady Doris passed from that gracious presence. Even as she stood bending +low before the queen, she said to herself that she should be a favorite +at court, if looks promised anything. + +The Duchess of Downsbury was well pleased with her young _protegee_. + +"My dear," she, said to her, when the ordeal was over, "whatever else +you may lack, you certainly have plenty of nerve." + +Lady Doris raised her eyes unflinchingly to her grace's face. + +"Different people," she said, "give other names to the quality I +possess. Your grace calls it nerve--the Studleighs call it courage." + +"Well," said the duchess, grimly, "I will call it courage, then; you +have plenty of it, Lady Doris." + +"I have no doubt," was the smiling reply, "that as I go through the +world I shall need it all." + +The duchess knew that in a passage at arms, even she, well versed as she +was, had no chance with Lady Doris. In one way she was pleased at her +granddaughter's success, although she disliked so much calm +self-possession in one so young. + +But the earl saw no drawback, he admitted none. Every one was enraptured +with Lady Doris, every one praised her, spoke of her wonderful beauty, +and complimented him on having so peerless a daughter. His heart beat +high with pride, yet never once did he wish her engagement with Earle +Moray broken. He saw Lady Estelle alone a few minutes before dinner, and +then he wondered at the paleness of her face, the depression of her +spirits. + +"Estelle," he said, gently, "what is the matter?" + +It seemed as though the question broke through the flood-gates of her +sorrow. She raised her eyes to his--they were streaming with tears. + +"I am ungrateful, Ulric," she said. "I am wicked and discontented. I see +my darling so beautiful, yet I cannot go to her and clasp her in my +arms. I cannot say, 'Child, how I rejoice in you, for you are my own.'" + +"No, you cannot say that; but you may love her and be as kind to her as +you will." + +The countess shook her head sadly. + +"You do not understand," she said. "Doris is not affectionate by nature, +and I can see that my love annoys and teases her. I do not repine, for +you love me, Ulric, do you not?" + +Love her? Yes, assuredly he did; how could he help it? Yet, all the +same, he did wish that Lady Doris would show greater affection for her +unknown mother. + + + + +CHAPTER LIX. + +THE NEW BEAUTY DISCUSSED. + + +A group of young aristocrats stood in the billiard-room of Bar's Club. +Some one had played a game and won it, some one else had lost; there had +been high betting, but, strange to say, for once money had lost its +charm--billiards their attraction. + +"I am told," said the Honorable Charlie Balsover, "that it is a treat to +look at her. My sisters were both at the drawing-room, and they declare +that they have seen nothing like it." + +"Women cannot judge of women," said Major Maitland, contemptuously. + +The Honorable Charlie looked up haughtily. + +"My sisters are as good judges of beauty as any one in England," he +said, hastily. + +"There can be no question about it," interrupted Lord Piercy; "Lady +Studleigh is, _par excellence_, the beauty of the season. I saw her +myself, and--well, it takes a great deal to satisfy me, but she did it." + +"We shall have the noble Piercy, spurred and booted, going in for a +conquest," laughed another. + +"No, my dear boy; I am, fortunately for me, in the full possession of +all my senses. I took my own measure very accurately long ago, and I, +for one, should never aspire to such a conquest as that of the Lady +Studleigh." + +"What rare and touching humility," laughed a fair-haired officer. "I +should like to see this paragon." + +At that moment they were joined by a tall, handsome man, who, until that +moment, had been standing alone at the billiard-table, practicing a +stroke he wished to master. He sauntered to the little group. + +"I have not heard one word that you have been saying, but from the +peculiar expression of Piercy's face, I would wager that you are talking +of beauty in some shape or other," he said. + +"We are talking of a new star which has suddenly arisen in the +fashionable skies--the beautiful, golden-haired Lady Studleigh, Lord +Linleigh's daughter." + +"What of her?" asked Lord Charles Vivianne. "If anything interesting, +tell me quickly. At this moment the click of the billiard-balls is +sweeter to my ears than the praise of fair woman." + +"It is my opinion," said Colonel Clifford, laughing, "that in Vivianne's +case 'a burnt child dreads the fire.' A little bird whispered to me some +romantic story about Florence and some lovely being to whom he was +devoted there." + +Lord Vivianne turned fiercely on him--so fiercely that those present +looked grave. + +"It would be as well for you, Clifford," he said, "to refrain from +talking of that which does not concern you." + +"My dear boy," replied the colonel, "I meant no harm. If I had known +that Florence was a sore subject with you I would not have touched upon +it." + +"Who said it was a sore subject?" cried Lord Vivianne, passionately. + +Then, seeing that in all probability a quarrel would ensue, Major +Maitland interfered. + +"We are forgetting the subject under discussion," he said. "You asked me +what it was, Lord Vivianne. We were speaking of the wonderful beauty of +Lady Studleigh, the handsome earl's daughter. Have you seen her yet?" + +"No," he replied, "I have not." + +"Then, by all means, contrive to do so. The Prince of B---- is almost +wild about her. Every one ought to see her, just to know what a really +beautiful woman is like." + +Then Colonel Clifford, anxious to make up the quarrel, went off in a +long and rapturous description of the fair lady's beauty and grace. + +"I shall be sure to see her," said Lord Vivianne, briefly. "To tell the +truth, I do not feel much interested. A beautiful face is a rarity, and +the chances are ten to one the owner is either a simpleton or a flirt. +I, for one, shall not offer my admiration at the new beauty's shrine. +_Au revoir._" + +And with his usual proud, careless step, Lord Vivianne walked away. The +others looked curiously after him. + +"I never saw a man so completely changed in all my life," said Colonel +Clifford. "He used to be so good-humored, fond of a jest, and able to +bear any amount of teasing; and now, one word, and he is like a madman. +I shall begin to think what I have heard of him is true." + +"What is that?" asked the Honorable Charlie Balsover. + +"I was told that he fell in love at Florence. I did not hear all the +particulars, but I was told that he completely lost his heart there." + +"He never had a heart to lose," said one. + +"Who was the lady?" asked another. + +"I do not know. Some one said she was a princess in disguise; others, +that she was of low origin, but of marvelous beauty. The whole affair +was a mystery. Some said she was English, others that she was +Florentine; in any case, it is believed that she jilted him, and he has +never been the same man since. He used to boast that no woman had ever +resisted him. I believe that he fancied he was irresistible. Perhaps he +does not like learning his lesson." + +"The biter generally gets bitten," said the Honorable Charlie. "I should +not wonder if some one has avenged the wrongs of the sex upon him. He +has certainly gone to great lengths." + +"Why not call a spade a spade?" said Major Maitland. "Give his follies +the right name. He has broken more hearts, ruined more homes, dragged +more fair faces through the dust, than any man of his age in England. +Serves him right, I say, if he has something to suffer in his turn." + +Which was all the sympathy Lord Vivianne received when he was supposed +to have suffered at the hands of a woman. + +He thought but little over what had been said about Lady Studleigh. + +"Men were always making idols of some woman or other," he said to +himself. "If they choose to go mad in crowds over the handsome earl's +daughter, let them; I, for one, shall not join them." + +It had been a great blow to him, the loss of Doris. That one love was +the master passion of his life. He had not intended it to be; he had +only thought of her at first as one whose beauty was well worth the +winning. Afterward, when her strange fascination, her wonderful grace, +her marvelous talent and wit had bound him fast in her chains, he gave +her the one great love of his life, none the less fierce and passionate +because he had had many love affairs. + +While they were still at Florence, he had made up his mind to one of two +things, either to be true to her all his life, and spend all his life +with her, or to marry her. As his love increased, his scruples died +away; he would marry this beautiful girl, whose coldness had a charm for +him that nothing else ever possessed. His love grew fiercer as she grew +colder; he had made up his mind that she should never be parted from +him--that he would slay any one who tried to separate them. + +When he found that she had left him, many long months did he spend in +searching for her. He had quite decided what to do when he did find her. +If any one had bribed her to leave him, the crime should be most dearly +avenged. He would tell her that he was willing to make her his wife, and +then he would marry her. + +"Marry her!" he repeated the words to himself, with a bitter laugh. He +would have done anything, have slain her and killed himself, rather than +leave her again, or let her go out of his life. She would, of course, be +delighted to be Lady Vivianne; it was not likely that she would refuse +such an offer. He sneered at himself for being willing to make it; he +sneered at himself for his own great, overweening love. He hated himself +because it had won such power over him--because it had humbled him even +to the yoke of marriage. + +"I shall be the first Vivianne who has ever done anything of this kind," +he said to himself, yet all the same he resolved to do it. Having +wrought himself up to this height of heroism, it was humiliating in the +extreme to find it all in vain--he could find no trace of the girl he +intended to marry. Whether she had left him in a fit of pique because he +had not married her, whether she had gone away in a sudden access of +sorrow and regret, he did not know. He was only sure of one thing--she +was gone. + +Had she left him for any one else, or in one of her sudden caprices? She +was capricious enough for anything--it was just one of the things that +she was likely to do. For all he knew, she had been near him all the +time; she was quite capable of that. He knew that to her his long +search, his fever of anxiety, his despair, would only be a comic +entertainment; yet, knowing all this, judging her as he did, believing +her to be capable of almost anything, still he could not help loving her +with the whole force and power of his soul; it was the influence that a +wicked woman does obtain at times over a wicked man, and it is stronger +than any other. + +He came to England at last, despairing to hear any news of her abroad. +He argued to himself that if she were still in Italy he should certainly +have heard of it; a face like hers could be remarked anywhere; he should +have heard of this golden-haired beauty, whose style of loveliness was +one so rarely seen in sunny Italy. + +He had been in London now for some weeks, but he had heard nothing, and +was puzzled what to do next. He never dreamed of looking for her there, +in the upper world of fashion; he had no idea, not even the faintest, of +ever seeing her. If she were the reigning star in any other world, he +would have heard of her before this. With his mind so perplexed and +agitated, his soul tossed on a tempest of love, he had no thought to +spare for any one else. Let people rave about Lady Studleigh, let her be +as beautiful as she would, she could not surpass Doris. + +In the meantime Lady Studleigh was creating a sensation to which the +fashionable world had long been a stranger. She was the queen of the +season. Hyde House was the most popular resort in London; to be admitted +there was to have the _entree_ to the most exclusive circle; to be +unknown there was to be unknown to fame. + +It was not often that one house held two such women as the Countess of +Linleigh and Lady Studleigh. The countess was all grace, and suavity, +and high breeding; Lady Studleigh all brilliancy, beauty, and wit. Even +old courtiers, who had seen some of the first beauties of both empires, +declared there was nothing to equal her. Another great attraction to all +clever people was the constant presence of the now famous poet, Earle +Moray, at Hyde House. His conversation was a great charm, although some, +wiser and more thoughtful than others, said it was hardly right to +expose a young and talented man like Earle Moray to the constant +fascinations of Lady Doris Studleigh. + +She bore her triumph with a certain grand calm that impressed her +parents wonderfully. + +"Race does tell, after all," said the duchess, as she watched the young +beauty. "Any other girl would have shown some elation at the great +amount of admiration offered--Lady Studleigh shows none. After all, race +will tell." + +Invitations came for a royal ball, and it was remarked by all present +that the whole of the royal circle seemed to look upon the proud young +beauty with great favor. Then came invitations to a royal concert. One +of the young princesses, whose marriage was then on the _tapis_, +declared that she would have the Lady Doris on the list of her +bridesmaids. No _fete_ was considered a success without her--a ball +without Lady Studleigh was almost a failure. + +"That girl has homage enough paid her to turn her head," said the earl, +laughingly, to his wife. + +The countess sighed. + +"My dear Ulric," she said, "I think it would require a great deal to +move either her heart or her head; both seem to me equally safe." + +"You always sigh when you speak of Doris. Why is it, dear?" asked Lord +Linleigh. + +"I cannot help wishing that she had less beauty and more love," she +replied. "There are many perils in this world--perils of soul and of +body--but I think the greatest of all is certainly the perils of +beauty." + +"I think you are right," observed the earl; "but we must hope, having +escaped so far, she will escape the rest." + + + + +CHAPTER LX. + +DORIS AFFECTS A LITTLE CURIOSITY. + + +"You are not looking quite so well as usual this morning, Doris," said +Lady Linleigh. "You are nervous, too; you start at every sound. What is +wrong, dear?" + +"Nothing," replied Lady Doris, "but that I did not sleep well. I had a +most unpleasant dream." + +"What was it?" asked the countess. + +"About Italy--about some one I knew, I saw there. Only a foolish dream, +and I am foolish to mention it." + +"Of all people in the world, you are the last I ever should have +imagined to know what being nervous meant." + +"I am not nervous," replied Lady Doris, quickly. "It would annoy me very +much to hear any one say so." + +But though she indignantly denied the fact as being a very discreditable +one, she looked pale, and the laughing eyes had lost something of their +brightness. She started at every sound; and once, when a violent peal +from the bell sounded through the house, Lady Linleigh saw that she +dropped the book she was holding. + +Much did the countess wonder what had affected her fair young daughter. +Yet it was such a trifle, such a foolish dream that had caused her to +stop for one moment in her career of triumph, and look at the possible +dangers in store for her. + +She dreamed that she was walking in a pretty wood near Florence, when +suddenly the tall trees began to assume the most grotesque shapes; huge +branches became long arms, all trying to grasp her, leaves became +fingers trying to detain her. No sooner had she eluded the clutch of one +giant arm than another was stretched out toward her. In vain she tried +to elude them. Then she heard her own name called out in a voice which, +with a strange thrill of fear, she recognized as Lord Vivianne's. Then +she saw him standing underneath one of the giant arms, and he held a +long, shining knife in his hands. + +"I have been looking for you for some time," he said; "now that I have +found you, I mean to kill you, because you were faithless to me." + +She tried to escape, but the giant arms clutched her, the fingers +clasped round her, the shining steel flashed before her eyes, and she +awoke--awoke to feel such fear as she had never before known. + +She took herself to task for it. Suppose that the worst should come, +that she had to meet him again! Was it likely that in this altered +position he would know her? It was most unlikely, most improbable. +Suppose that she met him in a ball-room--where it was most probable they +would meet--and they were introduced to each other as strangers! Well, +even then, she had nerve enough, courage enough, to look at him and fail +to recognize him. She would, at the worst, solemnly swear that he was +mistaken, and he--well, for his own sake, it was most improbable that he +would dare to mention the terms upon which they had lived. Nothing but +shame and dislike of all good people could follow such an avowal on his +part. It would do him ten thousand times more harm than good. + +"So I need not fear," she said to herself. "I have no reason to be +afraid, even if I should meet him face to face to-day!" + +She did not feel the least regret or remorse for her sin. For her lost +innocence, her fair fame, her soul's welfare, she cared but little--yet +she would have given much if she had avoided this wrong, not because it +was wrong, but because the penalty of it might be unpleasant. + +In the bright heaven of her full content it was the one dark cloud; to +the full glory of her most brilliant triumph it was the one drawback. + +Ah! if they knew--if the royal hearts that leaned so kindly toward her +even dreamed of what she had been--farewell to her sweet dream of court +favor. If the innocent young princess who had professed so much liking +for her only ever so faintly suspected one half of the horrible truth, +farewell to all kindly words! Why, if the handsome earl, her father, +dreamed of it, he would send her adrift at once! + +She shrugged her white shoulders and said to herself, over and over +again, that she must keep her secret. When she was once married, her +fortune assured--settled upon her beyond recall--then it would not +matter so much. Besides, there were ways out of all difficulties. She +held up her white, jeweled hands and looked steadfastly at them. + +"Smaller, weaker fingers than these have robbed a man of his life," she +said to herself. "If the worst comes, I have an example in history that +I should know how to follow." + +And indeed it would have fared badly with any one who stood in the path +of Lady Doris Studleigh. + +There was a great dinner that evening at Hyde House. A Russian grand +duke, a German prince, and just the very _elite_ of London were among +those present. The Countess of Linleigh was a perfect hostess; and in +Lady Doris Studleigh's bright presence there was never any want of +brilliancy or wit. + +It was Lord Charter who mentioned her lover's name. He turned to Lord +Linleigh and asked him if he had seen Lord Charles Vivianne lately. + +Lady Doris was sitting near him, so that she distinctly heard the +question and answer. + +"Lord Vivianne!" replied the earl. "I do not even know him." + +"I had forgotten," said his questioner, "how long you have been absent +from England; of course you would not know him." + +"It seems to me," said the earl, laughing, "that a whole generation of +young men have come into fashion since I left the country. I do not +recollect having ever seen Lord Vivianne. Why do you ask me?" + +"I heard him say how anxious he was to be introduced to you," replied +Lord Charter. + +"I shall be very happy," replied the earl, indifferently. + +She had listened at the very first sound of that name which she had +grown to hate so cordially; all her attention had been fully aroused. + +"Now for the Studleigh courage," she said to herself, and she listened. +The color did not fade from her beautiful face; her lips never lost +their smile, nor her eyes their light. + +When Lord Charter had finished his conversation with the earl, she +turned to him in the most winning manner. + +"Vivianne, did you say? What a pretty name! Is it English?" + +"Yes," he replied. "Most ladies admire the name and the bearer of it." + +"Is he a great hero?" she asked, her eyes bright with interest and +innocence as she raised them to his face. "Is he a great statesman?" + +"No," was the reply; "I am sorry to say he is a great flirt." + +"A flirt!" she repeated, in a voice full of disappointment. "I thought +you meant that he was some one to be admired." + +"So he is admired, for his handsome face," replied Lord Charter. + +She repeated the name again, as though she were saying it softly to +herself. + +"Is there a Lady Vivianne?" she asked, after a pause. + +"Not yet," was the reply; "but from what I hear there is a prospect of +one." Then he laughed a little. "You are a stranger among us, Lady +Studleigh; you will hardly understand that, at one time or another, +almost every prominent man in London has been jealous of Lord Vivianne." + +"Indeed! He must be a paragon, then." + +There was something of a sneer in her voice, but he did not perceive it. + +"Not exactly a paragon, Lady Studleigh; but--I repeat it--a flirt." + +"And he is to be married, you say? I should not imagine the lot to be a +very bright one for the lady." + +"You take things very literally, Lady Studleigh. I cannot vouch for the +fact that he is going to be married, but there is a rumor afloat that we +all enjoy very much. It is that, after flirting half his lifetime, Lord +Vivianne is caught at last." + +She tried to look politely indifferent. Great heavens! how her heart was +beating, how every nerve thrilled, how intense was the excitement! She +had not known how frightened she had been at the idea of meeting him +until now! + +"I am afraid," said Lord Charter, "that you do not take any interest in +my friend." + +"Yes, I do. To whom has he surrendered his liberty at last?" + +"No one knows," was the answer, given with an air of candor that would +at any other time have greatly amused Lady Doris. "There is a mystery +about it. Lord Vivianne has been spending some little time in Florence, +and there it is supposed he fell in love with a princess in disguise." + +Despite the Studleigh courage and her own strong nerve, she could not +prevent herself from growing pale; her heart beat loud with a terrible +fear; the lights seemed to swim in one confused mass before her eyes; +then with a violent effort she controlled herself. + +"Florence," she repeated; "he went far enough afield for his romance. +Why was the princess disguised?" + +"It may be all nonsense. I have heard many different stories; some say +that his heroine was really a person of low birth and humble position. I +cannot tell; I only know one thing." + +How her heart beat as she repeated those two words. + +"One thing! What is it?" + +"Why, that love, or something else, has quite changed Lord Charles +Vivianne. He used to be gay, good-humored, slightly cynical; now he is +gloomy, sullen, and bad-tempered. I heard a friend of his say that he +seemed to be always looking for some one." + +The beautiful face, in spite of all her efforts, grew paler. + +"Looking for some one! What a strange idea!" she said. + +"Perhaps the lady refused him, and he wants to be revenged. Perhaps she +jilted him, and he is looking for her," laughed Lord Charter, little +dreaming how near he was to the truth. + +If it had been to save her life, she could not have uttered another +word. Lord Charter went on to relate some brilliant anecdotes of people +he knew, and she affected to be engrossed in them, although she did not +know one word that he was saying. Then, when he paused, she said: + +"It is a strange world, this London; it seems to me full of hidden +romances." + +"You will say so when you have been here for a few years longer," he +replied. "I have seen far stranger romances in the lives of my own +friends and acquaintances than I have ever read in books." + +She was mistress of herself now; the first deadly pain of fear had +passed; her heart had ceased to beat so quickly; the color came back to +her lips and face. She wished to make a good impression on this Lord +Charter, so that if he spoke of her to her former lover, he could praise +her simplicity, her innocence, her ignorance of the world and its evil +ways. That would be altogether unlike the cynical, worldly Doris he had +known. + +Most admirably she assumed the character; indeed, her proper vocation +would have been the stage--she could play any part at a moment's notice. + +As he looked at her beautiful face, her bright, clear eyes, the sweet +smiles that played around her perfect lips--as he listened to the low, +musical voice, admired the high-bred simplicity, the innocence that was +a charm, the utter want of all worldly knowledge--Lord Charter said to +himself that he had never met such a wonderful creature before; while +she congratulated herself on the impression she had made. + + + + +CHAPTER LXI. + +"I MIGHT HAVE BEEN SO HAPPY, BUT FOR THIS!" + + +"Shall you go to the opera to-night, Doris?" asked the countess, as they +lingered over a cup of chocolate. "I think--do not imagine I am over +anxious--I think you require a little rest, dear. You are new to this +life of excessive excitement and gayety." + +"I find it very pleasant," said Doris, with a smile. + +"So it is; I do not deny that. But, remember, I am a veteran compared to +you. I have been through many seasons, and I know the fatigue of them. +Take my advice, and rest a little if you feel tired." + +"I do not think I could rest," said Lady Doris. + +And there was something sad in the tone that the countess had never +heard before. She looked anxiously at her. + +"That is what has struck me," said Lady Linleigh. "Your face is flushed, +your eyes are too bright; the very spirit of unrest is on you. You have +done too much. Do you know that every time the door opens you look round +with a half-startled glance, as though half-dreading what you will see." + +"Do I? How absurd! It is simply a habit. I have nothing to dread." + +"Of course not; but it seems to me rather a pity for you to get +confirmed in nervous habits while you are so young." + +Lady Doris laughed, but it seemed to the countess the ring of music was +wanting in the sound. + +"I shall correct myself, now that I know," she replied. + +Then Lady Linleigh crossed the room, and laid her hands on the golden +head. She bent down and kissed the beautiful face. + +"Do not be annoyed that I am so uneasy over you, Doris; I love you +almost as though I were your own mother." + +The low voice trembled, and the calm eyes grew dim with tears. + +"My own mother?" repeated Lady Doris, and for once something like the +music of true feeling sounded in her exquisite voice. "You are too +young, Lady Linleigh, to be quite like my own mother; you are like an +elder sister to me. I wonder if things would have been very different +for me if she had lived, and I had known her?" + +"Different?" asked the countess, eagerly. "In what way could they be +different?" + +"I wonder if she would have been fond of me--if I could have told her +all my girlish follies and troubles? I have an idea that no one can be +like one's own mother." + +The soft, white arms tightened their clasp round the fair neck. + +"Doris," said the countess, gently, "could you not fancy that I am your +mother, and talk to me as freely as you would have done to her?" + +The lovely face was raised with an arch glance. + +"Dear Lady Linleigh," was the reply, "I am only sentimentalizing. Did +you think me serious? I have no secrets. I should not know what to say +to my own mother were she here. Do not take any notice of my idle +words." Then she laughed. "I could never, even in my dreams, put you in +my mother's place. I have a shrewd idea that my handsome papa married +some poor, pretty girl for her beauty's sake--you are the daughter of a +mighty duke. A truce to sentiment! Why, Lady Linleigh, your eyes are wet +with tears! We were talking of the opera--I must go to it. It is +'Ernani' this evening, and I have the music." + +"Earle will go with us, of course," said the countess. + +She had unclasped her arms from the girl's neck, and had gone over to +the little writing-table, beating back her emotion with a strong hand. + +"Yes," laughed Lady Doris, "Earle will go. Earle is rapidly becoming a +popular man. I am not quite sure whether I ought not to be jealous of +him. The Marchioness of Meriton positively introduced him to Lady +Eleanor yesterday, and declared him to be a 'most promising young man!'" + +Lady Linleigh laughed at the perfect mimicry of voice and accent. + +"I see no one to compare with Earle," she said, at length, "and I think +you are a very fortunate girl, Doris." + +"To tell the truth, I am well satisfied with my good fortune, and with +Earle," she said, quietly, as in good sooth she was. She even wondered +at herself, but the truth was she was growing passionately fond of +Earle. + +The secret of it was that he was so completely master of her, that she +had learned to have the highest respect for him--that hers, the weaker, +had recognized his, the master soul. In his presence she was learning to +conceal her thoughts. As time passed on, and a wiser, fuller, +consciousness came to her, she grew more and more ashamed of that dark +and terrible episode of her life. Rather than Earle should know it, she +would die any death; rather than his eyes should look coldly upon her, +his lips speak contemptuous words to her, she would suffer anything, so +completely had his noble nature mastered her ignoble one. His grand soul +obtained an ascendancy over her inferior one--she loved Earle. The time +had been when she had simply amused herself with him, when she had +accepted his love and homage because it was the only thing that made +life endurable to her. That time had passed. She loved him because he +had conquered her, and because he was supreme lord and master. + +Lady Studleigh had never looked more beautiful, perhaps, than on this +evening when she had decided upon going to the opera. She wore an +exquisite costume of blue velvet and white lace, the color of which +made her more than ever dazzlingly fair. The white arms, with their +glorious curves, the white neck, with its graceful lines, were half +shrouded, half disclosed by the veil of white lace. The golden hair was +studded with diamond stars; a diamond cross, which looked as though it +were made of light, rose and fell on the white breast. She carried a +beautiful bouquet, the fragrance of which seemed to float around her as +she moved. + +Was it a wonder that as she took a seat in the box, all eyes were +directed to her? A beautiful woman is perhaps one of the greatest +rarities in creation, but in the hands of a beautiful woman there rests +a terrible power. As she sat there, the light gleaming in her jewels, +the golden hair with its sheen, the blue velvet and the crimson of the +opera box, she made a picture not easily forgotten. The countess, +gracious, fair, and calm, was with her; Earle, his handsome face glowing +with admiration and pride, stood by her side. The earl was to join them +later on in the evening. + +It was a brilliant scene. Some of the fairest women and noblest men in +London were there. Lady Doris was, or seemed to be, engrossed by the +stage; she affected the most sublime and complete, unconsciousness of +the glories of admiration; she was thinking to herself, as she was +always thinking lately: + +"Now, if he, Lord Vivianne, should be here, should suddenly come and +speak to me, I must affect the most complete unconcern and +indifference." + +While her eyes were fixed on the stage, while so many were looking at +her, some with admiration, some with envy, that was the thought which +occupied her. The dread, the expectation of meeting him had been strong +upon her ever since she heard that he was in London--it could not +possibly be otherwise. She knew herself to be the beauty of the season; +he, of course, as an eligible man, would mix in the same circles, and +they must meet. She was brave enough, but there were times when, at the +bare idea of it, the color faded from her face, leaving it ghastly +white; great drops would stand on her forehead; she would clasp her +hands with a cry of agony. + +If her attempts at evading him were all useless, if he recognized her +and insisted on the recognition, what could she do? The question was, +could she deny having been in Florence? No amount of prevarication could +alter that. Suppose--only imagine if he should betray her. He might be a +gentleman and keep his secret; it was certainly within the bounds of +possibility he might keep her secret; but, remembering his character, +she did not for one moment think he would. He called himself a gentleman +and a man of honor, but he had not scrupled to take a mean advantage of +her youth and ignorance, her vanity and folly. What a triumph it would +be for him now to turn round and laugh at the lovely Lady Studleigh, and +say that beautiful, admired, proud, and lofty as she was now, she had +once been content to be his companion. What if he told all this as a +secret at first, and the knowledge of it spread slowly, as a social +leprosy always does. What should she do? Great heavens! what should she +do? + +"How mad I was!" she cried to herself over and over again; "how foolish, +how blind! I might have been so happy but for this!" + +It was the skeleton always by her side, and despite her nerve, her +courage, her strength, there were times when it almost hopelessly beat +her down. Then the thought of Earle was her shield. + +"If he says one word against me, and I cannot kill him," she said to +herself over and over again, "I will ask Earle to fight a duel with him, +and he will slay him!" + +But for this, how unboundedly happy she would have been--how victorious, +how triumphant! Who, looking at that most lovely face, with its calm, +high-bred air, would have thought that the heart beneath was torn with +thoughts of regret, despair, and even revenge that should lead to +murder? + +"My darling!" said the voice she loved best in her ear. "Doris, I shall +be jealous of that music. I have spoken to you so often, and you have +not heard me." + +The eyes she raised to him had no shadow in them of the terrible +thoughts that filled her mind. + +"The music is so beautiful, Earle," she said, gently. + +"I wonder," he said, abruptly, "who that is--a gentleman in the center +box there? He has never once taken his eyes, or rather his glass, from +your face." + +A cold thrill passed over her, as though a shower of ice had fallen over +her--a cold, terrible chill, a shudder that she could not repress. Her +own quick, subtle instinct told her that it was he. + +The moment she had dreaded had come--the sword had fallen at last. + +He was looking at her; the next step he would be speaking to her. + +Now for the Studleigh nerve, the Studleigh courage; now for the +recklessness that defied fate, the boldness that was to defy fortune! A +minute to collect, to control that terrible shudder, then she held up +her flowers with a smile. + +"You are very negligent to-night, Earle," she said; "you have not told +me that you admire my bouquet." + +"There is but little need, darling. I always admire you and everything +belonging to you. Your flowers are like yourself--always sweetest of the +sweet, fairest of the fair!" + +Have men ever paused one minute before swallowing deadly poison, before +drawing the trigger of a pistol, before sending a long, gleaming knife +into their hearts? Have they ever paused with one foot upon a precipice, +with one hand on the stake--paused, before taking the irrevocable step, +to look around and enjoy one more moment of life? Even so she paused +now; she closed her eyes with a lingering look at his face, she buried +her own in the sweet, fragrant flowers. + +"Do you love me so very dearly?" she asked. + +"My darling, when you can collect the gleaming stars of heaven, or the +shining drops of the sunny sea, you will be able to understand how much +I love you--not until then!" + + + + +CHAPTER LXII. + +"I HAVE SEEN SOME ONE LIKE HER." + + +One moment, only one, she kept her fair face in the fragrant +blossoms--one moment, to taste, perhaps for the last time, the sweet +draught of love--one moment, in which to curse the folly, the bitter, +black sin of her girlhood, and to moan over the impending evil. Then she +raised her face again. Surely some of the sweetness of the flowers had +passed into it; it had never seemed to Earle so tender or so sweet. + +"What were you saying just now, Earle, about a glass, or some one's eyes +never being taken from my face? If my grammar is involved, it is your +fault." + +"I cannot imagine who he is!" cried Earle. "We have been here nearly an +hour, and he has never looked at the stage--I do not think he has heard +one note of the music; he has done nothing but look at you earnestly." + +"Perhaps he admires my jewels or my flowers," she said, coquettishly. + +"It is your face," said Earle, impatiently. "What do men care for jewels +or for flowers?" + +"Who is he, Earle? Where is he? Is it any one I know?" + +"I should imagine that it is some one you know, who is waiting for some +sign of recognition from you," said Earle. "You cannot fail to see him, +Doris, in the center box on the second tier. He seems to be a tall, +handsome man; he wears a white japonica. His glass is turned straight +upon you." + +"I cannot return the compliment and look fixedly at him," she said, "but +I will take one glance at him, and see if I know him." + +Calmly, slowly, deliberately, yet with the fire and hate of fury burning +in her heart, she laid down her dainty bouquet; she took up the jeweled +opera-glass, held it for a moment lightly balanced in her hand, then, +with a calm, proud smile, raised it to her eyes. + +Oh, heavens! that the first glimpse of those dark eyes, looking fire +into her own, did not kill her. Her heart gave a terrible bound; she +could have cried aloud in her agony, and have died; but the Studleigh +nerve was uppermost, the Studleigh courage in full play; her hands did +not tremble, nor her lips quiver. Quite calmly she looked, as though she +saw a stranger for the first time, and even then a stranger who did not +interest her. She laid down the glass, and turned to Earle, with a +smile. + +"I do not know the gentleman; I have not seen him before." + +At that same moment he who had been watching her with such eager +interest made her a low bow. + +"He appears to recognize you," said Earle; "he is bowing to you." + +She did not make even the least acknowledgment in return. + +"He cannot know me," she said, calmly; "he is mistaken. I have never +seen him before." + +"He must be either very dull or foolish to mistake you, my darling, for +anyone else," said Earle. "I defy the whole world to show another face +like yours. It is some one whom you have met and forgotten. Be kind, and +give him some little acknowledgment, Doris. See, he is bowing again." + +She raised her eyes to his face. + +"Lady Studleigh returns no bows from strangers," she said, haughtily, +and Earle felt himself rebuked. + +At that moment Sir Harry Durham entered the box to pay his respects to +the belle of the evening. Earle asked him eagerly if he knew the +gentleman in the center box, who wore the white japonica? + +"Know him!" said Sir Harry, laughingly; "yes, of course I do--every one +knows him. That is Lord Charles Vivianne." + +The familiar name fell upon her ears like a death-knell. Earle repeated +in surprise: + +"Lord Vivianne! I have heard of him often enough, though I never saw him +before. I have surely heard some romantic story about some love affair." + +"Earle," interrupted Lady Doris, "do you think Lady Linleigh looks +tired?" + +She merely asked the question, the first that came into her mind, to +divert his attention. She succeeded perfectly--Sir Harry went to ask the +countess if she were fatigued. Earle bent over Lady Doris' chair. + +"You have some strange deeds to answer for," he said, lightly. + +For one moment she looked startled. + +"What do you mean, Earle?" she asked. + +"I believe," he replied, "that you have made a conquest of this famous +Lord Vivianne." + +"Heaven forbid!" she said; and she said it so earnestly that Earle +looked at her in utter wonder. + +"I am tired of conquests, Earle," she said, trying to smile. "I want +nothing--no one but you, no love but yours." + +"It is almost cruel, Doris, to make me such a beautiful speech in the +presence of a crowded opera house, where it is impossible that I can +thank you properly for it." + +"How would you thank me properly for it, Earle?" she asked, +coquettishly. + +"I would count the number of letters in the words, and would give you as +many kisses as there are letters." + +"Kissing is not fashionable," she said; "it is very well for common +people, but ladies of fashion do not indulge in such old-fashioned +manners." + +"Then I hope you will not be a lady of fashion much longer," said Earle. + +The opera was over; Lady Studleigh looked across the house to see if her +enemy was gone. No; he was still there, looking earnestly at her. + +"Perhaps," she thought to herself, "he is waiting to go out when we do." + +"Shall you wait for the ballet, Doris?" said Earle. + +Wait! She would have waited until doomsday to have avoided him. + +"Yes," she replied; "I should like to see the ballet." + +Then she asked herself if she had not done a very stupid thing in trying +to defer the evil day. He would speak to her, that was evident; perhaps +it would have been better over and done with. He had still to wait +during the brilliant scenes of the ballet. She sat, as it were, with her +grim fate in her hands; she talked, she laughed, she played with her +flowers, coquetted with her fan, she listened to love speeches from +Earle, she exchanged smiling remarks with the countess, yet, all the +time she was perfectly conscious that he sat silent, immovable, his +burning glance fixed on her face, never for one moment releasing her. + +Some friend joined him, of whom he asked a question. From the quick +glance given to her, she knew that it was of her they spoke--asking her +name in all probability. What would he think when he heard it? Surely, +he would say to himself that he was mistaken; the Lady Studleigh and the +girl who had been so dazzled with his gold could not be the same. + +She was right in her conjecture. He had asked her name, and learning it, +had been bewildered. When he first saw her--first caught a glimpse of +her face--his heart had given one fierce bound of triumph. He had found +her; there was not such another face. He had found her; he knew the +graceful lines of the figure, the shapely neck, the sheen of the golden +hair, the beautiful face. At first he thought of nothing but that he had +found her. + +Then doubt came to him. Could it be Doris?--this lovely, high-bred lady +in the sheen of her jewels and splendor of her attire? Besides, how +could Doris be in that box, evidently one of an august circle; the +gentleman talking to her had a star on his breast. It could not be +Doris; yet he knew--who so well?--the graceful bend of the proud neck, +even the pretty gesture of the little white hands. It must be Doris. Who +was the gentleman with the white star on his breast? Who the calm, +graceful lady? Who the young man with the face of a poet? He could not +solve the enigma, but he would find it out. If it were not Doris, then +it was some one so much like her that he could not take his eyes from +her face. + +A friend joined him, no other than Colonel Clifford, who laughed to see +him sitting with that intent look. + +"So you are doing what you said you never would do," he said. + +"What is that?" asked Lord Vivianne. + +"Joining in popular devotion," was the laughing reply. + +"Clifford," said Lord Vivianne, "do you know that girl--the one with +diamonds in her golden hair, and white flowers in her hands?" + +Colonel Clifford laughed to himself. + +"Yes," he replied, "I know her. She is the Lady Studleigh, the handsome +earl's only daughter, Lord Linleigh's heiress, the queen of the season, +the belle, _par excellence_, of St. James'." + +"Lady Studleigh!--that Lady Studleigh!" he repeated. "I do not believe +you--I cannot believe you!" he gasped. + +"It is a great pity, as it is most certainly true. Do you not know the +Earl of Linleigh? The other lady with them is the countess. She was the +Duke of Downsbury's daughter." + +"That Lady Studleigh! I cannot believe it! It cannot be!" + +"Perhaps," said the colonel, laughingly, "we should come to some surer +conclusion if you would tell me whom you imagine it to be?" + +Lord Vivianne looked impatiently at him. + +"I did not say that I imagined her to be any one else," he replied, +hastily. "So that is really the young beauty over whom just at present +London is losing its head?" + +"You are right. If you would like an introduction to the earl, my +brother is here; he knows him well. What do you think of Lady Studleigh? +Report has not exaggerated her beauty?" + +"What do I think of her? I will tell you, Clifford, when I have spoken +to her, not before." + +"You are difficult to please if she does not please you." + +"I--I cannot help thinking I have seen some one like her," he said, +slowly. "I wonder if I am right?" + +"Hardly; it is not a common type of face. You may have done so: I have +not." + +Colonel Clifford dearly loved gossip. If he had found Lord Vivianne in a +better temper, he would have told him the romance of the earl's +marriage, and how his daughter was brought up in a very different +position of life to that she now occupied. As it was, he did not tell +him, feeling that his lordship lacked civility; so it happened that not +until long afterward did Lord Charles hear the story that would have +solved many of his doubts. + +He sat and watched her, sometimes so convinced of her identity that he +could have called out "Doris:" again, wondering how he could be so +foolish as to imagine he had found his lost love in Lord Linleigh's +daughter. He could not take him eyes from the beautiful face. He longed +to hear her speak, to see if the voice was that of Doris: he remembered +its low, sweet music so well; if he could hear her speak, he would be a +thousand times more sure. + +He waited until he saw them leave the box, and he hastened so as to be +in the dressing-room with them. Standing nearer to her, he would surely +be able to judge. + +"Are you cold, my darling?" asked Earle, as he saw her drawing the hood +of her opera-cloak over her head. + +"The house was warm," she replied, in a low voice. + +No movement of her enemy was lost upon her. She knew that he was close +to her, that the fragrance of her flowers reached him; she saw that he +pushed his way even nearer, and stood where he could have touched her. +He looked intently at her. Her face was shaded and softened by the +crimson hood. + +Once she looked around, as though curious to see who was near her; then +her eyes met his--quietly, coldly, without the least light, or +recognition, or shadow of fear in them. She looked at him for one half +moment, indifferently, as she glanced at every one else, then looked +away again, leaving him more puzzled than ever. + + + + +CHAPTER LXIII. + +LORD VIVIANNE PERPLEXED. + + +It was no wonder that when she reached Hyde House again Lady Studleigh +should look ill and exhausted; she had passed through a severe ordeal, +and no one but herself knew what it had cost her. + +"One more such victory," she said to herself, "and I should be undone." + +She lay back in one of the lounging-chairs, while Earle hastened to pour +out some wine for her. + +"You look so tired, my darling," he murmured--"so tired. I wish we were +away from this great London, out in the fresh, fair country again, +Doris. Why, sweet, there are tears in your eyes!" + +She looked so wistfully, so longingly at him--tears in the eyes he had +always seen so proud and bright. She bent her beautiful head on his +breast, longing with all her heart to tell him her terrible secret, her +dreadful trouble, yet not daring the least hint. + +"They are tears of fatigue," she said--"real fatigue, Earle." + +"I wish I were Earl of Linleigh for ten minutes," he said; "I would +forbid you to go out again, though you are queen of the season and belle +of St. James'." + +"I should obey you," she replied; and then she bade him good-night, not +daring to say more, lest she should say too much. + +She wanted to be alone, to collect her thoughts, to look her danger in +the face, to gather her forces together, and prepare to give the enemy +brave battle. It was a wonderful relief to her to find herself alone. + +The worst had happened--she had seen him, he had seen her; he had looked +in her face, he had watched her intently, yet she felt quite sure he was +not certain of her identity--he fancied that he knew her, yet could not +for certain tell; so that the worst, she believed, was over. It might be +that he would talk to her, that he would try every little ruse and every +possible maneuver, but what would that matter? She would defeat him +again with her calm and her nonchalance, just as she had done this time. +Then he would assuredly give it up, and say no more about it--make up +his mind that he had been mistaken. + +So she comforted herself with vague ideas, never dreaming that each hour +brought the somber face of tragedy nearer to her. + +The next day was the Duchess of Eastham's ball, one of the best of the +season--one to which she had looked forward as a crowning triumph. A +night's rest, a natural facility for shaking off disagreeable thoughts, +a fixed reliance on her own kindly fate, all contributed to make her +throw off the dark cloud that oppressed her. + +When she joined the earl and countess the following morning, her face +had regained its lost color and brightness, her eyes shone like stars, +her lips were wreathed with smiles. + +"We shall have a large gathering to-night," said Lady Linleigh. "I hear +the Eastham ball is considered the best of the season; all the _elite_ +of London will be there." + +"Then Lord Vivianne is sure to be there," she thought. Her spirits rose +with the emergency. "I will look my best," she said to herself; "I will +dazzle him so completely in my splendor and magnificence that he shall +not dare even in thought to associate me with the Doris he knew." + +She spent some hours of the bright, sunny morning in the park, smiling +to herself, as she thought what an old-fashioned recipe was fresh air +and exercise for keeping a brilliant bloom. She rested after lunch, and +spent some time in the evening combining jewels and flowers, so as to +form a marvelous effect. To her maid she said: + +"Eugenie, I want to be the belle of the belles to-night; you must exert +all your skill." + +The pretty Parisian stood with her head on one side, studying the face +and figure she had to adorn. + +"What kind of style does my lady wish? Shall it be gay, brilliant?" + +"Magnificent!" said Lady Studleigh, laughing. "I wish to be magnificent +as a queen--an empress!" + +"It will not be difficult, my lady," was the smiling reply. + +Nor did there appear to be any difficulty when she was dressed for the +ball. She looked every inch a queen. She wore a superb dress of white +brocade, embroidered with small golden flowers, the effect of which was +gorgeous in the extreme. Sometimes, and in certain lights, she looked +like a mass of gold, in others, like white creamy clouds. The firm white +throat was clasped with a diamond necklace, the Duke of Downsbury's +gift; large diamond ear rings hung from the pretty ears, a cross of +diamonds and sapphires gleamed on her white breast, the fair arms were +bound with diamonds, and she wore a circlet of diamonds in her hair. +Even her flowers matched her costume. They were fragrant white blossoms +of a rare plant, with tiny golden bells. + +Eugenie wondered why the beautiful lady stood looking so long and +earnestly in the mirror. She was not admiring herself--no light of +gratified vanity came into her eyes, no flush of delight colored her +cheeks. She was examining herself gravely, critically, severely, trying +to estimate in her own mind the exact impression that she would produce +on others. Her thoughts were evidently favorable to herself. No one +looking at the beauty of that patrician face would dare to recognize her +as anything less lofty than she seemed to be. As for believing what Lord +Vivianne might say of her, who would do it? + +Just as she had foreseen, she was the belle of the ball. The Duke of +Eastham selected her for the opening of it, and the evening was one long +ovation and triumph for her. Yet, though flattery and homage were all +round her, she never for one moment forgot her chief object, which was +looking for Lord Vivianne. She knew by instinct when he entered the +room; she saw him look round, and knew, as well as though he had told +her, that he was looking for her. + +Now was the time! Her face flushed into rarest loveliness; her eyes grew +radiant. She had the world at her feet to-night. Let him come and do his +worst; she could defy him. + +She saw him go up to the Duchess of Eastham, who listened to him with a +smile, then they both looked in her direction, and in a few minutes were +standing by her. + +She never betrayed the least sign of fear. He looked curiously at her. +The light flashed in her jewels, but the diamonds lay quite still on the +white breast; the golden bells of the flowers never trembled. + +In a few smiling words the duchess introduced Lord Vivianne to Lady +Studleigh. She bent her graceful head and smiled. He begged to know if +she had yet one dance to spare, and she answered "Yes." He listened +attentively to the voice; it was certainly like that of Doris, but he +fancied the accent was more silvery, more refined. + +"It is very warm," she said, looking straight in his face; "I should +like an ice." + +"Quite a happy inspiration," he replied, and they went away together. + +If she felt the least tremor of fear she did not show it; she laughed +and talked quite gayly to him, with the simple innocence of a child, not +shrinking even in the least, while his eyes looked deep down into hers, +as though he would read every thought of her soul. If she had shrunk +from him--if she had shown the least fear--if she had avoided his +glance, refused to dance with him, he would have had more reason to +suspect her; as it was, he was fairly bewildered, and more than once he +called himself a simpleton for his suspicions. The bright, fearless +glance, the child-like smile, the frank gayety, would have puzzled a +wiser man than Lord Vivianne. + +"I will try her," he thought. "If she be the girl who went to Italy with +me, I shall find it out." + +He offered her his arm, so that he could feel her hand tremble, if +tremble it did. He began by admiring her bouquet. + +"You have some very rare flowers there, Lady Studleigh," he said--"white +blossoms with golden bells; it is an exotic. Is it Indian or Italian?" + +She looked at him with a frank smile. + +"I am very ignorant," she said. "I love flowers very dearly, but I never +made them a study. Long Latin names frighten me." + +"Yet it is a beautiful study," he said. + +She laughed again. + +"I believe, honestly," she said, "that if I knew, for instance, the +Latin and Greek name of this lovely flower, with its whole history, I +should not enjoy it half as much as I do now. That is a mystery to me." + +"Do you like mysteries?" he asked, quickly. + +"I can hardly tell; I think I should if I had one." + +He looked into the very depths of her eyes--they were as clear and open +as the day. + +"You are too frank to care for mystery," he said. + +"Yes, frankness is what Lord Linleigh calls one of my failings." + +"Why is it a failing?" he asked. + +"Because I carry it to excess. I have an unfortunate habit of saying +whom I like, whom I dislike, what I care for, and what I do not care +for." + +That frank _abandon_ was not much like the Doris he had known. + +"That is very nice," he said; "I wish I dare ask if you are likely to +like me?" + +"I will tell you when I know more of you," was the reply. "I have a +fashion of showing my liking, which I am quite sure is a little +_outre_." + +"Have you ever been in Italy?" he asked, watching her intently as he +spoke. + +If there had been the least change of color, if her eyes had drooped in +the least from his, he would have said: "Doris, I have found you!" + +As it was, the only expression on her face was one of innocent surprise. + +"In Italy?" she repeated. "Oh, yes, I finished my education there!" + +He made no reply, but began to think to himself that he must indeed have +been mistaken. Then he talked to her about many things. Her answers gave +him the impression that she was very quick, very clever, but innocent, +almost with a child-like simplicity. + +He had but one resource, one more question to ask, and if he were +baffled in that, he should be at a loss what to think. He gazed +earnestly into the beautiful face. + +"Lady Studleigh," he said, "I cannot help fancying that I have seen you +before--that we have met before, and have been good friends. Is it so?" + +There was no trace of emotion in her face--nothing but girlish surprise. + +"Met before? I do not remember it, Lord Vivianne. I have been introduced +to so many strangers, it is possible I may have forgotten some. Still, I +think I should have remembered your name." + +"It was not in London we met," he said. "Carry your memory back to last +year--only last year. Have you no place for me in it?" + +"No," she replied, "I have not. Last year I spent at Linleigh Court. +Have I really seen you before, Lord Vivianne? Indeed, I apologize most +sincerely for not remembering you." + +"It may be only a fancy," he said. + +"But if you knew me, and knew that I ought to recognize you, why did you +ask for an introduction to me?" she asked, wonderingly. + +"Because I was not sure," he replied, gloomily. "I am not sure now--I am +bewildered." + +Then when he saw the surprise on her face deepen into annoyance, he +said: + +"I beg your pardon. I did know some one once who was like you--oh, so +like you!--some one who made me very unhappy. That is our dance. Lady +Studleigh, smile, that I may know you have forgiven me." + +She smiled, and they went away to the ball-room together. + + + + +CHAPTER LXIV. + +A TERRIBLE TRIAL. + + +"Earle," said Lady Doris, "it seems so long since you left me." + +She was standing in the ball-room with the countess. Her late partner, +Lord Vivianne, had gone to fulfill his engagement elsewhere. + +"It seems so long," she repeated. + +And Earle, who knew every tone of her voice, detected something +unusually sad in it. His face grew bright with happiness that she had +missed him. + +"I saw you dancing with the gentleman who admired you so greatly the +other evening," he replied. "You seemed so interested in his +conversation that I never dreamed you would miss me." + +"He has tried me so, Earle," she said, gently. "Before I can enjoy +myself again, I must go somewhere and rest for a few minutes. Where +shall we go?" + +Earle silently placed the little white hand on his arm, and led the way +to a brilliantly-lighted conservatory, where the rippling of the +fountain mingled with the songs of tamed birds. There was no one else in +that spacious fragrant place. He drew a chair to one of the fountains +and placed her in it. She drew a deep breath of unutterable relief, as +one who had passed through mortal peril and escaped it. Looking at her, +Earle saw that her beautiful face was ghastly white; the eyes she raised +to him were dim and shadowed with horror. + +"Earle," she said, with a faint attempt at a smile, "I do not look much +like the belle of the ball now, do I?" + +He was full of concern. + +"Not much," he replied. "What is the matter, darling?--what has made you +ill? I have thought so often lately that you looked ill and unlike +yourself." + +She tried to smile, but the expression on her face belied the smile. + +"I never did faint in my life," she said--"it is an achievement quite +beyond me--but I feel much inclined to do the deed now. Earle, fetch +some brandy for me." + +"Brandy!" he repeated. "Wine would be better, my darling; brandy is very +strong." + +"Wine tastes like water," she said. "I want something that is all +fire--all fire! to make me strong. Be quick, Earle--be quick! I have to +dance with Prince Poermal before supper. I would not be seen looking +like this for all the wide world!" + +"I do not like leaving you alone," said Earle. + +"No one will come here," she said impatiently. "That is the 'Elisir +d'Amor' waltz--no one will miss us. Go quickly, Earle." + +He bent down and kissed the pale face, then he went quickly to the +buffet, poured some brandy in a small glass and carried it to her. She +sat just as he had left her--the white arms had fallen listlessly by her +side, the white blossoms with the golden bells lay at her feet. Earle +thought she looked like some one whose whole strength had been expended +in a dire struggle. + +"Doris," he said, gently, "drink this dear." + +She raised her head and drank the brandy as though it had been so much +water. He looked at her in wonder. Then the color slowly returned to her +face. + +"I understand, Earle," she said, "now, for the first time, why people +take to drinking." + +There was something so strange in her manner that Earle felt almost +frightened. + +"Do not talk in that fashion, my darling," he said. "I cannot endure to +hear you. Sweet lips like yours should not utter such words." + +She laughed; her lips were quite red now, and there was color in her +face. + +"I can understand it," she repeated, laughingly. "When you brought that +to me I was almost dead--it seemed to me that all strength had left me, +all the life in me was freezing; now I am warm, living, and well. The +next time I feel ill I shall take brandy." + +He did not know whether she were laughing or not, whether she meant the +words seriously or not, but they impressed him most disagreeably. + +"Doris," he said, gravely, "never do that. You are only jesting, I know, +dear, and this unhealthy style of life will soon be over for you. You +exhaust your strength by over-doses of gayety and excitement. Do not fly +to stimulants to restore it; you could not do anything more fatal." + +She laughed. + +"Of course I am jesting. This is a rest to sit here with you. Lord +Vivianne tired me so dreadfully." She shuddered as with cold, and laid +her head back on the chair. "How is it, Earle, that some people are so +disagreeable and others so nice?" + +Earle laughed, so happy to think that she called him nice. + +"Which is Lord Vivianne?" he asked. + +"Oh, disagreeable, you may be sure of that. See how he has tired me." + +"But the world in general considers him a very agreeable man," said +Earle. + +"I do not. We will not talk of him. Say something very loving and very +pleasant to me, Earle, that will send all tiresome thoughts out of my +mind." + +"You have no right with tiresome thoughts. What are they? Tell me them," +he said. + +She laughed, but the laugh was a sigh. + +"What tiresome thoughts can I have, Earle, except that I regret youth +and pleasure are not immortal? I can have no other. Say something loving +to me, Earle." + +He bent over her and whispered words that brought a sweet, bright blush +to her face; then she stood up. + +"Now give me my flowers, Earle." + +He did so, shaking the little golden bells. + +"Do I look bright and brilliant again?" she asked--"like the belle of +the ball?" + +"Yes, bright as the morning star." + +"Now for Prince Poermal and some sugared German compliments," she said. + +And they returned to the ball-room. + +The prince, all smiles, all gallantry, all devotion, came up to claim +her hand. Earle watched her as she danced with him; she was all smiles, +all brightness, all light. She talked gayly, she laughed, and the prince +appeared to be charmed with her. + +Earle wondered more and more. Was it possible this brilliant, beautiful +girl was the one he had seen so short a time before, white, cold, and +silent, as though some terrible trouble lay over her. He saw what +universal admiration she excited; how many admiring glances followed +her; he saw that in that brilliant assembly there was no one to compare +with her, and he wondered at his own good fortune in winning so peerless +a creature. Yet he felt that there was something strange about her, +something that he could not understand. Her spirits were strangely +unequal; one minute she was all fire, animation, and excitement, the +next dull and absent. He tried to account for it all by saying to +himself the life was new to her--new and very strange--and it was only +natural that she should feel strange in it. + +Later on in the evening, when the brilliant ball was almost over, Lord +Vivianne sought Lady Studleigh again. + +"I am going to ask a great favor," he said; "it is that I may be +permitted to call. I have had the pleasure of an introduction to the +Earl of Linleigh." + +"I shall be much pleased," she replied, indifferently--so indifferently +that he could not possibly tell whether she were pleased or otherwise. + +"Shall you remain much longer in town?" he asked, determined to keep up +a conversation with her. + +"I hope so," she replied. "I think London is incomparable; I cannot +imagine any other life half so delightful." + +"You should see Paris," he said, looking earnestly at her. + +"Yes, I should like to see court life in Paris. I was there as a child, +but, as a matter of course, I have no knowledge of French society. I was +too young to know much about it." + +"You must try to spend some time there; there is a brilliancy about +French society that we do not find in England." + +She looked as politely indifferent as possible, not sufficiently so to +offend him, but enough to show him that she felt no great interest in +the conversation. He could not find any excuse for delaying any longer, +but he left her with the determination to see her again as soon as +possible. + +"The ball has been a brilliant success," said the earl. "Have you +enjoyed it, Doris?" + +"Yes," she replied, "I liked Prince Poermal, and I liked the Duke of +Eastham, but I did not like all my partners." + +Lord Linleigh laughed. + +"That is hardly to be supposed," he said. "If it be not a rude question, +which of them did your ladyship dislike?" + +"Dislike is too strong a word, papa. I did not care about Lord Vivianne; +he tired me very much. How can people admire him?" + +"You do not like him?" said the earl. "I suppose it does not much +matter, but I am rather sorry. He seemed to take a great fancy to me, +and pressed me to try shooting with him. If you do not like him, I shall +not." + +She laughed. + +"There is no need for that, papa: it does not quite follow that because +he is not to my taste, he is not to yours, does it?" + +"No; but he spoke of calling on us, and did his best to make me +understand that he wished to be on visiting terms with us." + +"Why not?" she asked, indolently. + +"If you do not like him, Doris, I should never care to see him inside +our doors." + +"I do not like him as a partner, papa; perhaps as a visitor to the house +I might like him very well indeed. He tired me with his incessant +questions and compliments." + +"Perhaps he was very much charmed with you," said the earl, laughingly. +"I must say, no one ever showed a greater desire to be on intimate terms +with me than he did. I asked him to dine on Thursday--the Bishop of +Lingham is coming--and we shall see if he improves upon acquaintance." + +"He seemed to me very polite and pleasing," said the countess, quietly. + +And then they spoke no more of Lord Vivianne, but Lady Studleigh thought +of him incessantly. She had made the greatest effort, which was talking +to him, parrying his questions, assuming a part, and carrying it on for +some time. She had said to herself that the danger was averted, that she +had no more to fear, but she found that she was wrong. In his eyes she +read a fixed determination to know her--a doubt that all her skill had +not been able to solve, all her talent had not prevented. She felt this; +she understood that although he had seemed to acquiesce in all she said, +in his own mind suspicion still lingered. + + + + +CHAPTER LXV. + +"IF SHE REFUSES, LET HER BEWARE!" + + +Standing in the solitary splendor of her room, Doris looked round her +with despairing eyes. Was it possible that this sin, of which she had +thought so little, would be the means of dragging her down from the +brilliant height on which she stood? What were those words haunting her? +"Be sure your sin will find you out." Was it possible that her brilliant +life, her triumphant career, her happiness, should all be ended by this +secret coming to life? Would it be of any use throwing herself on his +mercy, and asking him to keep the horrible story to himself? Bah! she +hated him so that she would ask no favor from him--not to save twenty +lives! The only thing for her to do was to go on baffling him--to treat +him, not with unkindness, but with such calm indifference that he would +find it impossible to break down the barrier--to avoid conversation with +him, and to marry Earle as soon as possible. Once married, she could +easily persuade her husband to take her abroad. She would keep out of +England a year or two, and then Lord Vivianne would have forgotten his +fancy. + +"There is one thing I must do the next time I see him," said the unhappy +girl to herself. "I must tell him, in some way or other, that my name is +Doris. He is sure to find it out. I had better tell him." + +She went to rest in her luxurious chamber, perhaps one of the most +luxurious in London, and in the whole of that vast city there was not a +heart more restless or more sad than hers. + + * * * * * + +Lady Doris met Lord Vivianne next at a flower-show at Chiswick. It +pleased the fair ladies of fashion to congregate there. The Duchess of +Downsbury, the Countess of Linleigh, and Lady Doris, had driven +together. It was a brilliant _fete_; the sky overhead was blue and +cloudless, the golden sun was shining, the air was filled with the songs +of countless birds, and each laden with the fragrant odor of a thousand +flowers. The charm of sweetest music was not wanting; from under the +shade of the trees came the clear, bright sounds. It was like fairyland. + +The earl had ridden down: Earle was prevented from going. + +It was there that, for the second time, she met the man who was fast +becoming her mortal foe. There was a long, shady avenue of trees, with +beautiful chestnuts in full bloom; the air seemed alive and warm with +their fragrance. The duchess and her daughter had gone to look at some +exquisite specimens of white heath; Lady Studleigh walked slowly down +the chestnut grove. She heard footsteps behind her, and thinking it was +the duchess, she did not turn. Then the voice that she hated most in the +world sounded in her ears. + +"Good-morning, Lady Studleigh; I esteem myself very fortunate in meeting +you here." + +Again he looked narrowly into her face, to see if there was the faintest +trace of confusion or fear. It was calm and bright as the morning +itself; her eyes shone like two stars, her lips were all smiles. + +"Good-morning," she replied, laughingly; "I shall have my ideal of +fairyland after this, Lord Vivianne." + +"What will it be?" he asked. + +"A flower-show. It is really very beautiful; I cannot tell you how much +I enjoy it." + +"Perhaps novelty adds to the charm," he said. "The most beautiful +flowers I have ever seen are at Downsbury Castle. You have been to +Downsbury Castle, Lady Studleigh?" + +"Yes," she replied, with the frankest unconcern, "I was there last year. +I thought the flowers very beautiful." + +"I once saw a flower," he said, "that I would defy all creation to +equal." + +"Did you? For my part, I think them all beautiful alike. Have you seen +the japonicas here?" + +"No, I have only just arrived." + +To himself he added, despairingly: + +"I must be wrong. She could not be so frankly unconcerned. Besides, how +could the girl I took to Florence with me be Lord Studleigh's daughter?" + +"Did you like Downsbury Castle?" he asked, again. + +"Yes, but I cannot say that I was ecstatically happy there." + +"Why not?" he asked. "You ought to be happy everywhere." + +She laughed a low, musical laugh. + +"I do not think," she said, "that I was a great favorite with her +grace." + +"With the duchess--why not?" + +"For many reasons. She did not like the color of my hair, because it is +brighter than Lady Linleigh's. She did not like my name; she said it had +the flavor of common poetry about it." + +"Your name? If I am not presumptuous, what is it?" + +"Doris," she replied, and she raised her eyes to his with a look of most +angelic innocence. He was bewildered. + +"Doris," he repeated. "I knew a Doris once--the one so like you." + +"Doris--how strange." Again the low, sweet laugh that maddened him. "I +assure you," she continued, "that I am like the duchess--I dislike the +name exceedingly." + +He was looking at her in a maze of perplexity. She was so like; it must +be his Dora. The name, too; it could not be a coincidence. Yet, if she +were the girl he had betrayed, it was not natural that she could refrain +from showing some little emotion, some fear, some surprise. She did not +appear to notice that there was anything strange in his silence or his +fixed regard. + +"I have a theory of my own about names," she continued, "and I think it +the most cruel thing in the world to give a child either an ungainly or +an unusual one. If I had had a sensible name, I should not have been +full of caprice, as I am now." + +He laughed, still wondering. Could it be his Dora, the girl he had +learned to love with such a fierce, mad love--the girl to recover whom +he would have cheerfully laid down his wealth? He would not have +believed it possible, if any other man had told him such a story; he +would have said it could not be, that it must be clear at once whether +she were the girl or not; yet he was puzzled. If a kingdom had been +offered to him at that moment to say whether this was the girl he had +loved or not, he could not have told. Still, he would try her, and try +her until some incautious word, some half-uttered exclamation, some +sudden look of fear would betray her. If none of these things happened, +he would take further steps--go down to Brackenside, where he had first +met her, and see what he could find out there. + +Then, as he listened to her, his faith was shaken again. Surely, if she +dreaded recognition, she would be less natural, she would seek in some +measure to disguise her voice, her laugh; but no one could be more frank +or natural. Then a new idea came to him. If she were really Dora, as +sooner or later he must discover, then he would compel her to marry him +by threats; if she were not, he would win her love and marry her. + +Looking at the exquisite face, the proud eyes, all the mad, fierce love +that he had felt for his lost Dora came over him. Then he was startled +to find the laughing eyes looking at him with some curiosity. + +"I have heard of day dreams, Lord Vivianne," she said, "now I have seen +a day dreamer. We have been through this chestnut grove twice, and you +have not spoken; you have been building castles in the air." + +"I have been building castles of which I have dared to make you the +queen," he replied. + +"I should like to be the queen of something more substantial than an air +castle," she replied laughingly. + +"You do not know," he said, "that being with you, Lady Studleigh, is at +once the highest happiness and the greatest misery." + +"I ought to be flattered at producing such a variety of emotion," she +replied, with a laugh. + +"You would be serious--you would pity me if you knew all," he said. + +"Shall I pity you without knowing anything?" she replied. + +"No; but, Lady Studleigh, you are so pretty, so exactly like some one +I--I loved and lost; you are the very counterpart of her--her true +likeness. I have never seen anything so marvelous!" + +"How did you lose her?" she asked. "Did she die?" + +"No. To me it was almost worse than that. She, this lovely girl whom I +so dearly loved, was beneath me in station, yet I worshiped her. She +affected to love me--whether she did or not, Heaven only knows. But just +as I had made up my mind to marry her, because I loved her so dearly I +could not live without her, she disappeared--went away out of my life, +and I have not seen her since." + +"What a strange story," she replied, indifferently, "and how strange +that you should tell it to me, Lord Vivianne." + +"Because," he cried, with sudden passion, "you are so much like her--do +you not see? You are so much like her that I could look in your face and +cry out--'Dora, Dora, have you forgotten me?'" + +She laughed again. + +"Could you? How strange! I should feel very much surprised if you did." + +"You are so like her. When I look at you my heart seems to leave me." + +Her violet eyes, with their proud light, looked into his calmly. + +"I did not think the men of the present day knew much about love," she +said; "but you seem to have loved her." + +"Loved her!--but I forget myself, Lady Studleigh; you might as well try +to imagine what the heat and thunder of battle are like, from seeing +them painted on canvas, as guess how I loved her from hearing me use the +word love." + +"You should find her and tell her all this," she said. + +And from the half-tired expression that for one moment crossed the +beautiful face, he knew she was growing politely wearied of the theme. + +"I am searching for her," he said, his lips growing white and hot as he +spoke. "I am looking for her. There are times when I believe that I have +found her." + +"That is well," she replied. + +"No, it is hardly well. When I am sure that I have discovered her, I +shall ask her to marry me; and if she refuses, let her beware! let her +beware!" + +The words came from him with a hiss. Her sunny laughter smote him like +the edge of a sharp sword. + +"How dramatic, Lord Vivianne! I shall begin to think you are rehearsing +for a tragedy." + +He looked confused. + +"If she be not Dora," he thought, "what will she think of me?" + +Then he continued: + +"I ought to apologize, Lady Studleigh. I cannot help it, you are so much +like her. I loved her so dearly that, do you see, I would lose my life +rather than my hope of winning her for my wife." + +"But how can you make her your wife, Lord Vivianne?" she asked, +wonderingly. "If she had loved you, and had been willing to marry you, +she would not have run away, would she?" + +"I have never understood it; there was a mystery in her disappearance +that I never fathomed. But I _will_ fathom it, I _will_ find her, and +make her my wife." + +"Did she run away from all her friends, too?" she asked. + +He turned to look at her, and they glanced for one half minute steadily +at each other. + +"If I have asked an intrusive question," she said, with a smile, "it +was your fault for telling me. Remember, I did not ask your +confidence--you gave it to me." + +"As I would give you the whole world, if I had it," he replied, +passionately. + +"Because I am so much like some one else?" she replied smilingly. "I +ought to be grateful to you." + +"If ever harm or evil comes to me," said Lord Vivianne, "it will be +through her. I am not master of myself; when I think of her it maddens +me. I believe if I met her--found her, and she refused to be my wife, I +should----" + +"Should what?" she asked, as he hesitated. + +"I should kill her!" he said, fiercely. + +"How dreadful! You are quite a tragedy hero, Lord Vivianne." She laughed +as she spoke, and shrugged her shoulders. "Suppose this lady of whom you +speak should be like you, and say the same thing--that she would rather +kill you than marry you. What then?" + +"Why, then we should fight it out to the bitter end." + +"Here is the duchess," said Lady Studleigh, calmly. "Mind, Lord +Vivianne, I do not think you have done the wisest thing in trusting a +stranger, like myself, with your secrets; however, your confidence in me +shall not be misplaced, I will keep them." + +Then the duchess and Lady Linleigh joined them. He remained with them, +affecting to talk to them, but secretly engaged in watching Lady Doris. +But it was all in vain. There was no trace of thought or care on her +face. She talked and laughed gayly, as though he had not spoken a word; +the only thing was, that in her manner to him he detected a gentle pity +that she had not shown before. + +"I must be mistaken," he said to himself. "Eyesight, hearing, memory, +all must be wrong--all must have failed me; but--she could not possibly +be playing a part--she cannot be my lost Dora. No woman could be so +utterly indifferent. I must be mistaken, but I will find it out!" + + + + +CHAPTER LXVI. + +A LITTLE ARTIFICE. + + +It did not occur to Lady Doris that in all probability Lord Vivianne +would recognize Earle. He had seen him once, and once only--that was +walking with her, near Brackenside. But his lordship had no eyes then to +spare for the rustic lover. He had also known his name--Earle Moray--but +he was proverbially careless, forgetful and indifferent. It was a +question whether he had paid the least heed to it, not thinking it could +even interest him. + +On the day of the dinner party at Hyde House it had occurred to her that +they would meet. They had both been at the Duchess of Eastham's ball, +but in a crowded ball-room even friends often failed to recognize each +other. How would it be when they met in the same room, dined at the same +table? People would be sure to make some allusion to Earle's poems, +some one would be sure to mention Downsbury Castle, then Earle would +join in and she would be lost. She might, by her indifference, make him +believe that he was mistaken: but if he once found out who Earle was, +and that Earle was still her lover, she could blind him no longer. Had +she met him only at rare intervals, she might have continued to mislead +him. Had she met him casually in society, she could have carried on her +deception until it was too late for him to injure her. But now that he +was coming, as it were, into the very heart of her home, she had less +chance. + +If he found out about Earle, he would find out about her, too. +Then--well, suppose it came, this discovery that she dreaded so +terribly, what would he do if she refused to marry him? "Kill her," he +had said; but that was not so easily done. She might compromise and +secure her own safety by refusing to marry Earle, and marrying Lord +Vivianne. He would keep her secret then. People would only say that she +had changed her mind, and say that she was like all the +Studleighs--faithless. But she loved Earle with all her power of loving, +and she hated Lord Vivianne with an untold hatred. + +She said to herself that if she had to save herself from the most +terrible death by marrying him, she would not do it. She loathed him; +she would have been pleased to hear that he was dead, or anything else +dreadful had happened to him, for he had spoiled her life. Of what use +was all her wealth, her luxury, her magnificence? Her life through him +was spoiled--completely spoiled. + +"I wish he were dead," she said to herself, over and over again. "The +toils are spreading around me; I shall be caught at last." + +She flung her arms above her head with a terrible cry. What was she to +do? She must, first of all, prevent them from meeting that night. They +must not dine together at her father's house; that was the evil to be +immediately dreaded. She flung the masses of golden hair back from her +white face. + +"If I dare but tell Earle, and let him avenge me," she thought. + +Then she wrote to him a coaxing little note, telling him that she had a +particular reason for desiring him not to dine at Hyde House that +evening--a reason that she would explain afterward, but that she herself +desired to see him alone. Would he come later on in the evening and ask +for her? She would arrange to receive him in Lady Linleigh's boudoir. +Then she rung for a footman in hot haste. + +"Take this note to Mr. Moray," she said. "Never mind how long you have +to wait. Give it into his own hands, then bring me the answer." + +"Oh, these lovers," sighed the servant. "What there is to do to please +them!" + +Still, he did his best. He waited until he saw Earle, put the note in +his hand, and waited for the answer. + +Earle only smiled as he read it. He was so completely accustomed to +these pretty little caprices, he had ceased to attach any importance to +them. He merely wrote in reply that he was entirely at her command. + +"You remember the old song, my darling: + + "'Thou art my life, my love, my heart, + The very eyes of me; + Thou hast command of every part, + To live and die for thee.' + +"I will come later on in the evening and see no one but you." + +He laughed as he closed the note. + +"I wonder what pretty caprice possesses my darling now," he said to +himself. + +The man who took the note back wondered at his young mistress, her face +was quite white, her golden hair clung in rich disorder, the white +hands, so eagerly extended to seize the letter, trembled and burned like +fire. + +"They must have had a quarrel," he said to himself, with a knowing nod, +as he closed the door. "They have had a quarrel, and my lady wishes to +make it all right again." + +It was a reprieve. She kissed the little note with a passion of love +that was real. + +"My darling," she said, "if we could but go away together." + +And as she sat there a sudden memory of the time when she had run away +from him came to her. She saw the old-fashioned garden at Brackenside; +she saw the great crimson roses, and the sheaves of white lilies; she +saw the kindly face of Mattie, and heard Earle singing: + + "Thou art my soul, my life--the very eyes of me." + +Ah, peaceful, innocent days! Blind, mad fool that she had been ever to +listen to Vivianne--to let him tempt her--to let him take her from the +innocent, happy home! What had she gained? And--ah, Heaven!--what had +she lost? If she could but have foreseen, have known, how differently +she would have behaved. + +"I am strong," she said, pushing away the golden hair with her white +hands. "I am strong, but I could not live this life--it would kill me." + +She sat for half an hour, thinking steadily, then her resolve was taken. +She would tide over the dinner as well as she could, throwing him more +and more off his guard. She would see Earle that evening, and tell him +that she wanted their marriage hastened; that she was tired of so many +lovers, and wanted to go away with him; that she was wearied of London +life. + +She knew that Earle would be on the alert to serve her, he would manage +it all. She had faith in his great love. Then she would tell the earl +that her health and strength were failing her; ask him to take her to +Linleigh Court. Lord Vivianne would not dare to follow her there. It was +like a haven of rest to her. When the summer came, she would marry Earle +quietly and go abroad. Then she would be out of her enemy's power; he +could no longer hurl her from her high estate, or compel her to marry +him. She would be another man's wife then, and it would be his place to +protect and avenge her. + +The plan, rapidly conceived, rapidly sketched, was her only resource, +her only safety. True, it would spoil her life, the triumphs that she +now enjoyed would be hers no longer. She would cease to be the belle of +the season, the queen of beauty and fashion. She must lose that part of +her life which she valued most--the homage, the adulation, the +brightness, and all through him. How her whole soul raged in burning +fury against him! + +If he had been lying there on the ground, her foot on his neck, she +would not have spared him. She would have seen him die with pleasure. It +did not lessen her anger and her rage that she had to talk to him, to +smile, and charm him. + +"If a look could kill him," she said to herself, "he should die." + +She longed to be in Italy, where a bravo, for a comparatively small sum, +would soon have ended his life. She was obliged to soothe her anger, to +still the fierce tempest of rage, to calm her fears, to take an interest +in her dress, to smile, to look sweet and winning, with the most +vindictive hate in her heart. + +Then she went into the little drawing-room. Lord Linleigh went up to +her. + +"What a pretty toilet, Doris," he said. "White lace and roses. Your +taste is simply superb. But, ah, me! ah, me!" + +"What is it, papa?" she asked, as he laughed, gently. + +"Earle is not coming, my dear. I am afraid you will be disappointed. He +has sent a hurried little note to say that it is impossible. He is busy +about his election, you know." + +A few minutes afterward and Lord Vivianne, with a smile on his face, +entered the room. Her fingers clutched the flowers she carried so +tightly; the thought passed through her mind that if he could but have +fallen dead over the threshold it would have been well for her. + +"I shall see him if he comes in later on," she said. + +A few minutes afterward he was seated by her side, and they were talking +in the most friendly manner. The dinner passed over better than she had +hoped. Earle was not mentioned nor did any one allude to Downsbury +Castle. Lord Vivianne had contrived to secure a place by Lady +Studleigh's side, and he did his best to please her. She could not help +remarking how courteous and gallant was his manner in society. She +contrasted it with what she had seen of him in Florence. When dinner was +over, and they had gone into the drawing-room, he bent over the back of +her chair. + +"Lady Studleigh, have you forgotten my terrible outburst of the other +day?" + +"Yes," she replied; "I have seen much that is amusing since then." + +"It was not very amusing to me," he said. "When a man lays bare the core +of his heart, he does not do it for amusement." + +"Not for his own, perhaps," she said; "but if he does it in your tragic +style, he cannot help other people being amused." + +"I could call you Doris," he said, "when you look at me with that +piquant smile." + +"I hope you will not, Lord Vivianne. I should always fancy papa was +talking to me." + +"Did you think I was mad that day in the chestnut grove?" + +Lady Doris laughed. + +"My experience of the world is not very large at present," she said. +"Whenever I see or hear anything unusual, I think it is the fashion of +the times." + +"Ah, Lady Studleigh, I wish I could persuade you to be serious--you are +always laughing at me." + +"Tendency to laughter is hereditary with me," she said. "I cannot help +it. I am afraid that I have no talent for sentiment. The only matter I +find for surprise is why you should have selected such a very unsuitable +character as myself for your confidante. I cannot say what may be in +store for me, but I do not remember that any love affair ever possessed +the least interest for me yet." + +"You should have a love affair, as you call it, Lady Studleigh, in +Italy, where the air is poetry, and the wind music." + +"Papa," said Lady Studleigh to the earl, who was just passing her chair, +"do you hear Lord Vivianne's advice?" + +"No, my dear; but I do not doubt that it is good." + +"He tells me to go to Italy to learn a lesson in love. That is a sorry +compliment to England and the English, is it not?" + + + + +CHAPTER LXVII. + +A QUIET WEDDING ADVOCATED. + + +"What did that little note mean, Doris?" asked Earle, with a smile. "You +see that I obeyed you implicitly." + +Even as he spoke he stood still, lost in admiration of the beautiful +picture before him. + +Although it was summer there was a bright little fire in the silver +grate, the lamps were lighted, but lowered, so that the room was filled +with a soft light; the hangings of rich rose silk were drawn, the long +mirrors reflected the light, the flowers filled the air with perfume, +and in the very heart of the rich crimson light sat the Lady Doris. She +was half-buried in a nest of crimson velvet, the firelight had caught +the gleam of her jewels, the sheen of the golden hair, the light in her +eyes, the white dress: it seemed to shine above all on the white jeweled +hands, that lay carelessly clasped on her knee. She had told the +countess Earle would call, and that she wished to speak to him, so that +she knew her _tete-a-tete_ would be quite undisturbed. + +Earle looked at her, thinking that there had never been so fair a +picture in all the world; then he repeated his question. She looked up +at him, and he was struck by the unusual expression in her eyes; he +knelt down before her, and took one white hand in his. + +"That cruel note," he said, "depriving me of a pleasure I cannot enjoy +too often. What did it mean?" + +She did what was very unusual with her; she clasped her arms round his +neck. + +"Oh, Earle! Earle! it is strange what rest I feel when you are near me. +I will tell you what the note meant, but you will laugh at me." + +"I do not think so, darling; I have laughed with you, but not at you." + +"I knew that tiresome Lord Vivianne was coming, and he tries my temper +so; he will admire me, and I do not want his admiration." + +"Then why keep me away, darling; I might have saved you from it." + +"No; I knew you could not. I was obliged to go down to dinner with him, +and it would have tried my temper too severely if I had been compelled +to sit by him and could not have been with you. You may think it a +stupid, childish reason, Earle, but it is a true one. I was determined +if I could not talk to you, I would not be annoyed by seeing any one +else do so." + +He looked slightly puzzled, but, as he said to himself, it was one of +her caprices--why not be content? + +"If my staying away pleased you," he said, "I am doubly pleased." + +Yet it struck him as he spoke, that she had lost some of her animation +and brightness. + +"How beautiful you look in this light, Dora," he said. "Why, my darling, +a king might envy me." + +One of the white, jeweled hands rested caressingly on the noble head of +the young poet. He had never seen Dora so gentle before. + +"My darling!" he cried, his face glowing with its rapture of happiness. +"My darling, you are beginning to love me so well at last." + +"I do love you, Earle," she said, and for some minutes there was silence +between them. + +She had a certain object to win, and she was debating within herself how +it was to be won. + +"It is like a fairy tale," he said. "Why, my darling, looking at you I +cannot believe my own good fortune; you are the fairest woman in +England; you are noble, you are high in station; you have the wit, the +grace, the noble bearing of a queen. I have nothing but the two titles +you have given me, of gentleman and poet--yet I shall win you for my +wife. It is so wonderful--this love that breaks all barriers; money +could not have brought you to my side--a millionaire might love you, but +you would not care for him; title could not win you--it is love that has +made you all mine! All mine, until death!" + +She listened to his impassioned words; she looked at the handsome, noble +face, and a sensation of something like shame came to her that she +should have to maneuver with a love so grand in its simplicity; still +she must save herself. Her arms fell with a dreamy sigh; the firelight +shining on her face showed it to be flushed and tremulous. + +"Earle," she said, "do you remember how I used to long for a life like +this? long for gayety, excitement, wealth, pleasure, and perpetual +admiration?" + +"I remember it well. I used to feel so puzzled to know how to get it for +you." + +"Now I have it--more than even my heart desired. You will not think me +very fickle if I tell you something?" + +"I shall never think you anything but most charming and lovable, Doris." + +"Well, the truth is, I am rather tired of the life; but I do not like to +say so. I cannot think why it is; sometimes I think it may only be +fancy, that I am not strong as I used to be; perhaps the great change +has been too much for me. Let it be what it may, I am tired of it, +though I cannot say so to any one but you." + +"The queen of the season tired of her honors?" said Earle, kissing the +sweet lips and the white brow. + +"I am really tired, Earle. Then, though admiration is always sweet to a +woman, I have rather too much of it. That Prince Poermal is making love +to me, the Marquis of Heather made me an offer yesterday, and Lord +Vivianne teases me. Now, Earle, it is tiresome, it is indeed, dear. My +mind, my heart--nay, I need not be ashamed to say it--are filled with +you. I do not want the offers of other men--their love and admiration." + +"Declaring our engagement would soon put an end to all that," he said, +thoughtfully. + +But that was not what the Lady Doris wanted; she wanted him to urge +their marriage. + +"Yes," she said, "we might make it known, but people would not believe +it; it would not save me from the importunities of other men." + +He looked wonderingly at her. After all, it was a new feature in her +character--this dread of lovers. + +"That is not all, Earle," she said, clasping her soft, warm fingers +round his hands. "I tell you--no one but you--this life is a little too +much for me. Before I had recovered from the great shock of the change, +I was plunged into the very whirlpool of London life. Do not imagine I +have joined the list of invalids, or that I have grown nervous, or any +nonsense of that kind: it is not so; but at times I feel a great failure +of strength, a deadly faintness or weakness that is hard to fight +against--a horrible foreboding for which I cannot account." + +Her face grew pale, and her eyes seemed to lose their light as she +spoke. + +"I am sure," she continued, "that it is from over-fatigue. Do you not +think so, Earle?" + +"Yes," he replied; "now, what is the remedy?" + +"I know the remedy. It would be to give all up for a time, and take a +long rest--a long rest," her voice seemed to die away like the softest +murmur of a sighing wind. + +Earle felt almost alarmed; this was so completely novel, this view of +Doris, who had always been bright, piquant, and gay. + +"You shall go away, darling," he said, tenderly. + +"But, Earle," she said, "my father and Lady Linleigh are enjoying the +season so much, they have so many engagements, I cannot bear to say +anything about going." + +"Then I will say it for you. I shall tell Lord Linleigh, to-morrow, that +you have exhausted yourself, and that you must have a few weeks of quiet +at Linleigh Court." + +"What will he say, Earle?" + +"If I judge him rightly, darling, he will say little, but he will act at +once; before this time next week you will be at Linleigh." + +"Do you really think so? I am so glad," yet she shivered again as she +spoke. "I long to go to Linleigh, Earle, yet I have such a strange +feeling about it, a strange presentiment, a foreboding; surely no evil, +no danger awaits me at Linleigh. Do you know, I could fancy death +standing at the threshold waiting with outstretched arms to catch me." +Again her voice died away with a half-hysterical sob. + +Earle bent over her and kissed her. + +"My darling, you are fanciful, you are tired. I am so glad you have +trusted me; it is high time you were attended to. These nervous fancies +are enough to drive you mad; the evil has gone further than I thought. +Doris, my love, my sweet, it is only the reaction from over-fatigue that +gives you these ideas, nothing else; what awaits you but a future bright +as your own beauty? What shall I live for except to love and to serve +and to shield you?" + +"Earle," she cried suddenly, "do you know what I wish?" + +A long shining tress of golden hair had fallen over her shoulders, and +she sat twining it round her white fingers. + +"Do you know what I wish?" she repeated. + +"No; if I did I should do it, you may be quite sure, Doris." + +"I wish that we--you and I--were married; that I was your wife, and that +we had gone far away from here, away where no one knows us, where we +could be quite happy, alone and together." + +"Do you really wish that, Doris?" he asked. + +Her face flushed slightly, but her voice did not tremble. + +"I do really wish it," she replied. "If papa were willing we would be +married this summer, and we could go away, Earle, to some far-off land; +then--when we had been happy for some time--we could come home again. I +should have grown quite strong by then, and I should have found health, +strength, and peace, all with you." + +There was a strange mingling of doubt and rapturous happiness on his +face. + +"Do you really mean this, Doris?" he asked. "Would you--the queen of the +season, the fairest object of man's worship--would you give up all your +triumphs, all your gayeties, and prefer to live in quiet and solitude +with me?" + +There was a slight hesitation for one half moment; he was so noble, so +true. It was pitiful to use his great love for the obtaining of her own +ends; but she must save herself--she must do that. + +"You may believe me, Earle," she replied, gently; "if it could be, I +would far rather it were so." + +"Then, darling, it shall be--my head grows dizzy with the thought of +it--you, my peerless, my beautiful Doris, will be my own wife when the +summer comes. Why, Doris, listen! oh, listen, love! Do you know that I +never fully realized that I was to make you my wife, though I have loved +you so passionately and so well? You have always seemed of late far +above me, like a bright shining star to be worshiped, hardly to be won. +When I said to myself, that at some time or other you should be my wife, +it has been like a dream--a bright, sweet, unreal dream. I do not know +that I ever fancied you, sweet, with bridal veil and orange-blossoms; +yet now, you say, you will marry me in the summer!" + +"That I will, Earle," she replied. + +"Heaven bless you, my own darling! Heaven speed the happy summer. Why, +Doris, I can see the gold on the laburnums, I can hear the ring-doves +cooing, I can see the smile of summer all over the land! Mine in the +summer, dear; Heaven, make me worthy!" + +"There is but one thing, Earle," she said; "I--you will think I have +changed, but I cannot help that--I want a quiet marriage. It would +please me best if nothing were said, even about our engagement, but if +we could go quietly to Linleigh and keep the secret of our marriage to +ourselves; that is what I should really like, Earle." + +"Then it shall be so, my darling! Now, do not give yourself one moment's +anxiety. Shut those beautiful eyes and sleep all night, dreaming only of +summer roses and your lover, Earle. I shall see your father to-morrow, +and I shall tell him; he will be quite willing, I am sure." + +"You are very good to me, Earle," she said, gratefully. "How foolish I +was ever to think that I did not care for you, and to run away from you, +was I not?" + +"That is all forgotten, love," he said, and she felt that she would have +given the whole world if it had never happened. + + + + +CHAPTER LXVIII. + +A CLEW AT LAST. + + +The morning that followed was beautiful. The Lady Doris felt more +cheerful than she had done for many long days. Earle would manage it all +for her; she should find a way out of all her difficulties. Lord +Vivianne would not follow her to Linleigh; even if he did, she could +foil him again and again. When once she was Earle's wife, she could defy +him; it was not likely that she would fear him then. + +Her heart and spirits rose alike, she smiled at her own fair image in +the glass; early as it was, a fragrant bouquet of white hyacinths lay on +the toilet table, sent by some adoring lover who evidently hoped that +the flowers would say for him what he could not say for himself. She +smiled over them, inhaling the rich odor with delight, thinking to +herself the while, "What a poet Earle is; what a rapture he went into +last night about flowers and summer." + +She felt better. The sun was shining in at her windows, the sweet +breath of the hyacinths reached her. It seemed impossible that sorrow or +death should come into such a bright world. She smiled to herself when +she heard that Earle was with her father. + +"He has most certainly lost no time," she said to herself. + +Yet, nearly an hour passed before the earl left the library; then, owing +to strangers being present, he could not speak to her of what had +passed. He merely touched her hand. + +"Doris," he said, "I have been having a long talk with Earle, and I must +have one with you before dinner." + +"I will remember, papa," she said. + +Then as the day was so fine Earle prayed her to ride out with him. + +"An hour in the park would be so pleasant," he said. + +And Lady Linleigh thought the same. Doris was quite willing to go. + +When they were under the shade of the trees, Earle went more slowly. + +"My darling," he said, "I knew that you would be anxious to hear what +has passed. I think," he continued, bringing his handsome face on a +level with hers, "I think that I shall make an excellent diplomatist in +time." + +"I never doubted it," replied Doris. + +"I was quite pleased with myself," Earle went on to say; "I made quite +an impression on the earl." + +Her lips grew pale, and parted with a long, quivering sigh; she looked +at him anxiously. + +"In one word, Earle, is it to be as I wished or not?" + +"Yes," he replied, "in every particular." + +Then she resigned herself to listen. + +"I never mentioned you at all in the matter," he continued. "I told him +that I had observed your health and strength failing, and that I felt +quite convinced, unless you rested at once, you would suffer seriously +from the effects of over-fatigue. He agreed with me, and said that Lady +Linleigh had remarked the same thing, and was equally anxious over you; +and said that the wisest thing to do was to leave town at once, and go +to Linleigh." + +"But would he and Lady Linleigh be willing to give up the remainder of +the season?" she asked. + +"They care more for you than for the season," he replied. "My opinion +is, that Lady Linleigh secretly enjoys the idea of leaving town." + +"And about--you know what I mean, Earle." + +"About our wedding, darling? It is to be in the sweet summer-time, that +is, if you are willing. I urged it; and the countess joined me. Lord +Linleigh--Heaven bless him!--did not raise the least objection. He said +he would speak to you, and was perfectly kind and good about it; it will +be for you to tell him, dear, your wish to have it all managed very +quietly, and to speak of going abroad. Now, is not that glorious news +for a bright sunshiny day? How green the trees are, and how blue the +sky! Was the world ever so fair, love--ever one-half so fair?" + +Suddenly he saw her start, and looking at her, saw an angry flush on her +face, a bright light in her eyes. She was looking intently at some one +who returned the glance with interest. + +Following the direction of her eyes, Earle saw Lord Vivianne watching +her most intently. There was a smile that was yet half a sneer on his +lips, he was talking to a gentleman whom Earle instantly recognized as +Colonel Clifford. + +"There is your _bete noir_, Doris--Lord Vivianne," he said. + +"I see him," she replied, quietly. + +He did not know the hot impulse that was on her, he did not understand +why she clinched the little jeweled whip so tightly in her hand. She +would have given the whole wide world if she dare have ridden up to him, +and have given him one stroke across the face with her whip--one stroke +that would have left a burning red brand across the handsome, insolent +face! She would have gloried in it. She could fancy how he would start +and cry out, the coward!--how he would do his best to hide the shameful +mark given to him by a woman's hand. + +In all her life Lady Doris Studleigh never had such difficulty in +controlling an impulse as she had in controlling that. + +Then she was recalled to herself by a bow from Lord Vivianne and a look +of unqualified wonder on her lover's face. + +"Doris," he said, "my dear child, what are you going to do to Lord +Vivianne? You look inclined to ride over him." + +"So I am," she replied, with a smile. + +But the beauty of the morning had gone for her--there was no more warmth +in the sunshine, no more fragrance in the flowers and trees, no music in +the birds' song; the sight of that handsome face, with its evil meaning, +had destroyed it all, had made her heart sink. Oh! to be away from him, +where she should never see him or hear of him again. + +"I am tired, Earle," she said. + +"Tired so soon!" he replied. + +But one look at her told him the words were quite true. + +"We will ride back again, Doris. Tell me why do you dislike Lord +Vivianne so much?" + +"I am not sure that I dislike him," she replied. + +"You do, sweet; your face quite changed when you saw him." + +"Did it? I do not like him because he teases me so with compliments. I +dislike many people; he is no great exception." + +Earle laughed. + +"It is very unfortunate to admire you, Doris, if admiration brings +dislike." + +They rode home again, while Colonel Clifford turned with a smile to his +companion. + +"That looks like a settled case," he said. + +"What do you mean by a settled case?" was the irritable reply. "I defy +any man to understand his own language in these degenerate days." + +"A settled case means that, to all appearances the queen of the season, +the _feted_, flattered Lady Doris Studleigh is in love with our young +poet, the latest London celebrity." + +"A young poet?--who is he?" for suddenly there flashed into his mind the +words Doris Brace had so poetically used to him: + +"My lover is a gentleman and a poet." + +At the time he had thought it idle bombast, intended only to heighten +her value in his eyes--yet it might have been true. He looked up with +unusual interest. + +"Who is he, Clifford?" he repeated. + +"I can hardly tell you, except that he is Earle Moray, a great _protege_ +and favorite of the Duke of Downsbury, of Lord Linleigh, and of the +public in general, for he is a charming writer. He is also member for +Anderley--he took his seat last week." + +"Earle Moray! I am sure I know the name." + +"Most English readers do," said Colonel Clifford. + +A sudden flash of light seemed to illuminate his mind. + +"Earle! Earle! Why that is the name Doris used to murmur in her sleep. +She used to dream that Earle was coming--I remember it well. Great +Heaven, _it is she_!" + +"What is the matter?" asked Colonel Clifford; "you look as though you +had seen a ghost." + +"So I have, the ghost of my---- Oh, what nonsense I am talking. So that +is the young poet; he is a very handsome man. Lady Studleigh is +something like the earl. Is it known who her mother was?" + +"No. People say that the earl contracted a low marriage before he went +abroad, one that he was ashamed to own, therein consists the romance." + +"What romance?" asked Lord Vivianne, hurriedly. + +"About Lady Doris. The earl, when he was simply Captain Studleigh, +married beneath him, went abroad, leaving his daughter to be brought up +by some humble friends of his wife. The romance consists, I suppose, in +the sudden change in the young lady's fortune, from comparative +obscurity to splendor. It might have been an unfortunate thing for the +earl, but that the girl turned out to be beautiful, graceful, +intelligent, and well bred." + +"I have it, by heavens!" cried Lord Vivianne, in a loud voice. + +"You have _what_?" + +"A--a fly that has been buzzing round me and teasing me half the +morning," he replied, confusedly. + +"Ah!" said the colonel. "My opinion of you, Lord Vivianne, is not a very +complimentary one. I fancy, unless you take better care of your wits, +they will leave you. I never saw any one grow so peculiar in all my +life. I saw no flies about." + +Lord Vivianne made no reply, but went away laughing--it seemed to him +now that he held the clew in his hands. + +"If I am right," he said to himself, with a bitter sneer, "I will +humiliate her: I will lower that magnificent pride of hers; I will +change places, and she shall be the wooer. But I must make quite sure +first. I will go down to Brackenside this very day." + +He kept his word. Much to honest Mark's surprise, when he entered the +house that evening, he found a fashionably dressed stranger, bent upon +being very agreeable to his wife and daughter. + +"You will be surprised to see me," said his wily lordship, "but I was +passing through Brackenside and could not help calling. I am quite a +stranger. Allow me to introduce myself as Lord Vivianne. You," he +continued, holding out his hand to Mark, "are Mr. Brace." + +Mark replied in a suitable manner, then sat down, with a look of +resignation that highly amused Mattie. If it would rain lords he could +not help it. Such wonderful events had happened that Mark felt he should +never be surprised again. Then he looked in his lordship's face as +though he would fain ask what he wanted there. + +"I had the pleasure once--it is some time since--of meeting your +daughter, Miss Doris Brace. If she is at home, I should like to see +her." + +At the first sound of that name, Mark was on the alert. This was just +what they had cautioned him about. The earl had bidden him beware of +impertinence and curiosity. Mark had passed his word not to speak of +Doris' history, and he meant to keep it. "Wild horses," as he expressed +it, would not have torn it from him. + +"Miss Doris Brace is not at home," he replied, grimly. + +"Indeed!" said the stranger. "I am sorry for that; I had relied upon +seeing her. Perhaps I may be more fortunate to-morrow." + +"I do not think you will," was the reply; "she will not be at home." + +"Perhaps, then, the day after?" was the insinuating comment. + +"No, nor the day after," replied Mark; "she will not be at home--she is +not in Brackenside." + +Now my lord had laid all his plans most prudently; he did not intend to +compromise himself at all. If the whole affair turned out to be a huge +mistake, as it might do, he would not say anything that could prejudice +his cause in the least. No harm could possibly arise if he said that he +had met Miss Doris Brace; he had seen her at the Castle; and if hardly +pushed he could quote that meeting. But the farmer was a very +fortress--he returned none but the most simple, vague, and honest +answers, saying that she was not at home, she would not be at home, but +looking most amiably deaf when any allusion was made to change of +fortune. + + + + +CHAPTER LXIX. + +LORD VIVIANNE PROPOSES A LITTLE DISCUSSION. + + +"If I may take the liberty," said Lord Vivianne, turning with his most +amiable smile to Mrs. Brace, "I should so much like to ask for a cup of +tea. I was anxious to see your daughter, so did not wait to take any +refreshments at the hotel. It is a great disappointment to me." + +"Yes," said Mark, quietly, "it is wonderful how many disappointments we +have to bear." + +The tea was prepared, and Mrs. Brace's heart was won by praise of the +excellent tea, the thick cream, the fresh golden butter, and ripe fruit. +Woman-like, her heart secretly inclined to the handsome stranger whom +Mark kept so sternly at bay, but where could he have possibly seen +Doris? Mark saw symptoms of relenting in his wife's eyes; under pretext +of speaking to her about the milking and cheese, he drew her into the +larder. + +"Now, look here, Patty," he said, "my word is passed, and I do not mean +to break it. I told the earl that, no matter who came, who asked, or +what was wanted, Doris' name and history should never be told, and it +never shall." + +"I am sure, Mark," said his obedient wife, "this is a gentleman; there +can be no mistake about him." + +"Gentleman--oh! There, now, my dear, do not look so frightened! I never +swore in my life, not even in the hottest of weather. I am not going to +begin now. He may be a gentleman--he is, I do not deny that; but it has +nothing to do with the matter. Why does he come here to talk about +Doris? What has it to do with him? It means mischief. He shall go away +from here as wise as he came--no wiser." + +"You are right, Mark," said his wife. + +"That is a sensible woman. Yet," added Mark, with shrewd irony, "the +sight of his handsome face and the smoothness of his tongue may cause +you to betray a secret you have promised to keep, so you had better keep +out of the room." + +"I will," said Mrs. Brace. "I have no more wish to talk than you have, +Mark. Still he looks so wistful, I will stay away." + +"That is the best woman in England," said Mark to himself, as Mrs. Brace +closed the door after her. Then he returned to his guest. He apologized +for his wife's absence, but Lord Vivianne knew just as well as though +Mark had told him, that she was gone lest she should be tempted to talk +to him. Mattie wisely imitated her mother's example, leaving her father +alone with his guest. + +"What a grand old farm this is of yours," said his lordship. "I never +saw grounds in such fine condition." + +Mark had made up his mind to be urbane and polite, but it was with some +little difficulty he refrained from showing his contempt. What did this +lord know of farming. Above all, why did he want to flatter Mark Brace? + +"I am rather pleased," said the visitor, drawing his chair nearer to the +farmer, "that I have a chance of talking quietly to you, without the +ladies being present. I wanted that opportunity." + +"You have it," said Mark, briefly. + +"Yes. I have it, and will try to avail myself of it. I met, as I told +you, Miss Doris Brace some time since, and I was deeply impressed by +her--most deeply." + +"Were you?" + +"Yes; and I resolved, if possible, to see her again." + +Mark sat silent. + +"I quite believed at the time that she was your daughter, but I have +heard a strange romance since--terribly strange. May I ask, Mr. Brace, +if it be true?" + +"No, my lord, you may not ask me--at least, I do not mean that--you may +ask what you will, but you must excuse me if I do not reply. The fact is +this--if you ask as to the state of my farm, my balance at the bank, my +hopes of a crop, I will tell you; but when it comes to the ladies of my +family, you must really excuse me if I distinctly and plainly refuse to +answer one question concerning them. I am sorry to seem rude, my lord." + +But, like every one else who saw him, Lord Vivianne admired Mark Brace. +He held out his white, slim hand to touch the farmer's sunburnt one. + +"There is no offense, Mr. Brace," he said. "You are an honest man, and I +shall think better of all other men for having seen you. If you decline +any conversation on the matter, it is, of course, useless for me to +offer any explanations." + +"Quite useless, my lord; a waste of time." + +"Then, thanking you for your hospitality, I may as well go," said his +lordship, with a smile. + +To which remark the farmer, not knowing what politeness required him to +answer, made no answer at all. + +Although he was baffled, Lord Vivianne could not feel angry. + +"It would be a straightforward world," he said to himself, laughingly, +"if all the men in it were like Mark Brace." Still he felt that he had in +some measure won a victory--he had found out that, in connection with +Doris, there was something to conceal. + +He went to Quainton and took up his abode for the night in the Castle +Hotel. There he fancied he should be sure to hear something or other. +Nor was he mistaken. In the billiard-room the conversation turned upon +Earle Moray--they were very proud of him, they said that Lindenholm had +given to England one of her finest poets--they boasted to each other of +having known him, of having spoken to him; they talked of his election +for Anderley; there had been no bribery--all had been open as the day. +Yes, he had been returned almost without opposition. They spoke of Lord +Linleigh's interest in him, and then one or two of the wisest among them +told how he was to marry Lord Linleigh's daughter, the beautiful girl +who, for some reason or other, had been brought up at Brackenside. It +was impossible to keep such a secret quiet; some few in Quainton knew, +and others guessed it. + +Lord Vivianne listened without a comment, the veins in his forehead +swelled, his face flushed a hot crimson flush, his hands trembled. It +was a victory he had hardly expected to win. + +Then he muttered to himself something that sounded like a fierce oath: + +"She shall pay for it," he said to himself. "Madly as I love her, I will +not spare her. When I have humbled her pride, I will worship her and +marry her; not until then. So it was she, all the time; she looked into +my eyes without recognition; she dared me, braved me, laughed at me. She +shall suffer. She is the most magnificent and dauntless creature I ever +beheld; she is grand enough for a Charlotte Corday, a Joan of Arc. By +Heaven! how many girls would have come to me crying, praying that I +would keep their secret; she laughs at me, defies me. I will repay her!" + +His whole soul was torn between passionate love and passionate anger; at +one time he felt inclined to weep at her feet, to pray and beseech her +to love him, to be his wife; at another time to feel that he must +upbraid her with her perfidy, her falsity, her deceit. Which spirit +would master him when he stood in her presence he hardly knew; it would +depend upon herself. If she were defiant, so should he be; if she were +gentle, he would be the same. Of one thing he was quite determined--do, +say what she might, she should be his wife. It would be a most +dishonorable thing to threaten to hold her secret over her; but, if she +compelled him, he would do it. No thought of pity came into his mind, +but he wondered much. That news--the news of her father's succession to +the earldom, and his return home--must have reached her while she was in +Florence with him. No one even knew where he was; how, then, could she +learn it. + +It struck him that was the reason she had left him; he had not thought +of that before; it was because this news came to her, and she would not +be found with him. But who could have told her?--that was the puzzle. +Some one must have gone straight from England to Florence. The more he +thought of it the more he was puzzled. + +He felt quite certain that on the morning he left her to secure her +opera box, and to purchase flowers for her, she knew nothing of it. He +had left her by the river-side; when he returned she was gone. During +that interval, short as it was, some one must have found her, have told +her, and brought her to England. Who could that some one be? + +Not Earle, surely not Earle, her lover--surely not he! "He would have +been more likely to kill her than to bring her home if he had found her +with me," he said to himself. + +He was keen enough, but it never occurred to him that she had the skill +to deceive Earle as well. + +He returned by the early train to London; he should be in time then, he +said, to give her a morning call. He smiled to himself as he thought of +her confusion. He reached Hyde House when the earl and countess had just +driven to a fashionable _dejeuner_, and Lady Doris was left alone; she +desired it should be so; she wanted time to arrange her thoughts, to +recover herself; and they, believing in her plea of fatigue, had been +quite willing to leave her. She had made up her mind, no matter what it +cost her, not to see Lord Vivianne again. It would be easy to manage it; +she would decline all invitations on the plea of ill health, and she +would refuse to receive visitors at home. Strict orders had been given +to that effect--the servants understood that their young lady was tired, +and would see no one, except, as a matter of course, Mr. Moray. + +She believed herself quite safe; that morning Earle had promised to +spend with her, and they would arrange about their wedding and the +honeymoon that was never to end. + +She had dressed herself so prettily for Earle--she went to the +conservatory intending, there, to spend the morning with him. She walked +among the flowers, singing in a soft, low voice to herself; it would all +soon be over, she should so soon be away from London, where her terrible +secret seemed to have taken bodily shape. She should so soon be safe in +her own home in Linleigh; above all, she should soon be Earle's wife. + +"Earle's wife--how he loves me!" thought the girl, "how true and good +and noble he is, my Earle!" + +Then a shadow fell over the brightness of the flowers. She raised her +eyes, believing it was he, and they fell on the smiling face of Lord +Vivianne. + +For one instant she looked at him spell-bound, fascinated, as one sees a +fluttering bird charmed by a snake. Her heart gave one great bound. + +"He knows me!" she thought, "and he is come to tell me so!" + +How he gained admittance matters not; how he bribed a servant, who +afterward lost his place for taking the bribe, matters not. + +He was there, and in the contemptuous insolence of his smile, in the +expression of his face, she read that no evasion would be of service to +her. Still she did not lose her self-possession. + +"How did you obtain admittance, my lord?" she asked, imperiously. + +"Oh, Dora, Dora! I have found you. Did you really think you would +deceive me for long? I have found you; and now, if you please, we will +discuss matters in a proper business-like form." + + + + +CHAPTER LXX. + +THE PRICE OF A SECRET. + + +He went one step nearer to her and looked at her with an evil smile; his +heart was full of passion--half intense love, half furious anger. + +"You thought to deceive me," he said, and the breath came like hot flame +from his lips. "You thought to blind and dupe me, but I know you now--I +have known you all along, though I could not believe the evidence of my +own senses." + +He never forgot the regal grace with which she drew her slight frame to +its utmost height, the anger, the haughty pride that flashed from her +eyes. + +"I do not understand you," she replied; "and I repeat my question; when +I gave orders that I should be denied to all visitors, how dare you +enter here?" + +"It is late, Lady Doris," he said, "too late for that kind of thing now, +I repeat that I know you--to the rest of the world you may be Lady Doris +Studleigh, to me you are simply the girl who lived with me and ran away +from me." + +She looked at him; if a glance from those proud eyes could have slain +him, he would have lain that instant dead at her feet. He continued: + +"You may deny it, you may continue to carry on the same concealment, the +same deceit, but it will be all in vain; I know you, and I know you for +what you are. You can say anything you please, if you think it advisable +to waste words; I repeat that it will be in vain." She grew white, even +to the lips, as she listened to the insolent words. "I felt +sure--convinced of your identity from the very moment I saw you at the +opera," he continued. "I watched you then; I have watched you ever +since." + +Her white lips opened, but all sound died away from them--he heard +nothing. + +"I have admired your talent for acting," he continued; "it is a grand +one. It is ten thousand pities that you are not upon the stage; you +would be its brightest ornament. I was not wholly, but half deceived, by +your superb nonchalance; then I determined to find out the truth for +myself. I have done so." + +He waited to see if she would utter one word of denial, one word of +explanation. She stood before him--pale, beautiful, silent as a marble +statue. + +"I have tracked you," he said, triumphantly. "I can tell you the whole +story of your life; how you lived as a child at Brackenside; how you +carried on a pretty little love affair with your poet and gentleman, +until I saw you; how you went to Florence with me, in total ignorance of +your true origin; how on the morning I left you by the river side, some +one came from England, told you the true story of your birth, and +brought you back here. I have been to Brackenside; I am not speaking +without proof." + +If she could have spoken, she would have told him that no one at +Brackenside would ever betray her; she would have liked to cast his +words back in his teeth, but the strength to speak was no longer hers. + +"You thought then of being very clever. If you had never heard the true +story of your birth, you would have been content to abide with me all +the days of your life--you would have thought your lot a brilliant one. +But you were too clever, Dora; you thought to escape and to live as +though you had never heard of me. It could not be done. Did you speak?" + +He might as well ask the question, for a sound that resembled no +ordinary, no human sound, came from her lips. He went on: + +"Why were you not frank and honest with me, Dora?--why did you not await +my return, and tell me?--why did you not trust me? Do you know what I +should have done if you had so trusted me? I should have said that my +proposition to you had been made under a great mistake, not knowing your +true name; and I should have released you then and them from all ties +that bound you to me." + +She saw her mistake then; saw what short-sighted, miserable policy hers +had been; but it was all too late. + +"Surely," he continued, "you had lived with me long enough to know that I +had some semblance of a gentleman, some faint notions of honor. There +is no need to sneer, my lady; men do not reckon honor when they deal +with what you were then." + +"I know it," she cried, with sudden bitterness, in a voice that had no +resemblance to her own. + +"Why did you not trust me! I cannot--I shall never forgive you for the +way in which you deserted me. Had you left me one line--only one +line--telling me your true parents had claimed you, Doris, it would have +saved all this." + +"I had not time." + +"Because you did not wish to make it. Even suppose that, to avoid +detection, you had hurried from Florence, you might surely have sent me +a line from England; even if you could not trust me with your name and +address, you might have done that." + +"I see it now. I might, nay, I should have done it. Will that admission +satisfy you?" + +"There is nothing in it to satisfy me," he said, angrily; "you had no +right to desert me as you did, to treat me as you did--none in the +world. Do you know what you cost me? Do you know that I went mad over +losing you? that I searched for you day after day, month after month, +hating my life itself because you no longer formed part of it! Do you +know that the loss of you changed me from a good-tempered man into a +fiend?--can you realize that, Lady Doris Studleigh?" + +"No," she replied, "I cannot." + +"It is true. Fair, bright, frivolous women like you cannot realize a +man's love--they cannot even estimate it! And strange--oh! strange to +say--women like you win strong, passionate love, for which the pure and +noble of your sex seek in vain." + +Alas! that she had given him the right to speak thus to her--that she +had placed herself in the power of such a man! Oh! fatal, foolish, and +wicked sin! Yet true to herself, true to her own light, frivolous +nature, it was not the bitter sin she repented so much as its discovery. + +He drew nearer to her, and placed one hand on her arm. + +"Do you know, Doris," he said, "that when you left me I had begun, even +then, to love you with such a passionate love that every pulse of my +heart was wrapped up in it." + +She shook his hand from her as though there were contamination in his +touch. + +"I did not know it. I do not believe it. You never loved me--you have +loved nothing on earth one half so dearly as you have loved yourself!" + +His face grew dark with anger. + +"Remembering how entirely you are in my power," he said, "I ask you, is +it wise to anger me?" + +"You never loved me," she repeated; "Earle loved me, and would have died +any day to save my fair name! You never loved me, you loved yourself!" + +"I repeat it, I loved you with a passion so terrible, so fierce, so +violent, it frightened me! I loved you so, that I would have lost +wealth, fortune, position--ah! life itself--for you!" + +Her white lips smiled scornfully; that calm, proud, scorn drove him +beside himself. + +"You have been some time in discovering it," she said. + +"That is your mistake," he replied; "do you know, Doris, I swear what I +am saying is true. Do you know why I was so gay, so happy, so light of +heart on the day you left me? It was because my love had beaten down my +pride, and on that very evening I had resolved upon asking you to be my +wife." + +"I do not believe it," she cried. + +"It is true; I swear it on the faith and honor of a gentleman. I swear +it on the word of a man." + +"I should need a stronger oath than that," she said. + +"I swear it then by your own falseness, and by your own deceit; can any +oath be stronger than that? On that very evening I had resolved upon +asking you to be my wife. I was determined to make our union legal. I +loved you so that I could not live without you." + +She made no reply for one minute, but looked steadily at him: then she +said: + +"I do thank Heaven that I have been spared the degradation of becoming +your wife." + +"Yet you were content to be my companion," he said. + +Her face flushed hotly at the words. + +"I have lost you, how long, Dora, how many months? Do you think my love +has grown less in that time? Do you think it has faded or grown cold. If +you imagine so, you do no justice to your own marvelous beauty; you do +no justice to your own fascination; a thousand times no! It is a burning +torrent now that carries all before it: it is a tempest that will know +no abatement--Dora, you had lost your usual shrewdness when you thought +that absence would cure such love as mine." + +"My name is Lady Studleigh, not Dora," she said proudly. "Once for all, +Lord Vivianne, your love does not in the least interest me." + +"You will have to take an interest in it," he replied; "I swear, for the +future, you shall know no other love." + +"I will never know yours," she replied. + +He laughed contemptuously. + +"It is no use, Dora," he said; "you must really excuse me; I cannot help +enjoying my triumph; I would not laugh if I could help it, but, my dear +Dora, I _cannot_ help it. Did you ever see a fly in a spider's web? Did +you ever watch it struggle and fight and strive to escape, while the +spider, one could fancy, was shaking his filmy sides with laughter? Have +you ever seen that terrible phenomenon in natural history? You, my poor +Dora, are the helpless little fly, I am the spider. It is not an elegant +comparison, but it is perfectly true; you are in my power completely, +thoroughly, and nothing can take you from me." + +She looked at him quite calmly, her courage was rising, now that the +first deadly shock had passed away. + +"Perhaps," she said, "you will tell me what you want. Spare me any +further conversation with you; it does not interest me. Tell me, briefly +as you can, what you want." + +"What do I want?" he repeated. + +"Yes, just that--neither more nor less--what do you want? I own you +have me in your power, I own that you hold a secret of mine. What is to +be its price? I cannot buy your silence with money. You are a gentleman, +a man of honor, having my fair name in your power--what shall you charge +me for keeping it? I am anxious to know the price men exact for such +secrets as those. You wooed me and won me, after your own honorable +fashion--what are you going to exact now as the price of your love and +my mad folly? I was vain, foolish, untruthful, but, after all, I was an +innocent girl when you knew me first. What shall be the price of my +innocence? Oh, noble descendant of noble men--oh, noble heritor of a +noble race. Speak--let me hear!" + +Her taunts stung him almost to fury; his face grew livid with rage; yet, +the more insolent she, the more deeply he loved her; the more scornful +she, the deeper and wilder grew his worship of her. + +"I will tell you the price," he said; "I will make you my wife. Consent +to marry me, and I will swear to you, by heaven itself, that I will keep +your secret faithfully, loyally, until I die." + +"I _cannot_ marry you," she replied; "I do not love you. I cannot help +it, if you are angry. I do not even like you. I should be most wretched +and miserable with you, for I loathe you. I will never be your wife." + +"All those," he replied, slowly, "are objections that you must try to +overcome." + +"What if I tell you I love some one else?" she said. + +"I should pity him, really pity him, from the depths of my heart; but, +all the same, I should say _you must be my wife_!" + +She longed to tell him that she loved and meant to marry Earle, but she +was afraid even to mention his name. + +"I shall conquer all your objections in time," he said. "It is nothing +to me that you say you dislike me; it is even less that you say you like +another." + +But he never even thought that she really liked Earle. Had she not run +away from him? + + + + +CHAPTER LXXI. + +THE COWARD'S THREAT. + + +"That is the first part of your declaration," said Lady Doris, with the +calm of infinite contempt; "if I will promise to be your wife, you will +promise to marry me. What if I refuse?" + +"You are placing a very painful alternative before me," he replied. + +"Never mind the pain, my lord; we will waive that. I wish to know the +alternative." + +"If you will marry me I will keep your secret, Lady Doris Studleigh, +faithfully, until death." + +"Then I clearly, distinctly, and firmly refuse to marry you. What then?" + +"In that case I shall be compelled to take the most disagreeable +measures--I shall be compelled to hold your secret as a threat over +you, if you refuse to be my wife. I tell you, quite honestly, that I +will make you the laughing-stock of all London. You--fair, beautiful, +imperial--you shall be an object of scorn; men shall laugh at you, women +turn aside as you pass by. Even the most careless and reckless shall +refuse to receive you--shall consider you out of the pale. I will tell +the whole world, if you compel me to do it, what you were to me in +Florence; I will tell the handsome earl, your father, whose roof in that +case will no longer shelter you. I will tell your proud, high-bred +step-mother--the haughty duchess who presented you at court--nay, even +the queen herself, she who values a woman's good name far above all +worldly rank." + +"You would do all that?" she said. + +"Yes, just as soon as I would look at you." + +"And you call that honor?" + +"No; it is, on the contrary, most dishonorable. Do not imagine that I +seek to deceive myself. It would be about the most dishonorable thing +any person could do; in fact, nothing could be more base; I grant that. +But, if you drive a man mad with love, what can he do? You compel me to +take the step, or I would not take it." + +She could not grow paler; her face was already ghastly white; but from +her eyes there shot one glance that might, from its anger and its fire, +have struck him blind. + +"You would not spare me," she said, "because it was you yourself who led +me to ruin." + +"I love you so madly," he said, "that I cannot spare you at all." + +"Have you thought," she asked, "what, if you do this deed, the world +will say of you and to you? Have you weighed this well?" + +"I am indifferent," he said; "I care for nothing on earth but winning +you." + +"Do you realize that in destroying me you destroy yourself; that you +will make yourself more hated and despised than any man ever was before? +Do you not see that?" + +"I repeat that nothing interests me save winning you, Dora; I am quite +willing to be destroyed with you." + +"What will the world say to a man who deliberately destroys and ruins a +girl as you did me?" + +"My dearest Dora, the world hears such stories every day and, I am +afraid, rather admires the heroes of them." + +"What does it say, then, of cowardly men who, having won such a victory, +boast of it?" + +"I own that the world looks askance on such a man, and very properly +too. It is a base, cowardly thing to do. What other course is left me? +You drive me to it: I have no wish to play such a contemptible part; I +have no wish to boast of a victory--I shall hate myself for doing it; +but what else is there for it? Listen, once and for all. Dora--I cannot +help calling you by the old familiar name--I will have you for my wife: +I will marry you; nothing, I swear, except death, shall take you from +me. I will make you happy, I will see that every desire of your heart +is fulfilled; but I swear you shall be my wife. There is no escape--no +alternative; either that or disgrace, degradation, and ruin. Do not +think I shall hesitate from any fear of ruin to myself; I would ruin +myself to-morrow to win you. You might as well try to stem the force of +a tide as to alter my determination." + +She saw that she was conquered; mortifying, humiliating as it was, she +was conquered--there was no help for her. + +She stood quite still for one moment; then she said slowly: + +"Will you give me time?" + +His face flushed hotly; his triumph was coming. A smile played round his +lips and brightened his eyes. + +"Time? Yes; you can have as much time as you like. You see the solution +plainly, do you not? Marry me, and keep your fair name, your high +position; defy me, and lose it all. You see it plainly?" + +"Yes, there is no mistake about it--you have made it most perfectly +plain," she said, in a low, passionless voice. "I quite understand you. +Give me time to think it over--I cannot decide it hurriedly." + +"What time do you require?" he asked. "I shall not be willing to wait +very long." + +"It is June now," she continued; "you cannot complain if I say give me +until the end of August." + +"It shall be so, Dora. Will you give me your hand upon it?" + +"No," she replied, "I will not give you my hand. Come at the end of +August, and I will give you your answer." + +"I shall not be deprived of the happiness of seeing you until then, +Dora?" + +"I cannot say; I will not be followed, I will not be watched. I claim my +perfect freedom until then." + +"You shall have it. Do not think worse of me than I deserve, Dora. If I +had found you married, I would not have spoken, I would never even have +hinted at the discovery; but you are not married, darling, nor, while I +live, shall any man call you wife except myself." + +How bitterly at that moment she regretted not having been married! If +she had known--if she had only known, he should have found her the wife +of Earle! + +"I have no wish to injure you, or to do anything except make life +pleasant for you; but my love for you has mastered me, it has conquered +me. You must be mine!" + +Such passion shone in his eyes, gleamed in his face, that she shrunk +back half frightened. He laughed, as he said: + +"It is one thing, you see, Dora, to light a fire, another to extinguish +it." + +"Now, will you leave me, Lord Vivianne? You have placed the pleasing +alternative very plainly before me; we have agreed upon a time until you +come for my answer--that will be at the end of August. Until then your +own good sense will show you the proper course to pursue; you need +neither seek nor avoid me." + +He bowed. + +"I hope, Lady Studleigh, you will have overcome your great objection to +my presence before you see me again. I will now go. Let me give you one +word of warning. A desperate man is not to be trifled with; if you +attempt to escape me, if you place yourself in any way legally out of my +reach, you shall answer to me, not only with your fair name, but with +your life! You hear?" + +"I hear," she replied, calmly, "but I do not come of a race that heeds +threats. Good-morning, my lord." + +"Dora," he said, "for the sake of old times--of the old love--will you +not give me one kiss?" + +"I would rather see you dead!" was the reply, given with an angry +bitterness she could not control. + +He laughed aloud. + +"I shall soon see that pretty spirit humbled," he said. "Good-morning, +my lady." + +And the next minute he was gone. + +She stood for some little time where he had left her. Such fiery passion +and anger surging in her heart as almost drove her mad. Her face flushed +crimson with it, her eyes flamed, she twisted her white hands until the +gemmed rings made great dents in them. She hated him with such an +intensity of hatred, that she would have laughed over his death. Her +graceful figure shook with its heavy strain of anger--her lips parted +with a low, smothered cry. + +"I pray Heaven to curse him!" she cried, "with a terrible life and a +terrible death; to send him a thousandfold the torture he has given to +me! I--I wish I could kill him!" + +In the might of her wrath she trembled as a leaf upon a tree. She raised +her right hand to heaven. + +"I swear I will never marry him," she said. "Let him threaten, punish, +disgrace, degrade me as he will, I swear that I will never marry him. I +will lose love, happiness, wealth, position, nay even life first; but I +swear also that I will torture him and pay him for all he has made me +suffer!" + +She walked to and fro, never even seeing the brilliant blossoms and the +glossy leaves, trampling the fragrant flowers she gathered underfoot, +moaning with a low, piteous wail. It was too cruel--too hard. She had +sinned--yes, she knew that--sinned greatly; but surely the punishment +was too hard. Others sinned and prospered; why was she so heavily +stricken? She was young when she sinned--careless, ignorant, heedless; +now she was to lose all for it. She had beauty that made all men her +slaves; she had wealth such as she had never dreamed of; she had one of +the highest positions in the land; she had, above all, the love of +Earle, the love and fealty of Earle. Now, in punishment for this one +sin, she must lose all. Would Heaven spare her? + +Was it of any use in this her hour of dire need, praying? Why, in all +her life--her brief, brilliant life--she had never prayed; was it of any +use her beginning now? She did not even remember the simple words of the +little prayer she had been used to say with Mattie at her mother's +knee--it was all forgotten. She knew there was a God in heaven, +although she had always laughed and mocked at religion, deeming it only +fit for tiresome children and old women; surely there was more in it +than this. + +She knelt down and stretched out her hands with a yearning look, as +though some voice in the skies would surely speak to her; then she could +not remember how it happened, the fragrance of the flowers seemed to +grow too strong for her, the glass roof, the green, climbing plants, the +brilliant blossoms, seemed to fall on her and crush her. With a long, +low cry she fell with her face on the ground, a streaming mass of +radiant white and golden hair. + +It was there, that, going in an hour afterward, Earle found her, and +raising her from the floor, thought at first that she was dead. + +Great was the distress, great the consternation; servants came hurrying +in, the doctor was sent for. The earl and the countess returning, were +driven half frantic by the sight of that white face and silent figure. +It hardly reassured them to hear that it was only a fainting fit. + +"Brought on by what?" asked the earl, in a fever of anxiety. + +"Nothing more than the reaction after too great physical fatigue," +replied the doctor. + +"The Lady Doris looks stronger than she really is; the best advice I can +give is, that she should leave London at once, and have some weeks of +perfect rest in the country. Medicine is of no use." + +Lady Linleigh quite agreed in this view of the subject, and the earl +declared impetuously that they should go at once--to-morrow if she is +better, he said, "I should not like such another fright." + +That evening when Lady Doris lay on the little couch in Lady Linleigh's +boudoir, and Earle sat by her side, he said to her: + +"What caused that sudden illness, my darling? Did anything frighten +you?" + +"No; I was only tired, Earle." + +"Tired! I am beginning to dread the word. Do you know what they told me, +Doris?" + +"No," she replied, looking at him with frightened eyes; "what was it?" + +"One of the servants said she was quite sure that she had heard some one +talking to you in the conservatory; but when I went in you were quite +alone. Had any one been there?" + +"What nonsense," she cried evasively; time and experience had taught her +that it was foolish to risk the truth recklessly. + +"I thought it was a mistake," said loyal Earle. "Who would be likely to +be with you there, when you had reserved the morning for me?" + +She closed her tired eyes, and said to herself how thankful she should +be when all this was over. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXII. + +THE EARL RELUCTANTLY ASSENTS. + + +Three days later they were once more at Linleigh Court. The earl would +hear of no opposition; he ruthlessly broke all engagements, sacrificed +all interest and pleasure; his daughter's health, he said, must be +paramount with him, and so it was. The only drawback was that Earle +could not go; he might run down for two or three days, but until +Parliament broke up he could not be away for very long. The earl and +countess were amused to see how both lovers felt the separation. + +"Thank Heaven!" said Lady Estelle. "Ah! Ulric, you do not know how I +thank Heaven that our child loves Earle." + +"Did you ever doubt it, my lovely, sentimental darling?" said Lord +Linleigh. + +"I was not sure; I was always more or less afraid," said the countess. +"She spoke so lightly of love; but now she seems very fond of Earle." + +"I do not think the woman is born who could help loving Earle," said +Lord Linleigh; "he is the finest, noblest man I know. She shows her good +taste in loving him." + +"She will be very happy," said Lady Estelle, with tears in her eyes. +"She will be one of the happiest women in the world, and I am so +grateful for it, Ulric; it might have been all so different for the poor +child." + +Lord Linleigh looked thoughtfully at her. + +"Do you know, Estelle, I have an idea that Doris is very much changed? +Have you noticed it?" + +"She seemed to me much fonder of Earle, and not so strong as she was; I +have not noticed any other difference." + +"Then it must be my fancy. She has seemed to me more thoughtful, at +times even sad, then strangely reckless. A strange idea has come to +me--do you think she has any secret connected with that former lonely +life of hers?" + +"I do not think so," replied Lady Estelle, growing very pale. + +"That was a strange notion of yours, my dear, sending her there. Still, +those good people seem to have done their best for her." + +"I believe," said Lady Estelle, hastily, "that she was quite as safe as +she would have been under my own roof. I think I have noticed what you +mean--a nervous kind of uncertainty and dread: but I am quite sure it is +not because of any secret. Ulric; it is rather because she has been +overtaxed. I remember speaking to her about it some time since. She will +soon be well now." + +Lady Estelle was right. Away from that terrible incubus, the dread of +meeting the man she feared and detested; away from his baneful +influence, she speedily recovered health and spirits; the dainty color +flushed back in her lovely face, her eyes grew radiant, sweet snatches +of song came from her lips; she was once more the bright, gay Doris, +whose winsome smiles and charms had won all hearts. Lady Linleigh +laughed at her fears, and for a short time all was happiness at Linleigh +Court. + +Earle came down for a few days, and then the wedding-day was fixed. It +was to be on the tenth of August, and when the wedding was over they +were to go right away until Lady Doris had recovered her usual strength. + +It was not until afterward that Earle remembered how strange it was that +she should have hurried on the wedding; when he came to think it over, +he found that it was so. It was Doris who planned and arranged +everything; he had but acquiesced, he had not been the prime mover in +it. So it was settled--the tenth of August; not many more weeks of +suspense and anxiety, not much more dread. Her revenge and her love +would be gratified alike. She should be Earle's wife on the tenth; on +the twentieth, when Lord Vivianne came, she should be far away with +Earle to protect her; Earle to shield her. It would be useless to pursue +her then; even if he did his worst, and betrayed her, she did not care, +her position would be secure. Oh, it would be such glorious revenge, to +find her married, after all his solemn oaths that she should be his +wife, and belong to no other--either to him or to death! + +"I will deceive him to the very last," she thought. "I will delude him +until the very hour which sees me Earle's wife." + +She bent all her energies to this. It was easy enough to win from Earle +a promise of total silence; it was not quite so easy to win that same +promise from the earl and countess. She did win it, though. + +On that same evening that Earle left, a superb night in June, when the +stars were gleaming in the skies, and the night air was heavy with sweet +odors, Lord and Lady Linleigh had gone out into the grounds. The evening +was far too beautiful to be spent indoors, and she followed them. They +were sitting under the great drooping beeches, watching the loveliness +of that fair summer night. + +The same thought struck both of them as Doris came to them, that neither +starlight nor moonlight had ever fallen on so fair a figure as this. Her +long dress of white sweeping silk trailed over the long grass, she wore +fragrant white lilies on her breast and in her golden hair; she might +have been the very spirit of starlight, from her fair, picturesque +loveliness. She went up to them, and bending down to kiss Lady +Linleigh's hand, she knelt on the grass at their feet. + +"You are alone," she said, "the two arbiters of my destiny. I am so +glad, for I have a favor--a grace to ask." + +"It is granted before it is asked," said the countess. + +But Lord Linleigh laughed. + +"No," he said, "that would hardly be wise; we cannot allow that." + +She raised her face to his, and he saw how earnest it was in its +expression of pleading and prayer. + +"Dear papa," she said, gently, "you must not refuse me this." + +"I will not, my darling, if it be in reason," he replied. + +"Earle told me that you and he had arranged our wedding-day for the +tenth of August," she continued. "Dear papa, dear Lady Linleigh, I want +you to promise that it shall be kept a profound secret from the whole +world." + +"My dear Doris!" cried the countess. + +"It is quite impossible," said the earl. "Besides, I see no reason for +such a thing. Why should you want it so?" + +"It _is_ possible," she said. "I have been with you long enough to know +that with you everything is possible. _Why_ I wish it done, is my whim, +my folly--my secret, if you will." + +"I really do not see----" began the earl; but she laid one soft, white +hand on his lips. + +"Let me show you, papa. Let me hear your objections, and vanquish them +one by one." + +"To begin with--your train of bridesmaids, they must be invited." + +"Papa," she interrupted, "I want none, I will have none, only Mattie, my +foster-sister--let her come, no one else." + +"Then the marriage settlements?" said the perplexed earl. + +"They can be arranged with all possible secrecy, if you only say one +word to your lawyers." + +"But the bishop, and the marriage. My dear Doris, it is impossible, +impracticable, ridiculous!" + +"I am sure that you will be sorry, papa, if you refuse me." + +And something in her voice struck the earl with keen anxiety. + +"Have you any secret, sensible reason for what you ask, Doris?" he said, +gravely, the old suspicion that there had been something strange in his +daughter's life coming back to him with double force. + +"I have my own fancy, papa; do not thwart it, do not oppose me now that +I am so soon to leave you. You will always be pleased to think how much +of my own way you have given me in this instance." + +"Let her do as she will, Ulric," said Lady Linleigh; "it would be cruel +to refuse her." + +"Listen to my idea first, papa. This is the sort of wedding I should +like--you, of course, can please yourself whether you let me have it or +not. I should like no one except Mattie to know anything about it in +advance of the day. I should like my wedding _trousseau_ to be as +magnificent and grand as you please, all ordered, arranged, and +prepared, to be kept in London ready for me, so that I may select what I +want to take abroad with me, then I should like Earle to come on the +eighth, as though he were coming for an ordinary visit; on the ninth, I +should be quite willing for you to tell the servants in the house, so +that wedding favors, flowers, and a wedding breakfast can be prepared; +then, early on the morning of the tenth, I should like to drive over to +the old church at Anderley with Earle, Mattie, and you--Lady Linleigh, +if she will come--no one else; then to be married in that pretty church, +where the morning sun always shines so brightly, and then go away with +Earle. No pealing of bells, no jewels, no showers of wedding presents, +no pomp, no bishop, with assistant ministers, no ceremony, no grandeur. +That is just what I should like, papa." + +"I never heard such an extraordinary idea in all my life," said the +earl. "I do not know what to answer. I should like you to have your own +way; but such a wedding for an earl's daughter is unheard of." + +"Yes; it is different to Hanover Square, miles of white satin and lace, +bishops, bells, jewels, carriages, friends, and all that kind of thing. +I know it is quite different; but let me have my own way, papa, please. +Pray intercede for me, Lady Linleigh." + +The countess turned to her husband. + +"Let it be so, Ulric," she said. + +He was silent. He would have refused altogether, but for the +uncomfortable suspicion haunting him that she had some painful though +hidden motive, and that it was connected with that past life of hers, of +which he knew so little; but for that, he would have laughed the whole +idea to scorn. + +"My dear Doris, I cannot understand. Most ladies look upon their wedding +as the crowning ceremony of their lives, the grandest event that can +possibly happen to them--the very opportunity for a display of splendor +and magnificence." + +"I know they do," she replied, gently. Then, as her hands clasped his, +he felt her shudder, as though cold. She raised her face, and kissed +him; she clasped her white arms round his neck. "Papa," she cried, +"although I am your own child, I have never been much to you; the best +part of my life has been spent away from you; I have never seen my +mother's face; she is not here to plead to you for me. I shall have gone +away from you, and altogether, you will have known but little of me. I +hope Heaven will send you other children to love and bless you; but, +papa, do not refuse my prayer. In the after years, when I am far away, +and perhaps a fair-haired son stands pleading where I stand pleading +now, you will like to remember that you yielded to my prayer--that you +granted me the greatest favor it was in your power to grant." + +The earl looked down. Lady Linleigh was weeping bitterly. + +"You hear, Ulric!" she said, in a low, passionate voice; "you hear! She +says she has no mother to plead for her! Let me plead in the mother's +place! Do what she asks!" + +"I never did anything so unwillingly in all my life," said the earl; "it +is unheard of, inconsistent, ridiculous in the highest degree; but I +cannot refuse the prayer of my wife and child; it must be as you wish." + +He saw, even in the starlight, the expression of relief that came over +the beautiful, restless face. + +"You promise, then," said Doris, "and you too, Lady Linleigh, that you +will not tell to any creature living, except Mattie Brace, when I am to +marry, whom I am to marry, or anything about it?" + +"I promise," said Lady Estelle. + +"And I too," repeated the earl, "although it is sorely against my better +judgment, my will, my common sense, and everything else." + +"Never mind, papa," said Lady Doris, "you have made me happy." + +But even then, as she spoke, the tragedy was looming darkly over her. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIII. + +THE COUNTESS BECOMES CURIOUS. + + +"We ought to be very much flattered," said Lord Linleigh, with a smile, +as he laid an open letter before his wife. "When did we leave +London?--in June. It is only the middle of July, yet some of our friends +are growing weary for us." + +It was such a July morning as makes the dwellers in cities ill with +envy--when the earth hangs like a huge, shining jewel in the firmament +of heaven--a morning when life seems the greatest luxury, when to +breathe and to live is a blessing without alloy. The sky was dark blue, +without even one little white cloud to obscure it; it looked so far off, +so much further than when low-lying clouds touch the earth. The sun was +golden bright, warm without intense heat; and the air--ah! well, it +would require a poet to tell how balmy and soft it was--how it came over +the meadows laden with the breath of sweet clover--how it came from the +woods with the odor of wild hyacinths--how it came from the gardens with +the fragrance of rose and of lily, with the fragrance of every flower +that blows. Then it was filled with soft, delicious thrills--with the +cooing of the ring-doves, and the song of the lark. Nature was in her +happiest mood. + +The earl and countess had come down early to breakfast--the long windows +were open--the perfumed air came in. They smiled, as among the letters +they saw one from Earle to Doris. + +"He writes every day," said Lord Linleigh. + +"Quite right," said Lady Estelle. "I like to see lovers deeply in love." + +They smiled again, when, fresh and fair as the morning itself, Doris +came down. Her face flushed when she saw the letter; a sweet, dewy +brightness came into her eyes; she laid it aside as though waiting for +time. + +"Read your letter, Doris," said Lady Linleigh, and the girl opened it. + +Ah! well, perhaps life does not hold a greater pleasure than reading a +passionate love-letter on a bright summer morning. Her dainty color +deepened as she read; the light grew brighter in her eyes. + +"My love!" thought the girl; "how he loves me." + +And with the fragrant breath of the summer morning, with the light of +the blue skies, with the song of the birds, there came to her a pang of +regret that she was so utterly unworthy of this great pure love, that +her soul was so terribly stained by crime. Then, she said to herself +that she would atone for it, that she would to the very best of her +power make up for it; that she would be so loving, so tender, so true, +he should never have cause to regret it. For it was such a love-letter +as would have touched any girl's heart; written with the fire of a poet +and of a lover. She lost herself in a day-dream, in a golden trance of +happiness: it was coming so near, this wedding-day which was to bind her +to Earle forever, and free her from all care. + +It was Lady Linleigh's voice that roused her, and she was asking: + +"What friend is coming--who is coming, Ulric?" + +"Lord Vivianne--he does not say how long he intends remaining. There is +the letter; read it." + +But the countess was preparing a cup of fragrant tea after the fashion +she liked best, and Lord Linleigh, seeing that, said: + +"I will tell you about it, Estelle. Lord Vivianne says he shall be +passing through Anderley on his way to Leeson, and he should very much +like to spend a few days with us. I can but answer in the affirmative, I +suppose." + +"Certainly; it will be a change for you; you have been very quiet +lately; we can have a picnic and a dinner-party while he is here." + +Lord Linleigh glanced with a shrewd smile at his daughter. It did not +seem to him wonderful that his lordship should be passing through +Anderley; the only pity was, that it was all in vain. But he did not see +his daughter's face, it was turned from him. + +The love-letter had fallen from her hands, the golden light had faded +from the skies, the beauty of the morning had vanished; her face grew +pale, her eyes darkened. + +Why was he coming? Whatever might be the reason, it meant mischief to +her, she was sure of it. He had promised not to come near her until the +end of August, then he was to come for her answer. What was bringing him +now? + +"I must bear it, I have to live it through," she said to herself, "no +matter what it may be." + +In a dumb passion of despair, she heard Lady Linleigh ask when he was +coming. + +"He will be here by the end of the week," said the earl, carelessly; +then he laughed a little. + +"Why are you laughing?" asked Lady Estelle. + +"My dear Estelle, I am just thinking how eagerly you seized upon his +coming as an excuse for a little gayety," he replied; "you who assured +me so seriously you preferred quiet and solitude." + +Lady Estelle blushed. + +"I plead guilty, Ulric," she said. "It must be because I am very happy +myself that I like to see every one else happy, too." + +They both wondered why Lady Doris was so silent. + +"It must be from sheer excess of happiness," thought the countess. + +Lord Linleigh asked: + +"Will you drive with me this morning, Doris, or would you prefer to ride +or walk?" + +"Will you go with me?" asked Lady Estelle. "I am going to Streathaw." + +"No, thank you, papa. Thank you, Lady Linleigh. I am going to spend the +morning in the gardens." + +"That means writing a long letter to Earle," said Lord Linleigh, with a +smile. + +She did not contradict him; and Lady Estelle, when she kissed her and +bade her good-morning, thought how beautiful it was to be young, happy, +and in love. + +Doris went out. There was the shade of fragrant trees, the brilliant +colors of a thousand flowers; and Doris saw and heard nothing--she was +full of despair. + +"Why is he coming," she cried, passionately, "just as I was growing so +happy, learning to forgot him and his terrible threats--why is he +coming? It is like the serpent stealing into paradise. Ah, Heaven! if I +could but undo that unhappy past." + +Standing there in the sunshine, with every blessing from heaven lavished +upon her--more, according to outward appearances, to be envied than any +girl in England--she saw the great canker-worm of her life in its true +colors. Sin had spoiled all for her. + +Sin! Why, she could remember when, in the innocence of her youth and +beauty, she had laughed at the word sin--she had scoffed at it. "What +did sin matter?" she had said, to herself; "the only thing was to make +the very best of life, to enjoy it with all her power, to grasp its +pleasures before they had time to fade." Sin! why it was all sheer +nonsense. + +Now, when sin had found her out, when its black trail had entered her +life and poisoned it--when its consequences, pursuing her, were leading +her to shame and disgrace, she began to recognize it for what it was. +She said to herself that if she could begin life over again she would be +quite different; she would try to be good, like Mattie; she would think +less of her own beauty; and if the same temptation came to her again, +which had been so artfully offered her once, she would refuse it. She +wished with all her heart that she had turned a deaf ear to Lord +Vivianne's entreaties. "I _did_ know it was wrong," she said to herself, +with unusual candor; "I had enough of what was good in me to know that, +and I am sorry, really sorry that I did it." + +Who knows how much repentance the Father above requires from a soul? Who +shall measure His mercy? The terrible tragedy was drawing nearer; and it +might be that the sorrow which rose from the poor, weak, vain soul that +morning was sufficient to save it. + +So she lived the time through until Lord Vivianne came. She was glad +that Lady Linleigh had arranged for a little gayety; meeting him alone +would have been simply unendurable. As it was, she met him in a +drawing-room half-crowded with guests. He found time and opportunity for +saying a few words to her: + +"How beautiful you look, Dora! I have never seen you looking so well!" + +"I should be flattered at pleasing such fastidious taste as yours," she +replied. + +"Yes, you do look most lovely; those waves of green and white, and the +water-lilies in your hair--you look like Undine!" + +"Before or after she had found her soul?" she asked, with a mocking +smile. + +He laughed that low, light laugh for which she hated him. + +"I have never quite made up my mind as to whether women have souls or +not," he said. "I am inclined to think not; if they have, they certainly +make queer use of them." + +"Lady Linleigh!" cried the girl, to the countess, who was just passing +by, "what do you imagine Lord Vivianne says?" + +"I cannot imagine," replied the countess, with a smile. + +"He says he is inclined to believe women have no souls; or, if they +have, they make queer use of them." + +The countess looked slightly shocked. + +Lord Vivianne gave one angry look at the spoiled beauty. + +"That is a very dreadful opinion to hold, my lord," said Lady Estelle. + +"Lady Studleigh is hardly just to me," he replied. "She tells you what I +say, but she does not tell you, although she knows, _what led me to form +that opinion_." + +The countess looked quickly from one to the other with a grave +intentness that did not escape either. There was something more than +mere badinage in this--something which she did not at all understand. +Then Lady Doris saw that she had made a mistake in trying to expose +him--she must not play with edged tools. + +Lady Linleigh left them, not feeling quite satisfied. Why should he +speak in that contemptuous manner of women, to a woman who was so young, +so beautiful? It was not chivalrous--it was not even gentlemanly. And +Lady Doris' manner puzzled her too; it was as though she wished to +expose Lord Vivianne, to make others think evil of him. She could not +forget the little circumstance. + +"Yet it must be a fancy of mine," she thought. "They have so seldom met, +they know so little of each other, there can be nothing but the most +commonplace acquaintance between them." + +Still it made her curious, and she purposely selected Lord Vivianne to +take her down to dinner, in order that she might, after a little +diplomatic fashion of her own, question him. + +"How do you think Lady Studleigh is looking?" she asked him, when they +had a chance for a few quiet words. "She was not well at all when we +left London." + +"I think her looking as beautiful as it is possible for any one to +look," he replied, "and as well." + +"I am glad you think so. It must have been a great privation for her to +leave London in the very midst of the season, or, I should say, in the +midst of a brilliant _finale_." + +"Yes; I do not remember, of late years, any one who created such a furor +as Lady Studleigh," was his reply. + +"You met her often during the season?" + +"Yes, I met her very frequently; it was impossible to go much into +society without doing so--she was an unusual favorite." + +The countess saw plainly that if he admired her he was not going to say +so; she would not be able to get at his real opinion. Yet the very +caution of his words and manner, the restraint in his speech, the +guarded expression of his face, all told her that she was right in her +half-formed fancy. There was something unusual--either on his part or +hers--which she could not make out. She would not devote more time to +him that evening; the guests were numerous, and must be entertained. + +The gentlemen did not remain long in the dining-room, and the +drawing-room presented a beautiful picture; the lamps were all lighted +and shone like huge pearls among the countless flowers; the gay dresses +and shining jewels of the ladies seemed to shine with unwonted luster. +The sweet summer evening was so warm and so fragrant, the rich silken +hangings were drawn, and the long windows were open, and from them the +countess saw a fairyland of moonlight and flowers. + +"I wish we had some music," said the earl; "it only wants that to +complete the enchantment. Doris, will you sing?" + +She went to the piano, and the rich voice floated through the room. Many +who saw her then never forgot her; the green and white dress floating +round her, the water-lilies in her golden hair, a flush on the beautiful +face, while the rich voice poured out such a strain of melody as few had +ever heard equaled. + +They who saw her then, and knew what followed, did not forget the +picture. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIV. + +A LAST VAIN APPEAL. + + +"The night is so fine," said the earl, "you young people would enjoy a +short time on the lawn. Look at those lilies asleep in the moonlight--go +and wake them. Then we will have the card-tables. That is as it should +be--cards for the old, moonlight for the young." + +That was the very chance Lord Vivianne had been longing for; he did not +think he could bear suspense much longer. Now he was sure of a +_tete-a-tete_. Here, in these rooms, half-filled with people, it had +been an easy matter to avoid him, or to make others join in the +conversation; it would not be as easy out there in the moonlight. + +Lady Linleigh, who had never for one moment relaxed her keen, untiring +watch, saw him go up to Lady Doris, and speak a few words to her in a +low voice. At first the beautiful face flushed hotly, and the bright +eyes seemed to flash out a proud defiance. Then there was an expression +of half-startled fear, followed by one of submission most unusual in +her. + +"There is a mystery," she said to herself; "there is something between +him and my darling!" + +The mother's first impulse was to screen her, to help her. Lady Linleigh +crossed the room and went to her. + +"Doris," she said, in a clear distinct voice, that all might hear, +"Doris, do not go if you prefer remaining here." + +The girl raised her eyes to the calm gentle face, and Lady Linleigh was +shocked to see tears in them. + +"Thank you," she said, calmly; "I shall enjoy going out. Who could +resist the moon and the flowers?" + +"Then do not remain long. You look tired, and we must remember you are +not strong." + +Lord Vivianne joined them. + +"Lady Studleigh has graciously promised to show me the fountains by +moonlight. I will watch her faithfully, and at the first symptom of +fatigue I promise you she shall return." + +Then the countess could say no more. She saw Lord Vivianne carefully +draw the black lace shawl over the white neck and arms. + +"Not that you can be cold," he said, in reply to some objection, "but, +as Lady Linleigh says, we must be careful of you." + +And he smiled down on her with an air of protection and of +appropriation, for which she in her rage could have struck him dead, and +which made Lady Linleigh wonder exceedingly. + +"It is ten thousand pities," she thought, "that he does not know she is +engaged to Earle." + +Then a new suspicion came to her, which made her even more +uncomfortable. Was it possible that her daughter's passionate desire for +secrecy had anything to do with Lord Vivianne? Was her daughter _afraid_ +of letting him know that she was going to be married? The very torment +of the suspicion, faint as it was, filled her with dread. Then she saw +the happy little group of guests on the lawn, she caught one glimpse of +the white water-lilies and green dress as Lady Studleigh disappeared +with her cavalier. + +"What has come over me?" said the countess. "I have a presentiment, +heavy as death! What can be wrong? I shall begin to think I am growing +old and fanciful. What danger can be near my darling?" + +She set herself resolutely to play at whist, but every now and then her +partner saw her turn pale and shudder, as though she were cold. + +Doris and Lord Vivianne were out in the moonlight together, and alone at +last. At first they maintained complete and perfect silence. Lord +Vivianne placed the white jeweled hand on his arm. She did not make the +least objection; it was all useless, she was in his power, and she knew +it; she would not even ask the question that trembled on her lips, and +filled her with despairing wonder--what had brought him there? She +walked by his side, silent, proud, and uncomplaining. + +"My darling," he said, at last, "does not this evening remind you of +Florence, and the moonlight on the river?" + +"If I am to talk to you, Lord Vivianne, and it seems I am compelled to +do so, I must ask you to refrain from using such expressions as +'darling.' I will not answer you if you do: they are utterly hateful to +me." + +"Yet I remember the time when they pleased you passing well. Do you +remember, Dora, when I gave you a diamond ring? You have diamonds now on +your neck and arms, in your ears, and your hair. They shine like +fire-rivers over your beautiful figure; you are so accustomed to them +that they have ceased to have any particular value for you. But do you +remember your delight in the first?" + +"Women remember their first diamonds, as they do their first long dress +or their first lover," she replied. + +"I suppose so. Oh, Dora, be a little kind to me! We are here in this +sweet moonlight together, yet you do not give me one word, one smile. +You were not always so hard or so cruel. In Florence, you used to walk +with both these beautiful white hands clasped over my arm. Do you +remember it?" + +Then she raised to his a face that, in its pride and anger, he never +forgot. + +"I will not permit you to mention those days to me," she cried. "They +are hateful; the very memory of them brands me as with a red-hot iron. I +will not bear it. I would sooner--listen to me--I know the words are +unwomanly--I would sooner pass through the infernal fires than go to +Florence with you again." + +He laughed. + +"I like to see you in a passion, Dora; it suits you; you would have made +a grand tragedy queen. I do not wish to vex you or to tease you, +because, as you know, I wish to make you my wife. Do you know, can you +guess, what has brought me here?" + +"No. You have broken our compact in coming, I know that!" + +Still it was the question over which she had pondered, by day and by +night, ever since she had heard he was coming. It made her heart beat +fast, but she would not give way; there was not the least sign of +emotion. + +"Do you not wonder what has brought me here, Dora?" he repeated. + +"I am very indifferent," she said; "no one could be more so." + +"I will tell you. I came to see if you were keeping faith with me, if +there was any rumor of a lover, any rumor of an engagement. I came +purposely for that." + +"And if there had been?" she said. + +"If there had been, why, you see, Dora, matters would have turned out +very awkwardly for both of us." + +"You are satisfied that there is not?" + +"Yes, tolerably so. There is no lover here; I hear of none in the +neighborhood. And you are not engaged to be married--that I do know!" + +"How do you know?" + +"Because I have made inquiries in the proper direction. I am, I may say, +quite satisfied." + +He could not tell the sensation of intense relief that came over +her--the wild throbbing of her heart. She was safe then, so far, and +could marry Earle. Half of the dread and fear she had felt faded away +from her. + +"I own," continued Lord Vivianne, "that I have suspected you unjustly. +You deceived me once, and I fancied that you intended to deceive me +again; you eluded me once, you will not elude me again?" + +"You thought I was going to do so?" + +"I thought your manner strange, your leaving London in the height of +your triumph strange, your coming to this quiet, though beautiful +country home strange." + +"I told you that I wanted time for reflection," she said. + +"Yes: and even that, when I came to think of it, was strange. Of course +I shall keep my word now that I have given it. But why should you, how +can you, need time for reflection? The idea is utterly absurd. You +cannot for a moment hesitate between my threat and my offer." + +"But I do hesitate," she said, "incredible as it may seem to you." + +He looked in her face, so fair and calm in the moonlight, and so proud. + +"I wish you would tell me why you hesitate?" he said. + +"I will. I dislike you so much. The idea of having to spend my life with +you is so utterly abhorrent to me, that I hesitate between that and the +total ruin that would follow my refusal." + +"You must indeed dislike me," he said, "if you prefer ruin, shame and +disgrace to me." + +"I do." + +"Will you tell me why?" he asked. + +"I should have thought both answer and question useless. Why, to begin +with, you tempted me to sin and shame, by flattering my vanity and my +pride----" + +"You did not really require much temptation, Lady Studleigh." + +"Thank you--you are as generous as you are gentlemanly. Granted that I +did not require much temptation, you placed what little I did want +before me. Do you not see," she cried, with sudden passion, "that you +have spoiled my life? It would be bright, hopeful, full of charm, but +for _you_--you have marred and blighted it. I do not like you--I never +did. The very way in which you won me was hateful to me; your love was +all self. I never liked you. And now, when I could be happy--ah, Heaven, +so unutterably happy--you come like a black shadow and rob my life of +every bit of happiness that it contains. No wonder that I loathe you!" + +"No," he said, gently, "it is not." + +"Then why do you not be kind to me, and let me be quite free?" she +asked, emboldened by the softening of his voice. + +"You have guessed the reason," he replied. "You have said--it is because +I am selfish to my heart's core. I sacrificed you once to my selfish +love; is it likely that I should hesitate a second time?" + +"You might well hesitate, because I suffered so keenly over the first." + +The red flush deepened on his face, a strange light came into his eyes. + +"I will not let you go free, neither will I cease from my endeavors to +make you my wife; and the reason is because I love you. Oh, proud, fair, +lovely woman! I love you with the very madness of love, with a +desperation of the fiercest passion with a love that is my doom and +yours. You have heard of men made desperate through love: look at me, +you will see it. I will kill you if you attempt to leave me--if you +attempt to give the love that ought to be mine to another man!" + +"Thank you for the threat," she said. + +"You drive me to threats, you give me no other recourse. I would fain be +all that is kind and good to you; I would worship you; I would lay all +that I have at your feet, only begging of you to take it. What would I +not do to prove how dearly I love you." + +"It is all self. We will have the plainest possible understanding. If +there be any manhood in you, it shall be shamed. You shall have it in +plain words. You quite understand that if ever I should marry you, it +would be because by threats you had compelled me to do so; that I should +hate and detest you if I became your wife even more than I hate and +detest you now. As the days passed on, my loathing would become greater, +so that no friendly word would ever pass between us, and I should +consider you simply as a tyrant who bound me in chains. You understand +all this?" + +"I will risk it," he replied. "I should not despair of regaining your +love in time." + +The face she turned to him was pallid in its despair. + +"You never would regain it," she said, calmly. "Yet there is one way in +which even now you might gain my liking, my esteem, my sincere +friendship." + +His face kindled at the words. + +"How, Dora? Tell me how!" he cried, eagerly. + +"By saying to me: 'You are free. I took advantage of your youth and +innocence; I am sorry for it. You are free! Forgive me the wrong that +has been done, and let us friends.' If you would do that, Lord Vivianne, +even now I should like you with a warm, true liking." + +He was silent for a few minutes; her appeal had touched him greatly. +Looking at him, she saw that his face had softened. Impulsively she laid +a warm, soft hand on his. + +"I never thought to use words of persuasion to you," she said. "I never +thought to plead or to pray to you, but I do so now: be kind to me, and +let me go free." + +He was tempted for one minute; but that warm, soft hand crept like fire +through his veins, his pulses thrilled, his heart beat. + +Give her up!--this fair woman whose beauty maddened him! No! never, +never--come what might! + +"I would not release you, Dora. I would not give you up, if every angel, +and every fiend combined, tried to take you from me!" + + + + +CHAPTER LXXV. + +"HEAVEN SAVE EARLE!" + + +"August at last," said Lady Linleigh; "it is the first to-day. Not long +now, Doris, until the tenth." + +"No; not long," was the reply. + +"Everything is ready and waiting at Hyde House," continued the countess; +"the whole of your _trousseau_ is ready, and a more magnificent one was +never designed." + +"I am more than satisfied with it," said the young beauty, "What time +will Mattie Brace be here, Lady Linleigh?" + +"About noon. I shall send the carriage to the station." + +"I will drive my pretty ponies," said Doris, eagerly. "I have only used +them once since papa gave them to me. She will be so pleased if I meet +her." + +"It is well thought of, my dear," said Lady Estelle. "Doris, do you know +what I have done?" + +"No, something kind and nice, like yourself; I know by the sound of your +voice." + +"I have ordered a very nice little _trousseau_ for Mattie--dresses that +will not be unsuited to her at home, yet will do for her to wear here. I +shall be so lonely when you are gone that I thought of asking her to +remain here. I shall miss you so much, Doris." + +"And I shall miss you, dear Lady Linleigh. I never thought when you came +home to my father's house, that I should learn to love you so dearly." + +Lady Linleigh clasped her arms round the girl's neck. + +"Tell me one thing," she said, caressingly; "do you think I have been as +kind to you as your own mother would have been?" + +"I do not think, dear Lady Linleigh; I am quite sure," she replied. + +"It is an odd fancy of mine," said the countess, with a wistful smile, +"but I have always been so fond of children. I have such a longing to +hear a child call me mother. Doris--you will have left me in ten days. +Will you kiss me, and say, 'Heaven bless you, my own mother?'" + +"Of course I will. Heaven bless you, my own dear mother; you have been +one to me. You have helped me in every little trouble and perplexity; +you have been kind to me, without ceasing. Why, Lady Linleigh, your face +is wet with tears!" + +"Is it, darling? I feel your going away so much. But we must not remain +talking here. If you wish to drive to the station, it is high time the +ponies were brought round, and I myself wish to see that everything is +as she will like it in Mattie's room." + +The warmer days of the golden summer had passed away rapidly; it was the +first of August, and the marriage was to be on the tenth. So great and +entire had been the secrecy preserved, that no creature in that vast +establishment knew anything at all about it, the servants and every one +else thought that Mattie was simply coming for her yearly visit; but +that the wedding of their young lady was on the _tapis_, no one for a +moment suspected. + +Lord Vivianne had not made a very long stay at Linleigh Court; matters +were not very pleasant for him there. Lady Linleigh seemed suddenly to +have grown very observant, and he found but few opportunities of +speaking to Doris. After his impassioned, violent words on that evening, +she had made no answer; the rapture and tenderness had all died from her +face--a hard, fixed look came in her eyes. + +"Let the worst come now," she said; "it will serve him right." + +She pleaded and prayed no more; and it was well for him that he could +not read the thoughts that were in her mind. He poured out such a +torrent of passionate words she heard none of them. After a time she +said: + +"I think we have been out quite long enough, Lord Vivianne: we will +return, if you please." + +When they reached the lawn again, where the ladies, with their attendant +cavaliers, were enjoying the fair, sweet night, he suddenly took her +right hand, and kissed it. + +"I shall hope to make this mine, one day," he said. + +She snatched it from him with sudden violence, and it struck the trunk +of a tree with such terrible force that he thought she had broken it. + +"I will cut my hand off," she said, "if you touch it again." + +He was startled by her vehemence. + +"You do indeed hate me, Dora," he said, sadly. + +"I do, indeed," was the reply. + +And then they saw Lady Linleigh walking across the lawn to them. + +"My dear Doris," her ladyship cried, "what is the matter, darling? See! +you have a great stain of blood on your dress--and your hand! What has +happened?" + +She took the white hand, with its purple, bleeding bruise, into her own. + +"What is the matter, Doris? Lord Vivianne, what is the matter?" + +She saw that he looked dreadfully distressed. + +"Dear Lady Linleigh, it is nothing," said Lady Doris, quickly, fearing +that he would speak. "I was resting against the gate there, and I +thought something was on my hand, a snake crawled over it--a horrible, +slimy snake--and in my hurry, I bruised it against the gate--that is +all." + +"But," said the countess, perplexedly, "Lord Vivianne was with you." + +"Oh, yes, he was there!" + +"I was there, Lady Linleigh, and I am terribly distressed over the +accident, but Lady Studleigh was too quick for me, before I could assure +her that there was nothing the matter, she had flung her hand so +violently that I thought she had broken it. There was no snake." + +"There could not be," said the countess. "I have never heard of any +snakes at Linleigh. Give me your hand, child. What a terrible bruise!" + +The countess took her injured hand and gently bound it, little dreaming +how it had been hurt. + +After that Lord Vivianne had been very much subdued. Such an excess of +hatred startled him; he could not realize it, he was half alarmed at +the violence of the passion he had evoked; still no idea of yielding +came to him. As he watched her, day after day, her beauty, her grace, +grew more and more enchanting to him. It was not so much love as madness +that possessed him; lie would not have relinquished his hold or have +given her up to have saved his life. + +During the remainder of his stay the countess kept keen, unwavering +watch over him, but he had learned his lesson after what he had seen. +How little she recked of physical pain, how careless she was of herself. +He dared not venture to tease her; he felt that she was quite capable of +committing murder if he drove her too far; he contented himself by +saying to her when he was going: + +"It is understood between us, then, Lady Studleigh, that I return on the +twentieth of August for your decision." + +"It is quite understood," she replied, with calm dignity. + +"I hope it will be a favorable one to me, and I hope my reception will +be kinder next time than it has been this." + +"You will always be welcomed according to your deserts," she replied. + +"I hope, above all, the poor, bruised hand will be better when I come +again," he said, with a meaning smile, "and that you will not find any +more snakes in those beautiful moon-lit grounds." + +"It will be as well for the snakes to keep away," she said. + +When he went, the little current of gayety that had come with him died +away all together. Lady Linleigh was relieved when he had gone; without +knowing what to suspect, she suspected something; she felt like some one +walking on the brink of a volcano; but when he was gone, and a few days +had passed without anything happening, she felt relieved. She had not +forgotten the incident of the bruised hand; although everything else +might be fancy, that was not. When Lord Vivianne bade the earl good-bye, +he said: + +"I have enjoyed my visit very much, Lord Linleigh; so much that if I +should return by the same route about the end of August, I shall beg +permission to repeat it." + +The earl most cordially assured him that he would be welcome. + +And so the bright summer days had worn away. To Lady Doris each one +brought a fresh sensation of relief. The tenth was drawing near. Lord +Vivianne was still in utter and profound ignorance of all that was +transpiring. She would be married and away when he came back; how she +enjoyed the thought of his discomfiture. She laughed aloud as she +thought of his impotent anger. + +"He may do as he likes then," she said; "I shall be Earle's wife. My +fortune will be settled on me, and I shall defy him; if he tells his +story then, he will not find many to believe him; Earle will not believe +anything against his wife, I am sure. I must bribe some respectable +family to say that I lived with them as governess in Florence. I shall +conquer the difficulty when I am once married to Earle." + +This was her one haven of refuge, her rock, her safe harbor from all +storms; the end which she so ardently desired to gain; the one great +object in life that she proposed for herself; it seemed to her all must +be well then. She had written to Mattie asking her to come to Linleigh +on the first of August: but so desirous was she of keeping her own +secret, that she had not told her what for, and she did not tell her +until they were driving in the pretty pony carriage back to the court; +then she was so eager to tell her story, that she did not notice how +pale the brown face had grown, or how the dark eyes looked full of +unshed tears. + +"So you have sent for me, Doris, to be your bridesmaid," said Mattie; +"you, who might have some of the noblest and highest ladies in the +land?" + +"There would be none that I love like you, Mattie. We were sisters for +years, you know." + +Then Mattie was silent for a little time. She said to herself at first, +that if she had known why Doris wanted her, she would not have gone, she +would rather have done anything, have suffered anything than seen Earle +married. Then she reproached herself for being selfish, and tried to +throw all her heart and soul into her sister's plans. + +Lady Doris wondered why Mattie suddenly kissed her face, and said: + +"Heaven bless you, my darling; I hope you will be very happy. I should +think, Doris, that you are the happiest girl in all the world." + +"Yes," said Doris, "I think I am;" and she added to herself, bitterly, +"Would to Heaven I were!" + +The countess was more than kind to Mattie; in her own mind she was +always thinking how to pay back to Mark Brace's daughter the kindness +they had shown Doris. When the two young girls stood together in Lady +Doris' dressing-room, she drew off her driving-gloves and laid them on +the table; then for the first time Mattie saw the terrible bruise on the +white hand; she bent down to look at it. + +"What have you done to your pretty hand, Doris?" she asked. "What a +frightful bruise!" + +"I knocked it against something," was the vague reply. But Mattie saw +the burning flush on her sister's face. + +"What a pity. Now you will be married with a black, dreadful looking +bruise on your hand. That will not get well in ten days." + +"Sometimes I think it will never get well at all, Mattie," said Lady +Doris, "it has been done some weeks already; I forget how long." + +Mattie kissed the dark skin, and Lady Doris shuddered as she remembered +whose lips had rested on that hand before. + +"When is Earle coming?" she asked, and Lady Doris answered: + +"On the eighth, he cannot leave London before, you have no idea what a +famous man he is becoming Mattie." + +She was glad to hear it; yet the old familiar prayer rose to her lips. +Without knowing why, she said to herself: "Heaven save Earle!" + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVI. + +"I SHALL WAKE UP AND FIND IT A DREAM." + + +The eighth of August! When had any day so beautiful shone before? It was +as though the birds had woke earlier to sing. How the sun was shining +and the flowers blooming! Lady Doris opened her eyes to the fairest and +loveliest day that had ever dawned. + +"Earle is coming to-day!" was her first thought. + +"Earle is coming!" sung the birds. + +"Earle is coming!" whispered the wind, as it stirred the sweet green +leaves. She had rested well; for it seemed to her now that her troubles +were nearly ended. In two more days she would be his wife; then, who +could touch her, what evil could come to her? + +Earle was to be at Linleigh by noon. The hours would roll so swiftly, so +sweetly by until then. Only two days! She sung to herself sweet little +snatches of love songs. While she was dressing she looked at herself in +wonder; could it be the same Doris who once thought nothing on earth of +any value except money and grandeur? Could she have so mingled her love +and life into another's as almost to have lost her own identity, and to +think of nothing except Earle? + +"I never thought that I should be so much in love," she said, to +herself. "How strange it seems!" + +She did not quite understand herself. It was not that she loved Earle so +passionately; the capability of great love was not hers. It was not +that; it was that Earle, the master-mind, had, by the force and nobility +of his own character, completely influenced her, and had won a complete +ascendency over her. She had not much power of loving; what she had was +his. But Earle represented peace, happiness, and prosperity to +her--Earle was her sure haven of rest, her shield against all evil, her +refuge against her direst enemy and bitter foe, Lord Vivianne. + +So, welcome, bright, sunny day!--welcome golden sun and sweet flowers! + +The post brought her her daily love-letter; but it was brief. It said +simply: + + "I cannot write much to my darling. I shall see her to-day, and, in + two days more, she will be mine until death parts us." + +He thought of the words when he saw them again. + +Every face wore its brightest look at the breakfast-table that day. The +earl and countess were happy in their beautiful daughter's happiness; +Mattie, because she entered so easily into the joy of others. + +"Doris," said Mattie, "will you come out? We shall have just time for a +stroll in the woods before Earle comes." + +Lady Doris laughed. + +"I really cannot, Mattie. The spirit of unrest is on me, I cannot go +anywhere or do anything until I have seen Earle." + +"Have you decided yet about your wedding-dress?" asked Mattie. "This +strange caprice of silence makes me afraid to speak; but, silence or +not, it is high time that it was seen about." + +Lady Doris laughed. + +"I am so amused at myself, Mattie," she said. "If any one had ever told +me, some years, even some months since, that I should be quite +indifferent over my wedding-dress, I would not have believed it." + +"But _why_ are you indifferent?" asked Mattie. "I _cannot_ understand. +Is it because you are not marrying a nobleman--is it because you are +marrying Earle?" + +"No," was the reply. "You can believe me or not, Mattie, just as you +please, but I assure you I am more proud in marrying Earle than if I +were marrying a king." + +"So I should imagine. Earle is a king; then why this strange desire for +secrecy?" + +The beautiful eyes were raised wistfully to her face. + +"I may tell you, perhaps, some day, Mattie, but not now, dear--not now. +You will marry some good, kindly man, Mattie--some one like yourself, +who never knew the fiery heat of temptation; who has always kept--as you +have kept--his eyes on Heaven; then, some day, dear, when you are +sitting with your little children around you, I shall come to +you--world-worn and weary, perhaps, who knows!--longing to lay my head +in the clover grass, and then I may tell you all--but not now." + +"Then there is a secret?" said Mattie, gently. + +"Yes," was the wary reply, "there is a secret." + +The words seemed half forced from her. + +"Does Earle know it?" asked Mattie. + +"No, and never will. Do not talk to me, dear; you have been my sister +many years, and I love you very much; if ever I seek a confidante it +will be you. You need not be anxious over my wedding-dress, Mattie. Lady +Linleigh has presented me with my _trousseau_, and she tells me that no +royal princess ever had a more sumptuous one; she told me also that a +box would come from Paris to-day, for you and for me; rely upon it, that +will contain my wedding-dress." + +"How kind Lady Linleigh is to you," said Mattie. "I do not think your +own mother could love you better." + +"I do not think she would love me half so much," was the laughing reply. +Then, in the warm, sunlit air, they heard the sharp clang of the +clock--eleven. "He will be here in an hour," said Doris. + +"Shall you not go and change your dress?" asked the simple little +foster-sister. "I thought great ladies always dressed very grandly to +receive their lovers." + +"My dear Mattie," was the coquettish reply, "_could_ I look better?" + +No, she could not. A white dress of Indian muslin showed every curve and +line of that beautiful figure. It was open at the throat, and a lovely +rose nestled against the white breast; it was relieved by dashes of +blue, and the long, waving, golden hair was fastened by a single blue +ribbon. No jewels, no court attire, no magnificence of dress ever became +her as did this; she looked young, fresh, and fair as the dawn of a +bright spring morning. No one looking at her could have guessed that the +foul canker of sin had entered that young heart and soul. + +"I am very happy here," she continued, languidly. "I am watching the +butterflies and the flowers. Look at that one, Mattie, with the gorgeous +purple wings; see, now he hovers round that tall, white lily, then he +goes away to the clove carnations; he does not know which to choose. Oh, +happy butterfly, to have such a choice! I wonder what it is like, +Mattie, to feel quite free from care?" + +They were seated under a group of white acacia trees on the lawn, and +with every breath of wind the fragrant blossoms fell in a sweet shower +over them; the sun shone on the rippling fountains, on the fair flowers, +and on the faces of the two girls. + +"Free from care!" repeated Mattie, with something like surprise. "Why, +my darling, if you are not free from care, who is?" + +"I was not speaking or even thinking of myself; I was merely thinking +how happy all kinds of birds, and butterflies, and flowers must be to +enjoy the dew, and the sunshine, and the sweet winds." + +"Happy, but they have no soul, Doris." + +She laughed a low, bitter laugh that pierced Mattie like the point of a +sword. + +"A soul!" she repeated. "I am not sure that a soul brings happiness; +those who have souls have the responsibility of saving them." + +"Doris, you do not deserve to be happy, for you are not good," cried +Mattie; and three days afterward she remembered the words with the +keenest pain. + +But Lady Doris was unusually gentle; she bent down and kissed the kindly +face. + +"I am _not_ good, but I am going to try to be better, dear; it seems to +be part of my nature to say bad things. I am not quite sure if I always +mean them. Hark, Mattie; I hear the sound of carriage wheels. Earle is +coming!" + +The beautiful face grew white in its intensity of feeling. + +Mattie rose from her seat. + +"He will like best," she said, "to meet you alone. I will tell him your +are here." + +It seemed to Doris that the sun shone more golden, the wind seemed to +whisper more sweetly, when she heard the sound of footsteps and the +voice she loved so well. The next moment strong loving arms were around +her, passionate kisses fell on her face, lips and hands. + +"My darling!" cried Earle. "My wife, so soon to be my wife." + +It was one happy half-hour, stolen almost from paradise, for he loved +her so dearly; he found heaven in her face; and she was at rest, at +peace with him. + +Then Lord Linleigh and Mattie came. The earl with happy smiles and merry +jests; he was so glad in her joy. + +"Love is very delightful," he said, "but, Doris, we must offer something +substantial to a traveler; suppose we substitute cold chicken and +Madeira. Then Lady Linleigh desired me to say that a most wonderful box +had arrived from Paris, and she wanted you to unpack it." + +Then he bent down and kissed the fair face so dear to them all. + +"I can hardly believe that we are to lose you in two days, my darling," +he said. + +"Nor can I believe that I shall win her," said Earle. "I often have the +impression that I shall wake up and find it a dream, and that Earle +Moray will be in the cornfields at home." + +"You are a poet," laughed the earl, "and poets are not accountable for +anything." + +Then they went together to lunch. Mattie knew that it was by Lady +Linleigh's orders that the table was so gracefully ornamented with +flowers and fruit; the pretty thought was like her. They spent perhaps +one of the happiest hours of their lives together. Then Lady Linleigh +said: + +"Now for the Parisian box. Earle, you must be banished while that is +unpacked." + +The ladies went together up to Lady Linleigh's room. + +"We will have no curious ladies' maids or servants," she said; "we will +unpack this ourselves. The key came to me this morning by registered +letter. Doris, my dear, the box and its contents are yours--you shall +unpack them." + +Lady Studleigh took the key and opened it. There were layers of fine +white wadding and tissue paper. One by one Lady Doris raised the costly +packets in her hands and laid them down. There was a bridesmaid's +costume all complete, a marvel of pink and white silk, with everything +to match; white silk shoes, with little pink rosettes; white bonnet, +that looked as though a puff of wind would blow it away, and a costly +pink plume; gloves, fan, jewels, all matched exactly, and Mattie's face +grew radiant. + +"All this for me! Oh, Lady Linleigh, how am I to thank you?" + +"By looking your prettiest in them," laughed the countess, as she placed +the fairy-like bonnet on the brown, shining hair. "I thought pink would +suit you, Mattie; so it does. See how nice she looks, Doris." + +Lady Studleigh kissed her foster-sister's face. + +"Mattie always looks nice," she said, "just as she always looks happy +and good." + +Then came the bride's costume. + +"You would not allow the earl and myself to show that we felt your +wedding to be the happiest event of our lives," said Lady Linleigh; "but +you could not prevent my intention of seeing you dressed as a bride." + +Such a wedding-dress--one of Worth's most marvelous combinations of +white satin and white lace--a dress fit for a queen; and it was trimmed +so beautifully with wreaths of orange blossoms. There, in a pretty +scented box, lay the bridal veil--such a wonder of lace, so exquisitely +worked, large enough to cover a bride, yet so fine and delicate that it +could be drawn through a wedding-ring. Then came the wreath of orange +blossoms! + +Lady Studleigh was accustomed by this time to splendor--there was little +in the way of dress that could ever give her the agreeable sensation of +surprise; but she uttered a little cry of admiration as she saw the +elegant costly presents the countess had arranged for her. Everything +was complete and beautiful, even to the little bouquet-holder, made of +pure white pearls. She took Lady Linleigh's hands and kissed them. + +"Are you pleased, my darling?" she asked, gently. + +"Oh, Lady Linleigh, you have left me without words--quite without words! +I cannot thank you." + +The countess bent her head. + +"Could your own mother have pleased you more?" she asked. + +"No--a thousand times no!" was the sincere reply. + +Then Mattie said: "Lady Linleigh, let us dress Doris in her bridal +robes, so that Earle may see her." + +And the countess laughed as she gave consent. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVII. + +TRYING ON THE WEDDING-DRESS. + + +"What does she look like?" cried Mattie in a passion of admiration, as +they placed the bridal veil on the golden head. + +"It would require a poet to tell us," said the countess; "and as we have +one close at hand, we will ask him. Mattie, go and bring Earle here. +Close the door after you. I should not like every one to know what we +have been doing." + +And presently, Earle stood before a figure that seemed to him too +beautiful to be real--a tall, graceful figure that seemed to rise from +the waves of white satin and lace--as a graceful flower from its stem. +Through the bridal veil he caught the sheen of the golden hair--the +dainty color of the face--the deep color of the violet eyes. The sweet +odor of orange blossoms floated to him. + +"Doris," he said, in a low voice; "my beautiful love, let me see your +face." + +It was Lady Linleigh who threw back the veil, so that he might see the +lovely, blushing face. Tears stood in the young lover's eyes, although +he tried to control his emotion. + +"Is it possible, Lady Linleigh?" he asked, "that this is my +wife--that--well, I had better not say too much; you do not think I +shall wake up and find it all a dream?" + +"No, it is real enough." + +Then he drew nearer to her. + +"You will let me give you one kiss, Doris--Lady Linleigh will not be +horrified. You will be Lady Moray soon. What is my poor name worth, that +it should be so highly honored?" + +He kissed her sweet lips. + +"I must be careful," he said. "You look like a fairy. Perhaps you would +vanish if a mere mortal touched you. Now, let me look at you, +darling--at your dress, your veil, and your wreath. The picture is +perfect. I wish that I could put it into words." + +He did, afterward--into words over which all England wept. Then, for a +few minutes, the three--Lady Linleigh, Mattie, and Earle--stood looking +at her in silence, they hardly knew why. Then Earle said: + +"When I see that pretty veil again, it will be on the head of my beloved +wife." + +Then they all three looked at the veil. Heaven help him! he little +dreamed how and when he should see it again. If they could have had the +faintest foreknowledge of that, the tragedy might have been averted. + +Then Earle went away, and the bridal robes were taken to Lady Linleigh's +boudoir. + +"They will not be seen there," said the countess. "I will lock the door +and keep the key; to-morrow it will not matter." + +And Mattie helped her--poor, helpless child!--place them over a chair so +that the shining robes might not be injured. + +It was Earle who proposed a ramble to the woods; dinner was to be later +than usual. + +"Let us all three go," he said. "Mattie with us, Doris; it may be years +before we meet all together so happy again." + +So it was settled, and they spent the remainder of that sunny, happy day +together. + +They were sitting in a green, sunny dell, with the fall grass and wild +flowers springing luxuriantly around them, the tall trees spreading +overhead, the little birds filling the wood with song. + +Lady Doris had never been so happy; she had almost forgotten the dark +background of sorrow and care. Mattie was happy, for it was impossible +to see them so young, so loving, with their graceful caresses and love, +without rejoicing with them. + +"This is like Brackenside," said Earle. "How often we have sat together +in the woods there! And Mrs. Brace used to wonder how the farms would +advance if they were left to us." + +"And well she might wonder," said Mattie; "even when I believed Doris to +be my own sister, I thought her the most beautiful, but the most useless +of human beings!" + +"Thank you," laughed Lady Studleigh. + +"It is altogether like a fairy tale," said Earle; "if I had read such a +story, I should say it was untrue; I should call such a story +exaggerated; yet, here we are, the living, breathing actors in the +drama." + +"It is not such a very wonderful history, Earle," said Lady Studleigh; +"there are many private marriages, many children brought up in ignorance +of their real name and station; many a man like you--a gentleman and +genius by birth--rises by the simple force of his own merit to be one of +the magnates of the land." + +Then she sighed to herself, and her brightness was for one moment +overcast as she remembered that hers was the only part of the story that +was improbable or extraordinary; no one would believe that she had been +guilty as she had been. + +How often, in after years, they went back to that bright, long day. +Earle never saw a wild flower, or a green fern, that he did not turn +from it with a sick, aching heart. + +They dined together; the earl would not have any visitors; it was the +last day but one of their darling, and they would have it all to +themselves. There they sat in the gloaming, and Doris sang to them. Who +knew the pain, the aching in one lonely heart? who knew the quiet +heroism of the girl with the brown, kindly face and shining hair? + +The lamps were lighted, and, Lord Linleigh, laughing to think how they +had all been engrossed, drew a large parcel toward himself. + +"This shows," he said, "that we have something unusual going on. This +packet of periodicals has been in the library for several days, and no +one has thought of opening it. It is the first time such a thing has +happened." + +He unfastened the string and looked through them casually. One, however, +seemed to attract his attention. It was beautifully illustrated, and he +laid it down with a smile. + +"Read that, Doris," he said; "it contains a warning for you." + +"What is the warning, papa? I would rather take it from you than from +print." + +"I have not read it. Look at the engraving. It is evidently the story of +a bride who, on her wedding-eve, dresses herself in her +bridal-robes--girlish vanity, I suppose--just to see how she looks. The +wedding-dress catches fire, and she is burned to death. Moral: young +ladies should never try on their wedding-dresses beforehand." + +"What a tragical story!" said the countess. + +"I can never see the use of such stories," said Mattie; "they make every +one sad who reads them." + +"Burned to death on her wedding-eve," said Earle, "and all because she +wanted to see if she should be charming enough in the eyes of her lover! +There is no poetic justice in that." + +"What was the heroine's name, papa?" asked Doris. + +"Miriam Dale. I always notice that if a heroine is to come to any +pathetic end she is called Miriam." + +"Did she love her lover very much?" asked Doris. + +"Read the story, my dear," said the earl, indolently; "it is not much in +my line. The engraving caught my attention--a beautiful, frantic girl, +dressed in bridal robes and wreathed in flames. There is something +terrible about it." + +Doris rose from her seat and opened the book; then, after looking at the +picture, she laid it down with a long, shuddering sigh. + +"Stories often fail in poetic justice," she said. "If that girl was +young and innocent, if she had done no wrong, why should she have been +killed on her wedding-eve?" + +"Stories are, after all, but sketches taken from life," said the earl, +"and life often seems to us, short-seeing mortals, to fail in poetic +justice, although, no doubt, everything is right and just in the sight +of Heaven. Doris is growing serious over it." + +"We tried her wedding-dress on this morning, but there was no fire near +it, and no harm came of it." + +"I am no believer in those stupid superstitions, although I have heard +it is unlucky to try on a wedding-dress; still I do not believe it will +make one iota of difference." + +"How can it?" said Earle, calmly; and they all remembered that +conversation a few hours afterward. + +The ninth of August came, and Lord Linleigh, as they sat at breakfast, +said laughingly: + +"Now for a sensation! What will be said and thought by the different +members of this establishment when it is known that there is to be a +wedding to-morrow? It passes my comprehension. I promised to be patient, +but it was almost cruel of you, Doris, to place me in such a +predicament. I suppose I must call the principal servants together and +tell them that Lady Studleigh is to be married to-morrow, without form +or ceremony of any kind. There will be what the papers call a startling +surprise!" + +"We have plenty to do," said the countess; "there will be no time for +rambles in the wood. Ulric, when you have made your announcement, will +you go to the vicarage? You have arrangements to make there, and you +must take Earle with you. I cannot spare Doris to him this morning." + +So the gentlemen went away. + +"It is a strange whim of Doris', this desire for secrecy," said the +earl, as they rode along. "I must confess I do not understand it; do +you?" + +"Not in the least," replied Earle, "she seemed very intent upon it. I +think, Lord Linleigh," he added, with a laugh, "that I shall learn one +thing as I grow older." + +"What will that be?" asked the earl. + +"Not to try to fathom the caprice of ladies, but to yield gracefully to +it." + +"You are a wise man," said Lord Linleigh, with a look of sincere +admiration; "that is the true secret of wedded content." + +While Lord Linleigh and Earle were busy at the vicarage, where it +required some time and some persuasion to induce the rector to believe +what they had to say, the ladies were wonderfully busy. The news spread, +and as Lord Linleigh had foreseen, caused a great sensation. + +Lady Studleigh to be married to-morrow!--and such a marriage--no +ceremony, no gayeties, nothing at all! + +Lady Linleigh had, however, considerably changed the state of affairs, +by saying that the arrangements for the wedding had been hurried so as +to permit of Lady Doris going abroad in August, and, before going, she +intended making a handsome present to each member of the household. +Their opinion was, in consequence, considerably changed. + +When the earl and his household met at dinner there were much laughter +and amusement--much to tell; the rector's amazement, the astonishment +of every one who heard the news. The earl was in high spirits, laughing +and jesting all the more that he saw his wife's gentle face growing sad +and sorrowful. + +"You will be gone this time to-morrow," she said. "I shall fancy I hear +your voice and see your face all day, and for many long days." + +"Yes," said Doris, softly, "I shall be gone this time to-morrow." + +"But you will not be so very far away," said Mattie. + +"No further than London," said Earle. "I like crossing the Channel; do +you, Doris?" + +"No, I am not a good sailor," she replied. + +"Ladies seldom are," said the earl. "Estelle, I have resolved Doris' +last evening with us shall be the happiest she has spent at Linleigh. We +will not have one sad word." + + + + +CHAPTER LXXVIII. + +A MIDNIGHT VISITOR. + + +The evening was over at last, and to Doris it had been the happiest day, +perhaps, of her life. Lord Linleigh had sent to his cellars for some of +his choicest wines--wines that only saw daylight when the daughters of +the house were married or its heirs christened--wine that was like the +nectar of the gods, golden in hue, fragrant of perfume, and exhilarating +as the water of life old traditions sing of. He had ordered the dessert +to be placed outside in the rose-garden. + +"We will imitate the ancients," he said; "we will drink our wine to the +odor of sweet flowers." + +So they sat and watched the golden sun set in the west. It seemed to +them it had never set in such glorious majesty before. The sky was +crimson, and gold, and purple, then pale violet, and pearly gleams shone +out; a soft veil seemed to shroud the western skies, and then the sun +had set. + +Lady Doris had sat for some time watching the sun set in silence. +Suddenly she said: + +"I shall never forget my last sunset." + +"Your last sunset?" repeated Earle. "Do you mean that you will never see +it set again?" + +"No; I mean my last sunset at Linleigh. Earle, if all those strange +stories of heaven are true, it must be a beautiful place; and this fair +sky, with its gleaming colors, is only the wrong side after all." + +The faint light died in the west, the flowers closed their tired eyes, +the lovely twilight reigned soft and fragrant, the air grew almost faint +with perfume from lily, from rose, from carnation; then some bird, +evidently of erratic habits, began a beautiful vesper hymn, and they sat +as though spell-bound. + +"A night never to be forgotten," said the earl. "Doris, that little bird +is singing your wedding-song." + +If they could but have heard what the little bird was telling--a warning +and a requiem both in one. + +Doris arose and went to the tree in whose branches the bird was hidden; +she raised her face to see if she could see it in the thick green +leaves. As she stood there, in the light of the dying day, the earl +said: + +"You will have a beautiful wife, Earle." + +They all looked at her as she stood there in a beautiful dress of +shining white silk, with a set of opals for ornaments; her fair white +arms and white neck were half shrouded in lace, her golden hair was +fastened negligently with a diamond arrow and hung in shining ripples +over her shoulders; the faint light showed her face, fair and beautiful +as a bright star. + +"You will have a beautiful wife," he repeated, thoughtfully. + +And as they all saw her then, they saw her until memory reproduced no +more pictures for them. + +"We have a fine moonlight night," said Earle. "Doris, this time +to-morrow evening we shall be leaning over the steamboat side, watching +the light in the water, and the track of the huge wheels; then you will +be my wife." + +Lady Linleigh rose and drew her shawl round her shapely shoulders. + +"We must not forget to-morrow in the happiness of to-night," she said; +"it will not do to have a pale bride. I am going in." + +But first she went up to the tree where Doris was standing. + +"It is rather a hopeless task, Doris, to look for a bird in the growing +darkness," she said; "and, my darling, I have come to wish you +good-night." + +Doris turned to her, and bending her graceful head, laid it on her +mother's shoulder. + +"It is not only good-night, but good-bye," she said; "I shall hardly see +you to-morrow." + +She clasped her warm, soft arms round the countess' neck. + +"Good-bye, dearest Lady Linleigh," she said; "you have been very good to +me; you have made home very happy for me; you have been like the dearest +mother to me. Good-night; may Heaven bless you!" + +Such unusual, such solemn words for her to use! The two fair faces +touched each other. There was a warm, close embrace, then Lady Linleigh +went away. When did she forget that parting, or the last look on that +face? + +"I am jealous," said Lord Linleigh, parting the branches and looking at +his daughter. "I wanted the kindest good-night. What has my daughter to +say to me? It is my farewell, also. To-morrow you will be Lady Moray, +and I shall be forgotten." + +Her heart was strangely touched and softened. + +"Not forgotten by me, papa," she said; "next to Earle, I shall always +love you better than any one in the world." + +"_Next_ to Earle. Well, I must be content. That is enough. Good-night, +my dear and only child; may Heaven send you a happy life." + +He, too, took away with him the memory of the sweet face and tender +eyes; a memory never to die. He nodded to Earle. + +"I must be lenient," he said, "and give you young lovers ten minutes +longer. I shall be in the library, Earle. Come and smoke a cigar with +me. I have something to say to you." + +Mattie had gone to her room; Doris had promised to meet her there. The +little bird, startled by the voices perhaps, had ceased to sing; and the +lovers stood under the spreading tree alone. + +"Ten minutes out here with you, my darling," said Earle; "it is like two +years in paradise. How kind they are to us, Doris; how happy we shall +be!" + +But he had not many words. He laid the golden head on his breast, where +he could see and kiss the fair face; he held the white hands in his; he +could only say, over and over again, how happy they should be to-morrow. +His wife to-morrow! Surely the moon had never shone upon a fairer +picture or a lighter heart. The ten minutes were soon over. + +"Good-bye to the moonlight," said Earle, "to the tired flowers and +shining stars, and the fair, sleeping world." + +He parted with her at the foot of the broad staircase; she was going to +her room. + +"Good-night," said Earle, kissing the red lips; "good-night, and sweet +dreams." + +But when he had gone about two steps away, she called him back again. +She raised her arms and clasped them round his neck; she raised her face +that he might kiss it again. + +"My darling Earle, my love Earle, my lover, my husband!" she said, with +a passion of love in her face, "good-night." + +He was half startled. He watched her as she went up the broad staircase, +the white, shining silk, the gleaming opals, the golden hair, the fair, +sweet face--watched her until she was out of sight; then, despite his +happiness, he turned away with a sigh. + +"She will be my own to-morrow, and I shall not need to feel anxious over +her," he said to himself; and then he went in to smoke his cigar with +the earl. + +Doris called in Mattie's room and said: + +"Good-night. Have you any nice book lying about here, Mattie?" she +asked. "I know quite well that I shall not sleep; I do not feel the +least tired." + +She chose one of the volumes Mattie brought to her. + +"I should like to read that story papa was telling us of," she said; +"but it is in the library, and he is smoking there with Earle." + +"I would not read it; a gloomy, melancholy story like that is not fit +for your wedding-eve." + +Doris stood with the waxen taper in her hand. + +"Even," she said, "if a girl has not been quite good, even if she has +been what good people call wicked, it would be cruel to kill her on her +wedding-eve, would it not?" + +"What a strange idea, Doris!--and how strange you look! Put that book +away and go to sleep, so that Earle may see bright eyes to-morrow." + +They parted, and Doris passed into her own room. According to her usual +custom, she locked the door and took out the key. + +The first room was her sleeping-room. She did not wait there; it was +empty. She had told Eugenie, her maid, not to wait for her on that +evening, as she might be late. Then came the bath and dressing-room; +they also were empty, although both were brilliantly lighted. She +reached the boudoir, fitted for her with such taste and luxury. The +lamps were lighted, and there, on the chair where Mattie and she had so +carefully placed it, lay the beautiful wedding costume. There could be +no mistaking it; the veil was thrown over the dress, and the wreath of +orange blossoms lay on the veil. She looked at them for some minutes in +silence, thinking of the Miriam who was burned on the night of her +wedding-day. + +Then she opened the book and began to read. How useless it was--the +letters swam before her eyes. It was her wedding-day to-morrow; after +to-morrow all her cares and troubles would be over; after to-morrow all +would be peace. + +She lay down upon the little couch, with a long, low sigh. It was +wonderful how tired and wearied she felt. She had suffered such a fever, +such a torture of suspense, that the reaction of feeling that she was in +perfect safety at last was too much for her. There came a fever of +unrest upon her, her heart beat with terrible rapidity, her hands were +like fire, her eyes and lips seemed to burn as though they had been +touched by flame; she had not known until now how much she had suffered. +Then she pictured Lord Vivianne coming on the twentieth and finding her +married--married and gone far out of his reach! How he would rage! It +would serve him right. He might tell his story then. Who would believe +him? They would all think it the bitter exaggeration of a disappointed +man. + +Then the room seemed to grow warm, the perfume of the flowers +overpowering. + +"I wish," she thought, "that I had not let Eugenie go; I feel nervous +and lonely to-night." + +She half-debated within herself whether she should go back to Mattie or +not. The sense of being thought cowardly deterred her. + +There lay the moonlight, so calm, so still, so bright, streaming through +the open window. + +"I will go down into the grounds," she said to herself; "a walk there +will refresh me, and I shall be able to rest." + +She took out her watch and looked at it; it was nearly midnight. + +"There will be a pale bride to-morrow," she said, "if I am not to sleep +all night." + +She unfastened the door that divided the room from the spiral staircase +leading to the grounds. The staircase itself was almost hidden by dense +green foliage and flowers; because it was so nearly hidden no one +thought it dangerous; no stranger would have observed it. She went down +to the grounds, it was so cool, so bright, still, and beautiful; the dew +was shining on the grass, the moon and stars were shining in the sky; +there was a rich odor of rare flowers; the night wind seemed to cool her +heated brain; her lips grew pale and cool; the burning heat left her +hands; it refreshed her. + +"I will walk here for half an hour," she said, "then I shall be sleepy +enough." + +It struck her that she would go round to the library window, where Earle +was with her father. She hoped they would not see her; but if they did, +she should tell them she could not rest. Then she remembered that the +earl had cautioned her never to use the spiral staircase at night lest +it should be dangerous. She walked round to the side of the house. Ah! +there was the light from the library-window; they were still there. + +Then--her heart almost stood still--she saw the figure of a man +advancing across the carriage-drive toward the great hall-door. + +At midnight. Who could it be? + +The moon shone full upon him; and as he drew nearer, she saw the face of +her mortal enemy, her hated foe--Lord Vivianne! + + + + +CHAPTER LXXIX. + +WHY HE SUSPECTED. + + +Lord Vivianne!--there was no mistake. The moon shone full in his face; +she knew the impatient walk; she knew every line of his figure, and for +one moment her heart almost stopped beating. + +What, in the name of the most high Heaven, did he want there? + +She saw him going quickly up the broad flight of steps; the moon, +shining on them, made them white as snow; the light from the library +window shone softly on the ground. + +He had stretched out his hand to ring the bell, when, with a sudden +impulse, a sudden cry, she called out: + +"Stop!" + +Another half-minute and she had almost flown across the lawn and stood +by his side. + +"Stop!" she cried again, and laying her hand on his arm; then she looked +at him. "You!" she said--"is it you?" + +"Yes, Lady Studleigh; there is little cause for wonder--it is the man +you were about so cleverly to deceive." + +"In Heaven's name," she cried, impetuously, "what has brought you here? +Do not ring the bell! What has brought you to my father's house? You +were not to come until the twentieth." + +In her fear and agitation she lost something of her usual dignity. + +"That was nicely managed," he replied, with a sneer; "you were to be +married on the tenth, and I was to come on the twentieth. It was +dramatically arranged, Lady Studleigh; it is very sad it should have +failed." + +For one moment her face grew white as with the ghastly pallor of death, +her eyes grew dim, her arms fell nervously by her side. So she stood for +a few minutes; then she said, in a low, hoarse voice: + +"Do not ring the bell; do not arouse them; I will talk to you now. Come +this way." + +Side by side they walked down the broad path together; in the +bewilderment of her thoughts she had but one idea--it was to keep him +away from the library window. + +"Now," she said, breathlessly, "let us talk here." + +The moon was bright--so pitifully bright, it traced their shadows along +the white stone; it seemed to rejoice in the warm night. + +"What have you to say?" he asked, curtly. "I can tell you why I am here. +I have come for your answer ten days before the time, because I have +heard that you are going to play me false: I am here to tell Lord +Linleigh by what right I claim you as my wife; I am here to tell all +whom it may concern what you have been to me." + +Suddenly she remembered that the room Earle occupied looked over the +terrace. What if, tempted by the beauty of the night, he should come to +the window, and look out? What if the earl should hear voices or see +shadows? Oh, what was she to do? + +Her alarm heightened by seeing a light at one of the windows opposite: +whether it was one of the servants or not, she could not tell; but it +alarmed her. + +All at once she remembered that she had free access to the house, she +had but to go back to her rooms by the spiral staircase. Again she laid +her hand on Lord Vivianne's arm. + +"I dare not remain here," she said. "Do you see that light? We shall be +seen." + +"What if we are?" he replied; "it will not matter if one or two find out +to-night what the world must know to-morrow." + +"Hush!" she cried, in an agony of alarm. "How cruel, how merciless you +are! Great Heaven, what shall I do?" + +"You can do nothing now, my lady; your time is come; you should have +kept faith with me." + +"Will you come to my rooms?" she cried, in an agony of terror. + +It seemed to her that his voice sounded so loudly and so clearly in the +summer air, all the world must hear it. + +"To your rooms? Yes, I will go there." + +"Follow me," she said. + +She led the way up the spiral staircase into the boudoir, wishing at +every step he took he might fall dead. + +She had forgotten the bridal veil and dress lying there. + +The lamps were lighted in the boudoir. She carefully closed the door +lest any sound should reach their ears; then she came back to him. + +He stood on the top of the staircase, half uncertain whether to enter or +not. + +She went to him. By the light of the lamps he saw how marvelously pale +she had grown; and how terrible was the fear that shone in her eyes. + +He looked carelessly round the room. He did not see at first what was +the glittering heap of white raiment; nor had he noticed the orange +wreath. But he saw, lying on the stand amid the flowers, a large, sharp +knife. It had been left there by some careless servant who had been +cutting the thick branches that wreathed the windows. His eyes lingered +on it for one half-minute; if he had known what was to happen, he would +most surely have flung it far from him. + +She looked up into his face with cold, determined eyes. + +"Now," she said, "do your worst; say your worst. I defy you!" + +"Women are the greatest simpletons in creation," he said; "they imagine +it so easy to break faith with a man. You have to find out how difficult +it is." + +She made no reply. + +"By right of what has passed between us," he continued, "I claim you for +my wife. You told me you would consider the claim, and that you would +give me your decision on a certain date." + +No answer. All the defiance that pride could suggest was in her white +face. + +"You promised me, also, that you would not attempt in any way to evade +that claim." + +"I did, and I was quite wrong in making you that promise." + +"That is quite beside the mark; it has nothing whatever to do with the +matter. Having made the promise, you were bound to keep it. I relied +implicitly on your good faith. I left you, intending to return and hear +your decision. What do I find out? That you have simply been deceiving +me, duping me--most cleverly as you thought, most foolishly as you will +see. You imagined that on the twentieth I should come to see you, and +find you married and gone. You have doubtless laughed to think how you +should befool me." + +"I do not deny it," she said, contemptuously. + +A strange light flashed in his eyes. + +"I would have you beware," he said. "I told you long ago that my +overweening love for you was driving me mad. Be careful how you anger +me." + +"I have the same amount of contempt for your anger as for your love," +she said. + +"Take care! I have told you before, desperate men do desperate deeds. +Take care! I have found out your pretty plot, and am here to spoil it." + +"What have you discovered?" she asked. + +"For the first thing, that while you have been so cleverly deceiving all +London, you were engaged the whole time to Earle Moray, the lover you so +kindly left for me." + +"After that?" she asked. + +His face grew dark in its fury as he replied: + +"That you--love him!" + +"I do!" she cried, with sudden passion, "my whole heart loves him, my +whole soul calls him conqueror!" + +He raised his hands menacingly, his fury knew no bounds. + +"You would strike me!" she said, sneeringly. "If you killed me, I should +say the same over and over again; I love him and I hate you. What else +have you discovered?" + +"That you intend to marry him on the tenth. That is the extent of my +knowledge; I know no more. But whether you are going to run away with +him, or whether Lord Linleigh intends to countenance a ceremony that +will be a lie, I cannot tell. Running away is more in your line, +certainly." + +"Would you mind telling me," she asked, "how you know this?" + +He laughed. + +"I will tell you, with pleasure," he replied; "the more so as I think it +reflects great credit on my powers of penetration. I was in London the +day before yesterday, in New Bond Street, and, while walking leisurely +along, I met your poet and gentleman, Earle Moray." + +"I wish that I could strike you dead for using his name," she said. + +"I am sure you do, and I do not blame you. Under the circumstances, it +is the most natural wish in the world. As I was saying, I met your +cavalier; he was walking along, with a smile on his face--evidently +wrapped in most pleasant thoughts. He started when he saw me, and looked +slightly confused." + +"My poor Earle!" she murmured; "my poor Earle!" + +"The very fact of his looking confused aroused my suspicion. Why should +he be confused, just because he had met me? I spoke to him, and he +seemed disinclined to talk to me. Another thing struck me--he seemed to +wish to get rid of me. He is very transparent, poor fellow. I was quite +determined that he should not lose me. Walking on, we passed Horton & +Sons, the great jewelers, and, in some vague way, Lady Studleigh, I had +a presentiment that I was at one end of a mystery." + +"You are a clever fiend," she said. + +"Praise from such lips is praise, indeed! As we passed the door of +Horton & Sons, from the very confused way in which he looked at it, I +felt sure that he had been inclined to enter--in fact, that he intended +to enter, but would not because I was there. I instantly resolved that I +would baffle him; so we walked together up and down the street. Each +time he passed the door I saw him look longingly at it. I began to think +that I had missed my vocation; I ought to have been a detective. At +last, to his utter relief, I am sure, I said adieu. + +"I watched him. No sooner had I gone away, than he hastened to the shop. +I said to myself, what could he possibly want there? what could he want +to buy that he would not let me see? Then I went into the shop after +him. It is a large place, and I stood where I could both hear and see +him without being seen or heard. Innocently enough--I laugh when I think +of it--he asked for a case of wedding-rings; he wanted the best, of +solid gold. That was to hold you, my lady. It would require a strong +ring to make you all his, would it not? He asked for the best--poor, +deluded fool!" + +Her white face and glittering eyes might have warned him; but they did +not. + +"He chose the ring, evidently having the size by heart. Then he asked to +see some pearl lockets. He selected one, and asked for a certain motto +to be engraved on it. But he asked again when it could be done. They +told him in two days. This did not suit him; he must have it in a few +hours; he was leaving town to-morrow. They asked if he would leave it +and they would try. He replied, 'No; that he wanted both ring and locket +on the tenth.' And then he left the shop. I need not tell you how that +startled me. Why should he want a wedding-ring on the tenth. Then--I can +hardly tell you how it was--a certain suspicion entered my mind that the +wedding-ring and locket were for you!" + +"My poor Earle!" she said, with a long, low sigh. + +"I secured the services of some one whom I knew to be clever, +trustworthy, and keen. We watched your friend, and found that he was +making preparations for a long absence, and that he was going abroad. +Still, I must confess, I was not prepared to hear that he had started +yesterday, and had taken a first-class ticket to Anderley. It did not +require a genius, you know, to put all these strange coincidences +together. I guessed in one moment that you were playing me false. I +should have been here before, but that an imperative engagement kept me +in town. I started at noon to-day, and, owing to some mistake in the +trains, did not reach Anderley until too late to take a fly, a cab, or +horse, or anything else. I was compelled to walk here, and that accounts +for my delay, for my late visit. Now I am here." + +She looked steadily at him. + +"Yes," she said, "you are here. What do you want?" + + + + +CHAPTER LXXX. + +WHAT HAPPENED AFTER MIDNIGHT. + + +"My demands are few, Lady Studleigh. You are to be married to-morrow to +Earle Moray, according to _your_ arrangement; according to _mine_, +nothing of the sort will happen, but you will give your poet his +dismissal, and marry me instead." + +"I shall do nothing of the kind, my lord," she replied. + +"Yes, you will. You will find that alternative, bad as it is, better +than the fate that awaits you if you refuse. I grant that it is a +thousand pities matters have gone so far; it is your own fault; you will +find yourself in a great dilemma: you should have been more +straightforward. To-morrow, instead of being married, you must tell the +earl, your father, who indulges you so absurdly in everything, that you +have altered your mind; that there will be no wedding, after all. He +cannot possibly be surprised at any caprice of yours. It will cause no +alteration in any one's plans, as no one has been told of the marriage." + +"You have planned it all easily," she said, haughtily. + +"Yes, when one sees such determined opposition to a settled plan, it is +time to make arrangements. I must confess that, coming along, I planned +it all, so as to give you the least trouble." + +"You are, indeed, kind," she said, sarcastically. + +"Ah, my lady, I do not mind your sneers; not the least in the world. You +must send for the earl in the morning; tell him the wedding must be +deferred, that you have been thinking matters over, and you have come to +the conclusion that your happiness is at stake. If you do not like to +stay here after such a grand _expose_, then ask him to take you abroad, +or anywhere else. I will join you in a few weeks. Then _my_ wooing can +begin, and _I will marry you_." + +She laughed a mocking, bitter, satirical laugh, that drove him half mad. + +"I shall do nothing of the kind," she said. "Now for your alternative." + +"If you refuse, I shall go away now. To-morrow I shall return, and, +before the man who is to be your husband, before your parents and +friends, I will tell what you were to me, and what my claim on you is." + +"Very well," she replied, calmly; "I accept the alternative; tell them. +I cannot answer for the earl and countess; what they will do is, of +course, a mystery to me; but Earle will forgive me, I feel quite sure of +it; he loves me so dearly, he will forgive me and make me his wife. You +will have proved yourself a villain and coward for nothing." + +"Earle will never marry you," he said; "no man in his senses would, when +he knows what I can tell him." + +"I will risk it," she replied. "Do you know that it is even a relief to +me that the worst is come? I do not know what I have dreaded, but I am +quite sure of one thing--you will do your worst, and you have told me +what it is. Let the sword fall: it has hung over my head long enough. +Earle loves me. Earle is just as noble and generous as you are the +reverse. Earle is forgiving; he will be hurt and angry, but when I tell +him how vain I was, and how you tempted me, he will forgive me." + +"I do not think so, Lady Studleigh." + +"Because you do not know him; you judge him by yourself. Even if he +refuses to pardon me at first, if he thinks me beyond forgiveness. I +will be patient and humble, and wait. He will love me again in time, and +my sorrow will purify me from my sin." + +A tender beautiful light came over her white face, a sweet smile played +round her lips. She raised her eyes fearlessly to his. + +"You see," she said, "how little you can do, after all. You might kill +me, but you could not bend my pride; you could not incline my heart to +one loving thought of you." + +"So I perceive. Then you positively prefer open shame and disgrace, the +scorn and mocking of the world?" + +"Yes," she said; "I prefer it." + +"You must hate me very much, Lady Studleigh." + +Sudden passion flamed in her eyes. + +"I do, indeed," she replied. "No woman ever hated man more." + +"And yet I love you." + +She turned from him with an air of haughtiest indignation. He followed +her. Suddenly his eyes fell upon the white glittering bridal costume. + +"What is that?" he cried, and his whole face worked with fury, +indignation and anger. + +Before she could interfere to stop him, he had taken the wreath and veil +in his hands. He laughed as he held them in derision. + +"Oh, fair, pure and spotless bride!" he cried; "well may they robe you +in bridal white, hide your face with a bridal veil, crown you with +orange blossoms! They will do well." + +She made a step forward and would have taken the veil from his hands, +but he would not release it. + +"See," he cried, "how I serve your bridal veil! I would do the same to +your heart, and his, if I could." + +His face was transformed with rage, his eyes flashed fire, sudden fury +leaped from his heart to his lips, sudden murder sprung like a flame of +fire that seemed to scorch him. + +He tore the beautiful veil into shreds, he trampled it under foot, he +stamped on it in the violence of his rage and anger. + +"So I would serve you!" he cried; "so I would serve him if I could!" + +She drew back as his violence increased; not frightened--she was +physically too brave for that; but wondering where it would lead him to, +what he would do or say next. + +"You are the falsest woman under heaven!" he cried. "You ought not to +live; you are a mortal enemy of man!" + +A weaker or more cowardly woman would have taken alarm and have cried +out for help; but she did not know fear. If she had but given the least +alarm, there were brave hearts near who would have shed their last drop +of blood in her defense, who would have died over and over again for +her; but she stood still, with a calm, sorrowful smile on her face. + +"So much for your veil!" he cried, with a mocking sneer. "Now for the +wreath!" + +He took the pretty, scented flowers from the box, where loving hands had +so gently laid them, and crushed them into a shapeless, dead heap. + +"That will never lie on your golden hair, my Lady Studleigh," he said. + +She made no effort to save the pretty wreath; his furious violence +dismayed her and made her mute. She saw him stamp on the orange blossoms +that should on the morrow have crowned her; she saw them lie crushed, +torn, destroyed at his feet, and she looked on in a kind of trance. To +her it was like a wild, weird, dark dream. + +Then he took the costly wedding-dress, with its rich trimmings of white +lace, and he laughed as he tore it asunder, flinging it under his feet; +then pausing to look on his work of destruction with a smile. + +"There will be no wedding to-morrow, fair lady," he said. "Ah, Dora, why +have you driven me mad? why have you unmanned me? why have you made me +ashamed of myself?" + +There was a strange glitter in her eyes, and a strange expression on her +face. + +"I did not mean to be so violent; you have driven me to it. Not that I +regret destroying your wedding-dress: I would do it over again a hundred +times; but I am sorry to have frightened you." + +"You could not frighten me," she replied. + +And if ever calm scorn was expressed by any human voice, it was by hers. + +There came a lull in the storm. He stood looking partly at the ruin he +had caused, partly at her. She seemed, strange to say, almost to have +forgotten him. She stood where the light of the lamp fell on her +disheveled hair and flushed face. + +The fragrant calm of the summer night reigned unbroken outside, a calm +broken only by the musical rustle of the leaves. The moon shone bright +as day; its beams fell on the sleeping flowers, and silvered the waving +trees; they fell, too, on the beautiful face, with its look of restless +scorn. + +During that moment so strangely silent she thought of Earle--Earle, whom +she was to marry to-morrow--Earle, whom she would marry, let the morrow +bring what it might. No matter if her wedding-dress were torn into +shreds--no matter if Lord Vivianne stood with a drawn sword in his hand +to bar her progress to the altar--no matter if the whole world cried +out, with its clanging, brazen voice, that she was lost, she would marry +him! + +She turned to her enemy, with a flush on her face, a scornful light in +her eyes. + +"You are but a coward after all," she said, "a paltry, miserable coward! +You can do me no real harm, and you cannot take me from Earle." + +"You did not always think me a coward, my Lady Dora. There was a time +when you delighted to sun yourself in my eyes; you have not always held +aloof from me as you do now. I have held you in my arms; I have kissed +your lips; I have won you as no one else will ever win you. I like to +look at you and remember it; I like to dwell on my recollections of +those old days. Ah! your face flushes. Let me kiss you now." + +He hastened toward her, trampling in his hot haste on the torn shreds of +the wedding-dress. + +"Do not touch me!" she cried. "Do not come near me!" + +"I have kissed you before, and I will kiss you again," he said. + +"I will kill you if you dare to touch me!" + +She snatched up the first thing that came to her hand; it was the long, +shining, sharp knife that had been used to prune the overhanging +branches. + +"I will kill you," she repeated, with flaming eyes, "if you come near +me!" + +He laughed, but the angry blood surged into his brain. He went nearer; +he seized the white hand that held the knife. The beautiful face, the +white, bare neck were close to him. + +"I hate you!" she hissed. + +Only God, who sees all things, knows what followed. Her words, may have +angered him to murder heat; his passion of love and sense of wrong may +have maddened him--only God knows. + +There was a struggle for one half minute, followed by a low, gasping +cry: + +"Oh, Heaven! I am not fit to die!" + +It may have been that in the struggle the point of the knife was turned +accidentally against her; but the next moment she fell to the ground, +with the blade buried deep in her white breast. + +The crimson life-blood flowed--it stained his hands, still grasping +her--it stained the torn wedding-dress, the bridal veil--it soon formed +a pool on the carpeted floor. He stood over her for a minute, stunned, +horrified. + +"Dora!" he said, in a low, hoarse voice. "Oh, Heaven! I did not mean to +kill her."' + +She opened her eyes, and her white lips framed one word, half sigh, half +moan--"Earle!"--and then the soul of the unhappy girl went out to meet +its Judge. + +He made no attempt to raise her; he stood like a man lost. + +The crimson stain crept onward until it touched his feet. + +"Oh, Heaven!" he cried again; "I did not mean to kill her." + +Then his whole soul seemed to shrink and wither away with fear. He had +killed her; it was the pallor of death blanching the lovely face; +and--oh, horror!--the crimson stain had reached the golden hair. + +She was dead; he had slain her in his mad frenzy. He looked at the cruel +knife buried in the white flesh--he dare not touch it. He looked at the +face so rapidly growing cold in death--he dare not touch it. He would +have given his life to have touched those cold, dead lips, but he dare +not, because he had murdered her. He clinched his strong hands in an +agony that knew no words. + +"Oh, Heaven!" he cried again; "I have slain her!" + +He gave one hurried glance around on a scene he was never to forget--the +luxurious boudoir, its hangings, its lights and flowers; the bridal +costume, all torn into shreds: the crimson stain, spreading so slowly, +so horribly; the beautiful dead face upraised to the light; the white +breast, with its terrible wound; the quiet figure, the golden hair--and, +with a moan of unutterable remorse, he turned away. + +It just occurred to him that his only safety lay in flight. The door was +opened that led to the spiral staircase; the next moment he was creeping +along under the shadow of the wall, and Lady Doris Studleigh lay dead +and alone! + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXI. + +THE SILENT BRIDE. + + +"Good-night, Earle," said Lord Linleigh; "now that is really the last +time. You shall not draw me into another discussion. I will not say +another word. Remember you are to be married to-morrow." + +"I am not likely to forget it," said Earle, with a happy laugh. + +"Let us have some rest," said Lord Linleigh. "I am positively afraid to +look at my watch. I know it is late." + +"It is not two o'clock," said Earle; "but I will be obedient. I will say +no more." + +Yet they talked all the time as they went slowly up the grand staircase. + +"I hope Doris will cure you of liking to sit up late," said the earl, as +he stood for one moment against the door of his room. + +"Hark!" said Earle, suddenly bending his head in a listening attitude. +"Hark!" + +"What is it?" asked Lord Linleigh. + +"I fancied I heard a cry," said Earle, and the two listened intently. +All was silent. + +"It must have been fancy," said the earl. + +"It may have been, but it really sounded like a sudden, half-choked +cry." + +"Some of the servants are about still. It is nothing. For the last time, +good-night, Earle." + +Then they parted, each going to his room; but Earle could not forget +that cry. + +"How foolish I am," he thought; "but I shall not rest at all unless I +know that Doris is all right." + +He went down the broad corridor that led to her suit of rooms; he saw +that the outer door was closed; he listened, all was hushed and silent; +there was not a stir, not a movement, not a sound. + +"Good-night, my love," said Earle; "fair dreams, sweet sleep. You will +be mine to-morrow." + +It was all right. He laughed at himself for the foolish fear, and went +back to his own room. He never saw the white, despairing face and +creeping figure of the wretched man who had done the atrocious deed. + +He slept soundly for some few hours, then the kindly sun woke him, +shining on his face--a warm, sweet greeting, and he thought Heaven was +blessing his wedding-day. The birds were all singing in the trees, the +flowers blooming, the whole world fair and smiling. + +"My love will be mine to-day!" he thought. "Shine on, blessed sun! there +is no day like this!" + +It would have gladdened his mother's heart had she been there to have +seen him bend his head so reverently, and pray Heaven to shower down all +blessings on Doris. + +They had arranged, in deference to her wishes, that no great difference +should be made between this and other mornings. She would not go down to +meet them at the early breakfast; she would not see Earle until they +reached the church, but Lord Linleigh and the countess, Mattie and +Earle, had agreed to breakfast together. + +It was about the usual hour when Earle entered the breakfast-room. Lady +Estelle was there alone. She looked up with a charming smile on her +gentle face. + +"Either we are very early, or the others are very late," she said. She +went up to him. "I am glad to see you for one moment alone on this +happy day, Earle--to thank you for keeping my secret--and pray Heaven to +bless you and my darling, that you may lead the happiest of all lives +together." + +Then she bent down and kissed him. Her fair hair drooped over him; it +seemed to Earle as though a soft, fragrant cloud had suddenly enwrapped +him. Then Mattie came in, and a message was brought from Lord Linleigh, +praying them to wait five minutes for him. It seemed quite natural for +Mattie and Earle to pass through the long, open glass doors, and spend +the five minutes among the flowers. + +"You have a glorious day for your wedding, Earle," said Mattie. "I think +the sun knows all about it; it never shone so brightly before. The best +wish that I can offer is that your life may be as bright as the +sunshine." + +It seemed only natural for him to turn to her and say: + +"Have you seen Doris this morning?" + +"No," she replied. She had been to the door of her room, but it was so +silent she did not like to arouse her. + +Then Earle went to a moss-rose tree and gathered a beautiful bud, all +shrouded in its green leaves. + +"Mattie," he said, "will you take this to her, with my love?" + +"What this love is!" laughed Mattie, as she went on her errand. + +While she was gone the earl came in, and they sat down to breakfast. It +was some little surprise to Earle when Mattie came back with the rose in +her hand. + +"Doris is not awake yet, and her maid did not seem willing to call her. +She was up late last night, I think." + +He said nothing, but he thought to himself it was strange Doris should +sleep so soundly on this most eventful morning of her life. + +They took a hurried breakfast; then Mattie said: + +"Now it is growing late--our beautiful bride must be roused." + +Lady Estelle looked up hurriedly. + +"Is Doris still in her room?" she asked. "How strange that she sleeps so +soundly!" + +In the long corridor Mattie met the pretty Parisienne, Lady Doris' maid, +Eugenie. + +"You must rouse Lady Studleigh; she will be quite late if you do not." + +"My lady sleeps well," said the girl, with a smile, as she tripped away. +It was some short time before she returned; she looked pale and scared, +half-bewildered. + +"I cannot understand it, Miss Brace," she said. "I have been rapping, +making a great noise at my lady's door, but she does not hear, she does +not answer!" + +Mattie looked perplexed. The maid continued: + +"It is very strange, but it seems to me the lights are all +burning--there is a streak of light from under the door." + +"Then Lady Doris must have sat up very late, and has forgotten to +extinguish them; that is why she is sleeping so soundly this morning. I +will go with you and we will try again." + +Mattie and the maid went together. Just as Eugenie had said, the door +was fastened _inside_, and underneath it was seen a broad clear stream +of lamplight. Mattie knocked. + +"Doris," she said, "you must wake up, dear. Earle is waiting. It will be +time to start for church soon!" + +But the words never reached the dead ears; the cold lips made no answer. + +"Doris!" cried the foster-sister again; and again that strange silence +was the only response. + +"Let me try, Miss Brace," said Eugenie, and she rapped loud enough to +have aroused the seven sleepers. Still there came no reply. + +The two faces looked pale and startled, one at another. + +"I am afraid, Miss Brace," said the maid, "that there is something +wrong!" + +"What can be wrong? Has Lady Studleigh gone out, do you think, and taken +the key of the room with her? If so, why should she leave the lamps +burning? Oh, my lady!--Lady Studleigh! do you not hear us?" + +Then Mattie began to fear! What had happened? She waited some time +longer, but the same dead silence reigned. + +"What shall we do, Miss Brace?" asked Eugenie. Her face grew very pale +as she spoke. "I am quite sure that there is really something the +matter. Lady Studleigh must be ill. Shall I fetch the countess?" + +A vision of the fair, gentle face of Lady Estelle, with its sweet lips +and tender eyes, seemed to rise before her. + +"No," she replied; "if you really think there is anything wrong, you had +better find the earl. But what can it be? Doris, my darling sister, do +you not hear? Will you not unfasten the door!" + +"I will go at once," said Eugenie. + +Mattie begged that she would say nothing to the countess. + +The maid hastened away and Mattie kept her lonely watch by the room +door. She listened intently, but there was no sound, no faint rustle of +a dress, no murmur of a voice; nothing but the glare of lamplight came +from underneath. In spite of herself the dead silence frightened her. +What could have happened? Even if Doris were ill she could have rung her +bell and opened the door. There was little likelihood of her being ill: +it was not many hours since they had parted, and then she was in the +best of health and spirits. + +The earl came quickly down the corridor. + +"What is the matter, Mattie?" he asked, in a loud, cheery voice. +"Eugenie is telling me some wonderful story about not being able to wake +my daughter. What does it mean? Doris ought to be dressed and ready." + +He started when his eyes fell on Mattie's bewildered face. + +"You do not mean to say that there is anything wrong?" he cried. + +"I hope not, Lord Linleigh, but we have been here nearly half an hour, +doing all that is possible to wake Doris, and we cannot even make her +hear." + +He looked wonderfully relieved. + +"Is that all? I will soon wake her." + +He applied himself vigorously to the task with so much zeal that Mattie +was half deafened. + +"That will do," he said, laughingly. "Doris, you heard that, I am sure." + +There was no reply. Mattie laid her hand on his arm. + +"Lord Linleigh," she asked, "do you see the gleam of the lamplight under +the door? The night lights are still burning." + +Then he looked a little startled. + +"Mattie," he said, hurriedly, "young ladies live so fast nowadays; do +you think Doris takes opiates of any kind--anything to make her sleep?" + +"I do not think so," she replied. + +Then again, with all his force, the earl called to her, and again there +was no response. + +"This is horrible," he said, beating with his hands on the door. "Why, +Mattie, Mattie, it is like the silence of death." + +"Shall you break the door open?" she asked. + +"No, my dear Mattie," he said, aghast; "is there any need? There cannot +be anything really serious the matter; to break open the door would be +to pre-suppose something terrible. How foolish I am! There is the +staircase--I had forgotten that." He stopped abruptly and turned very +pale. "Surely to Heaven," he cried, "nothing has happened through that +staircase door being left open? I always felt nervous over it. Stay +here, Mattie; say nothing. I will run round." + +As he passed hurriedly along he saw Earle, who, looking at his face, +cried: + +"What is the matter, Lord Linleigh?" + +"Nothing," was the hurried reply, and the earl hastened on. + +He passed through the hall--through the broad terrace to the staircase +leading to his daughter's suit of rooms. + +The door was open--he saw that at one glance--open, so that in all +probability she had risen and gone out in the grounds. His heart gave a +great bound of relief; she was out of doors--there could be no doubt of +it; gone, probably, to enjoy one last glimpse of her home. + +There was a strange feeling of oppression, a strange heaviness at his +heart. He raised his hand to his brow, and wondered to feel the great +drops there. + +"I will go to her room," he said to himself, "she will be there soon; +she is dreaming her time away, I suppose." + +Yet he went very slowly. Ah, dear Heaven! what is that? + +A thin, crimson stain stealing gently along the floor; a horrible +crimson stain! + +Great Heaven! what did it mean? + +The next moment he is standing, with a white, terrible face, looking at +the ghastly sight, that he is never to forget again, let him live long +as he may. The lurid light of the lamps contrasts with the sweet light +of day. There on the floor lies the wedding-dress, the veil and +wreath--torn, destroyed--out of all shape--stained with that fearful +crimson; and lying on them, her golden hair all wet and stained, her +white neck bare, her dead face calm and still, was Doris--his beautiful, +beloved daughter. + +He uttered no cry; he fell on his knees by the fair, dead girl, and +looked at her. + +Murdered! dead! lying there with her heart's blood flowing round her! +Dead! murdered! while he had slept! + +All the sudden shock and terror of his bereavement came over him in a +sudden passion of despair. + +He uttered one long, low cry, and fled from the room. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXII. + +HOW THE NEWS WAS TOLD. + + +Lord Linleigh rushed from the room like one mad--he was utterly lost. +That his beautiful daughter, who was to have been married that day, lay +there murdered and dead, was an idea too terrible to contemplate. He +fled from the place, but he could not fly from reality. How, in Heaven's +name, was he to confront the mother of this unhappy girl? How was he to +tell her lover? What was he to do? + +For once the courage of the Studleighs--oh, fatal boast!--failed him. He +sank down on the last step of that fatal staircase, white, sick, +trembling, and unmanned. + +"What shall I do?" he moaned to himself. "Oh, Heaven, what shall I do?" + +It must be told--there was no time to lose: even now he could hear a +hurried murmur, as of expectation and fear. + +When he rose to return his limbs trembled like those of a little child; +he was compelled to clutch the iron rail and the boughs of the trees for +support. It was not sorrow--he had not realized yet that it was his +daughter, his only child who lay dead--he was simply stunned with +horror. The dead face, the crimson-stained hair, the bare white breast +with its terrible wound, the sun shining over the ghastly scene. + +The hall-door was open as he had left it, and he saw the servants +hurrying on their different affairs; no murmur of dread had reached +them. There was to be a wedding, and, on the strength of it, they had +each of them received a handsome present. Their faces were all smiles; +but one or two, passing along, looked aghast as the master of that +superb mansion, with his white face and horror-stricken eyes, came in. + +The library was the nearest room at hand. He went in. + +"Tell Miss Brace I want to see her directly," he said. + +And in a few minutes Mattie stood trembling before him. + +"There is something the matter," she said, in a low voice, "and, Lord +Linleigh, you are afraid to tell me what it is." + +He could only hold out his hands toward her with a trembling cry: + +"Oh, great Heaven! how shall I tell her?" + +She knelt down by his side, and held both his hands in hers. She felt +that he was trembling--the strong figure was almost falling. + +"Tell me!" she cried, calmly. "I am strong; you can trust me; I will +help you all I can." + +The good, kindly face grew almost beautiful in its look of high, patient +resolve. + +He raised his haggard eyes to her face. + +"Mattie!" he said, in a low, hoarse voice. "Doris is dead!" + +She grew very pale, but no word passed her lips; she saw that so much +would depend on her; she must not lose her self-control for one minute. + +"Doris is dead!" he repeated; "and that is not all--she has been foully, +terribly murdered! and she was to have been married to-day!" + +She was quite silent for some minutes, trying to realize the meaning of +his words; then her old prayer stole to her lips: + +"We must try to spare Earle," she said. "Heaven save Earle!" + +Lord Linleigh caught hold of her. + +"Mattie," he said, in a low, gasping voice, quite unlike his own, "I +have not realized yet that it is my child, Doris; I can only understand +a murder has been done. Have I lost my reason?" + +"No. You must be brave," she said. "Think of Lady Linleigh. Such a blow +is enough to kill her." + +His head fell on his hands, with a low moan. + +"You do not know--you do not know all," he said. + +Just at that moment they heard the voice of Lady Estelle in the hall. He +started up, everything forgotten except the wife he loved so dearly, the +mother whose child lay dead. + +"Do one thing for me, Mattie," he gasped. "Go to her--on some pretext or +other--take her to her own room; she must not see, she must not know. +Keep her there; I must tell Earle." + +Mattie hastened to obey him. Lady Estelle was speaking to one of the +servants in the hall. + +"Mattie," she said, "I do not understand this delay. If some one does +not hurry matters a little, we shall have no wedding to-day." + +Then the girl's anxious face and pale lips struck her. + +"Surely," she said, "there is nothing wrong! Has Doris changed her +mind?" + +"No, dear Lady Linleigh: she is not quite well; and probably there will +be no wedding to-day. I want you to come with me to your own room--I +want to talk to you." + +"I shall go to Doris," said the countess: "if she is not well, _my_ +place is with her." + +But Mattie caught her hands, and the countess, always yielding, went +with her. + +"Is she really ill, Mattie? Is it some terrible fever--some terrible +plague? Never mind--I will go and kiss it from her lips; I must be with +her." + +The poor lady wrung her hands in a paroxysm of despair; her face +quivered with grief. Mattie tried all that was possible to console her. +What could she do? It was the heartbroken cry of a mother for a child; +but she could not tell. + +"We must be patient, dear lady," she said, "and wait until Lord Linleigh +sends or comes." + +She persuaded the countess to lie on the couch. She complied, trembling, +weeping. + +"You must be hiding something from me," she said. "She was to have been +married this morning. Oh, Mattie, tell me what it is?" + +Mattie Brace passed through many hours of sorrow and sadness, but none +so dark as that which she spent shut up with Lady Linleigh. She could +hear the sound of hurried footsteps. Once or twice she heard a cry of +fear or dismay. She heard the rapid galloping of horses, and she knew +that they were gone in search of the doer of the deed. Yet all that time +she had to sit with assumed calm by the side of Lady Estelle. No one +came near them. The silence of death seemed to reign over that part of +the house; while from Mattie's heart, if not from her lips, went every +minute the prayer: + +"Heaven save Earle!" + +What had passed was like a terrible dream to all those who shared in it. +Lord Linleigh had gone in search of Earle. He found him busied in his +preparations; happy and light of heart, as he was never to be again. He +turned with a musical laugh to the earl. + +"We have just ten minutes," he said. "I hope Doris is ready." + +Then the smile died on his lips, for he caught one glimpse of the white +face and terrified eyes. With one bound he had cleared the distance +between them, and stood impatiently clutching Lord Linleigh's arm. + +"What is that in your face?" he cried. "What is it? What is the matter?" + +"Heaven help you, my poor boy!" said the earl, in a broken voice. "It +would seem better to take away your life at once than to tell what I +have to tell." + +"Doris is ill. She--no--she cannot have changed her mind again--she +cannot have gone away!" + +"You will not be married to-day," said the earl, sadly. "My poor Earle." + +"I cannot believe it," he cried. "Is Heaven so cruel; would God let that +sun shine--those birds sing--those sweet flowers bloom? Yes, kill me, +slay me, take my love away. I will not believe it." + +"Hush," said the earl, laying his hand on the quivering lips; "hush, my +poor Earle. Whatever happens, we must not rail against Heaven." + +"It is not Heaven," he cried. "I tell you, God would not do it. He would +not take my darling from me. You are afraid to say what has happened. I +know she has gone away and left me, as she did before. Oh! my love, my +love! you shall not cheat me! I will follow you over the wide world; I +will find you, and love you, and make you my own! Oh! speak to me, for +mercy's sake! Speak--has she gone?" + +"My dear Earle, I do not know how to tell you, words seem to fail me. +Try to bear it like a man, though it is hard to bear--Doris is dead!" + +He saw the young lover's face grow gray as with the pallor of death. + +"Dead?" he repeated, slowly--"_dead!_" + +"Yes; but that is not all. She has been--you must bear it bravely, +Earle--she has been cruelly murdered!" + +He repeated the word with the air of one who did not thoroughly +understand. + +"Murdered! Doris! You cannot be speaking earnestly. Who could, who would +murder her?" + +Lord Linleigh saw that he must give him time to realize, to understand, +and they both sat in silence for some minutes, that ghastly gray pallor +deepening on the young lover's face. Suddenly the true meaning of the +words occurred to him, and he buried his face in his hands with a cry +that Lord Linleigh never forgot. So they remained for some time; then +Lord Linleigh touched him gently. + +"Earle," he said, "you have all your life to grieve in. We have two +things to do now." + +The white lips did not move, but the haggard eyes seemed to ask, "What?" + +"We have to bury her and avenge her; we have to find out who murdered +her while we slept so near." + +The word _murder_ seemed to come home to him then in its full +significance; his face flushed, a flame of fire came into his eyes. He +clutched the earl's hand as with an iron grasp. + +"I was bewildered," he said. "I did not really understand. Do you mean +that some one has killed Doris?" + +"Yes; she lies in her own room there, with a knife in her white breast. +Listen, Earle: I have my own theory, my own idea. I was always most +uncomfortable about that staircase; the door opens right into her room. +I have so often begged of her to be sure and keep it locked. I fancy +that, by some oversight, the door was left open, and some one, intent on +stealing her jewelry, perhaps, made his way to her room. She was no +coward; she would try to save it; she would, perhaps, defy and +exasperate the burglar, and he, in sudden fury, stabbed her; then, +frightened at his own deed, he hastened away. There are signs of a +struggle in the room, but I cannot say if there is anything missing." + +"I must go to her," said Earle. + +"Nay," replied Lord Linleigh, gently; "the sight will kill you." + +"Then let me die--I have nothing to live for now! Oh, my darling! my +dear lost love!" + +He knelt down on the ground, sobbing like a child. Lord Linleigh stole +away gently, leaving him there. + +In another five minutes the whole household was aroused, and the dismay, +the fear, the consternation could never be told in words. + +The servants at first seemed inclined to lose themselves, to wander +backward and forward without aim, weeping, wringing their hands, crying +out to each other that their lady had been murdered while they slept; +but Lord Linleigh pointed out forcibly that some one must have done the +deed, and it behooved them to search before the murderer could make good +his escape. No one was to enter the room until the detectives had +arrived, and men were to mount the fleetest horses, to gallop over to +Anderley, and bring the police officers back with them. + +Then, when all directions were given, he went back to Earle. He was no +coward, but he could not yet face the wife whose only child lay dead. +Earle was waiting for him. Terrible as the moment was, he could not help +noticing the awful change that had come over that young face: the youth +and the brightness had all died from it; it was haggard and restless; he +looked up as the earl entered the room. + +"Lord Linleigh," he said, and every trace of music had died from his +voice, "it was no fancy of mine last night--that sound I heard last +night was from Doris: it was her smothered cry for help, perhaps her +last sound. Oh, Heaven! if I had but flown when I heard it--flown to her +aid! Yet I did go. I went to the very door of her room, and all was +perfect silence. Let me go to her--do not be hard upon me--I must look +upon the face of my love again." + +"So you shall, but not yet." + +Lord Linleigh shuddered. + +"I would to Heaven that I had never seen the terrible sight," he said; +"but you, Earle, believe me, you could not see it and live!" + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIII. + +THE CAPTAIN ASKS STRANGE QUESTIONS. + + +Two hours had passed; it was the full glowing noon now of the summer +day. The sun shone so brightly and warmly it was difficult to bear its +rays; the air was faint with the rich odor of countless flowers; it was +musical with the song of a thousand birds; the bright-winged butterfly +hovered round the roses. Then the sweet summer silence was broken by the +gallop of horses and the tramp of men. + +Captain Ayrley had arrived with two clever officers; the whole town of +Anderley was astir: in the silence of the soft summer night, red-handed +murder had been among them, and robbed them of the fairest girl the sun +had ever shone on. Foul, sneaking, red-handed murder! The whole town was +roused: some went to the church where the rector awaited the bride, and +told him the beautiful girl who was to have been married that day had +been found dead, with a knife in her heart. + +Up the broad staircase leading to the grand corridor they went slowly, +that little procession of strong men. Captain Ayrley would not use the +spiral staircase, he wished to see the place just as it was. + +"If the outer door is locked," he said, "we will soon force it." + +The next sound heard in that lordly mansion was the violent breaking +open of a door; then, the earl being with them, they entered, +accompanied by the doctor. + +He could do nothing but declare how many hours she had been dead. + +"Since two in the morning," he believed, and the earl shivered as he +listened. + +That was the time when Earle had heard the stifled cry. + +Captain Ayrley was shrewd and keen, a man of great penetration; nothing +ever escaped him. He asked each person to stand quite still while he +looked round the room. + +"There has been no violent entrance," he said; "the murderer must have +come up the spiral staircase gently enough, there is not a leaf of the +foliage destroyed! he evidently entered no other room but this. +Strange--if he came for the purpose of robbery; for there, in the +sleeping chamber, I see costly jewels that would have repaid any mere +burglar." + +He looked around again. + +"There are no less than three bells," he said. "Where do they sound?" + +"One went to the maid's room, another to the servants' hall, the third +to the housekeeper's room." + +"It was a strange thing," said Captain Ayrley, "that the young lady, +having these bells at hand, did not sound an alarm; she had plenty of +time." + +"How do you know," asked the earl, "that she had plenty of time?" + +The officer pointed to the bridal costume, all lying in shreds upon the +floor. + +"It must have taken some time to destroy those," he said; "they could +not have been so completely destroyed in one single instant. Look again; +you will find that they have been done with clean hands--there is not a +mark upon them. That was done before the murder; the proof is that the +lady has fallen, as you perceive, on the _debris_." + +"You are right," said Lord Linleigh. + +Then, with the same skill and care, he examined every other detail. The +earl told him about the knife. + +"It is, you perceive," he said, "a pruning-knife. It was fetched from +one of the hot-houses yesterday, to cut some branches Lady Studleigh +said darkened her room. I saw it yesterday afternoon lying on that +table, when I had come to speak to my daughter. Would to Heaven I had +taken it away with me!" + +Captain Ayrley looked very thoughtful. + +"If that be the case, then it is quite evident the person did not come +_prepared_ to do murder! it must have been an afterthought." + +"Perhaps my daughter made some resistance--tried to call for help, or +something of that kind," said the earl. + +Still the captain looked puzzled. + +"Why not have called for help while these things were being destroyed?" +he said. "I am sure there is a mystery in it, something that does not +quite meet the eye at the first glance. Will you call Lady Studleigh's +maid. Throw--throw a sheet over there first; that is not a fitting sight +for any woman's eye." + +Then came Eugenie, with many tears and wailing cries. She had nothing to +tell, except that last evening her lady had, for the first time, spoken +to her of her marriage, and had shown her the wedding costume. + +"I took up the dress and looked at it," she said, "then I laid it over +that chair. My lady wanted to see how large the veil was. I opened it, +and we placed it on this chair: the wreath lay in a small scented box on +the table. I remember seeing the knife there; it was left yesterday +after the branches were cut. My lady told me to take it back, but I +forgot it." + +She knew no more, only that she had tried her hardest to open the door +that morning, and had not succeeded. She was evidently ignorant and +unconscious enough. + +"Had your lady any enemy?" asked the earl. + +"No," replied the maid; "I believe every one who saw her worshiped her. + +"Was there any tramp or poacher to whom she had refused alms, or +anything of that kind?" asked the captain. + +"I should say not; my lady always had an open hand." + +"She expressed no fear last evening, but seemed just as usual?" asked +the earl. + +"She was happier than usual, if anything, my lord," was the reply. + +Then the medical details were taken down, and the body of the dead girl +was raised from the ground. The doctor and the maid washed the stains +from the golden hair. The housekeeper was summoned, and the two women, +with bitter tears, laid the fair limbs to rest. She was so lovely, even +in death! The cruel wound could not be seen. They would have arrayed her +in her wedding-dress had it not been destroyed. They found a robe of +plain white muslin, and put it on her: they brushed out the shining +ripples of golden hair, and let it lie like a long veil around her; they +crossed the perfect arms, and laid them over the quiet breast. Though +she had died so terrible a death, there was no trace of pain on the +beautiful face: it was calm and smiling, as though the last whisper from +her lips had been anything rather than the terrible words. + +"Oh, God! I am not fit to die!"--anything rather than that. + +Eugenie went down into the garden and gathered fair white roses, she +crowned the golden head with them; she laid them on the white breast, +and over the silent figure, perfect in its pale loveliness as sculptured +marble; so beautiful, so calm! Oh, cruel death, to have claimed her! +Then the maid wept bitter tears over her, she could not tear herself +from the room where the beautiful figure lay. Silently the earl entered, +and bowed his head over the cold face, hot tears fell from his eyes upon +it. + +"I will avenge you, my darling," he said. "I will hunt your murderer +down." + +He went back to the room, where Captain Ayrley awaited him, with a +strange expression on his face. + +"I do not like to own myself defeated, Lord Linleigh," he said; "but I +must own I am baffled here. I can see no motive for this most cruel +murder." + +"Robbery," said the earl, shortly. + +"No: I cannot think so. The maid, who evidently understands her +business, tells me that there is not so much as a ring, or an inch of +lace missing; whatever the motive may have been, it was certainly not +robbery; if so, when the victim lay helpless and dead, why not have +carried off the plunder? There is jewelry enough here to have made a +man's fortune; if any one risked murder for it, why not have taken it +away?" + +"Perhaps there was some noise, some interruption; the man grew +frightened and ran away." + +"I see no sign of it; there is nothing disturbed. Besides, my lord, +there is another thing that puzzles me more than all. Why should a man, +whose object was simply plunder, employ himself in tearing a +wedding-dress and bridal-veil to pieces; why should he have delayed in +order to crush her wedding-wreath in his hand, and trample it underneath +his feet, especially when, as circumstantial evidence goes to prove, his +victim must have been in his presence--must, if she had any fear, have +had plenty of time to have rung for help. I do not understand it." + +"It certainly seems very mysterious," said Lord Linleigh. "I do not at +all understand the destruction of the wedding costume." + +"Do not think me impertinent, my lord, if I ask whether there was any +rival in the case? This is not a common murder--I would stake the whole +of my professional skill on it. It is far more like a crime committed +under the maddening influence of jealousy than anything else." + +"I do not see that it is possible. My daughter, as was only natural for +a beautiful girl in her position, had many admirers; but there was no +one who would be likely to be jealous. Another thing is, by her own +especial wish and desire, the fact of her marriage was to be kept a +profound secret; no one knew one single word about it except ourselves." + +"And that was by her own especial desire?" said Captain Ayrley. + +"Yes, it was her whim--her caprice." + +"She may have had a reason for it," said the captain, gravely. "I should +imagine she had." + +"And what would you imagine that reason to be?" asked the earl. + +"I should say that, for some reason or other, she was afraid of its +being known. There are many things hidden in lives that seem calm and +tranquil; it seems to me that the unfortunate young lady was afraid of +some one, and perhaps had reason for it." + +The earl sat in silence for some minutes, trying to think over all his +daughter's past life; he could not remember anything that seemed to give +the least color to the officer's suspicions. He raised his eyes gravely +to the shrewd, keen face. + +"You may be right, Captain Ayrley," he said; "it is within the bounds of +possibility. But, frankly, on the honor of a gentleman, I know of +nothing in my daughter's life that bears out your suspicions; therefore +I should wish you not to mention them to any one else; they can only +give pain. For my part, not understanding the destruction of the +wedding-dress, I firmly believe that it is a case of intended burglary, +and that either while trying to defend herself or to give the alarm, she +was cruelly murdered. I believe that, and nothing more. At the same +time, if you like to follow out any clew, I will do all in my power to +help you. For the present we will not add to horror and grief by +assuming that such a crime can be the result of jealous or misspent +love. Try by all means to catch the murderer--never mind who or what he +is." + +Captain Ayrley promised to obey. Yet, though they searched and searched +well, there was not the least trace, no mark of footsteps, no broken +boughs, no stains of red finger marks, nor could they find any trace, in +the neighborhood, of tramps, vagrants, or burglars. It seemed to Captain +Ayrley, that the Linleigh Court murder would be handed down as a mystery +to all time. + +Lord Linleigh did not enter the room, where lay the beautiful, silent +dead, with Earle, he dreaded the sight of his grief, he could not bear +the thought of his sorrow. + +Earle went in alone, closing the door behind him, that none might hear +or see when he bade his love farewell. Those who watched in the outer +room heard a sound of weeping and wild words: they heard sobs so deep +and bitter, that it was heartrending to remember it was a strong man +weeping there in his agony. They did not disturb him: perhaps Heaven in +its mercy sent him some comfort--none came from earth; nothing came to +soften the madness of anguish when he remembered this was to have been +his wedding day, and now his beautiful, golden-haired darling lay dead, +cold, silent, smiling--dead! What could lessen such anguish as his? + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXIV. + +A MOTHER'S ANGUISH. + + +They wondered why Lord Linleigh allowed no one to take the fatal news to +his wife but himself. The secret of her early ill-starred love and +marriage had been so well kept all those years, it was useless to betray +it now. He knew well what her anguish would be. He dreaded all scenes of +sorrow, but he loved his wife, and no one must be with her in the first +hour of her supreme trouble and bereavement. + +He went to her room when the detectives left, and found Mattie still +keeping watch over her. Before speaking one word to his wife, he turned +to Mattie. + +"Thank you, my dear," he said, gently; "you have carried out my wishes +most faithfully. Will you go to Earle? Eugenie will take you where he +is." + +Then when she had quitted the room, Lady Estelle flung herself into his +arms. + +"Ulric," she cried, "tell me what is the matter? I know that something +terrible has happened to Doris--what is it?" + +"My darling wife," he said, "try to bear it. I have sad news for +you--the saddest that I could bring you. Doris is dead!" + +But even he, knowing how dearly the mother loved her child, was hardly +prepared for the storm of anguish that broke over her. + +"Dead!" she cried, "and never knew me as her mother! Dead! and never +clasped her sweet arms round my neck! Dead! without one word! I cannot +believe it, Ulric. How did it happen? Oh, my darling, my golden-haired +child, come back to me, only just to call me mother! How did it happen, +Ulric? Oh, I cannot believe it!" + +He was obliged to tell her the pitiful story. Not one word did he say of +the wedding costume destroyed, or the captain's suspicion--not one +syllable; yet, strange to say, the same idea occurred to her. His wife +had lain her head on his breast; she was weeping bitterly, and he +clasped his arm round her. He said in a grave voice quite unlike his +own: + +"It must have been some beggar or tramp, who knew the secret of that +spiral staircase, and had resolved upon breaking into the house by that +means--some one who had learned, in all probability, that our daughter's +jewels were kept in her chamber. Perhaps she carelessly left the outer +door unlocked, and, while she was sitting dreaming, the burglar entered +noiselessly; then, when she rose in her fright to give the alarm, he +stabbed her." + +She did not think just then of asking if the jewels were stolen or not; +but, strange to say, she started up with a sudden cry. + +"Oh, Ulric, Ulric! was it all right with her, do you think? I have +always been afraid--just a little afraid--since I heard how she begged +for secrecy over her wedding. Do you think she was frightened at any +one? Perhaps some one else loved her, and was madly jealous of her." + +He did not let her see how her words startled him--so like those used by +Captain Ayrley. He tried to quiet her. + +"No, my darling Estelle. Doris had many lovers--we knew them--men of +high repute and fair renown; but there was not one among them who would +have slain her because she loved Earle. Remember yet one thing more--no +one know she was going to marry Earle; it had not even been whispered +outside of our own house. It was a robbery, and nothing else, carefully +planned by some one who knew the only weak spot in the house. I have no +doubt of it." + +Then she broke down again, and cried out with wild words and burning +tears for her child--her only child, who had never known her as her +mother. + +They wondered again why the earl, with his own hand led Lady Linleigh to +the silent death-chamber. He did not wish any one to be near, to see or +to hear her. + +He lived long after, but he never forgot that terrible scene; he never +forgot how the mother flung herself by the side of that silent +figure--how caressingly her hands lingered on the golden hair, on the +sweet, dead face; he never forgot the passionate torrent of words--words +that would have betrayed her secret over and over again a thousand times +had any one been present to hear them. She laid her face on the pale +lips. + +"My darling," she cried, "come back to me, only for one hour: come back, +while I tell you that I was your mother, darling--your own mother. My +arms cradled you, my lips kissed you, my heart yearned over you. I am +your own mother, darling. Come back and speak one word to me--only one +word. Oh, Ulric, is it death? See, how beautiful she is! Her hair is +like shining gold, and she is smiling! Oh, Heaven, she is smiling! She +is not dead!" + +But he drew her back, telling her it was only a sunbeam shining on the +dead face--that she was dead, and would never smile again. + +"Only touch one hand," he said; "there is nothing so cold as death." + +She could only cry out, "her darling! her darling!" Oh, for the days +that were gone--spent without her! How dearly she would love her if she +would but come back again! + +Lord Linleigh was always thankful that he had brought her there alone; +and though he knew such indulgence in violent sorrow to be bad for her, +he would not ask her to go away until it was almost exhausted; then he +knelt down by her side. + +"Estelle," he said, "you remember that it was for your father's sake we +resolved to keep this secret--nay, we promised to do so. You must not +break this promise now. You kept it while our darling lived; keep it +still. Control your sorrow for your father's sake. Kiss the quiet lips, +love, and tell our darling that you will keep our secret for all time." + +She had exhausted herself by passionate weeping and passionate cries, +she obeyed him, humbly and simply, as though she had been a child. She +laid her quivering lips on the cold white ones, and said: + +"I shall keep our secret, Doris." + +Then he led her away. + +That same day Lord Linleigh sent telegrams to the Duke and Duchess of +Downsbury and to Brackenside. Before the noon of the next day the duke +and duchess had reached Linleigh Court. The duke took an active part in +all the preparations for the ceremony of interment. The duchess shut +herself up in her daughter's room, and would not leave her. Later on in +the day Mark and Mrs. Brace came: their grief was intense. Lord Linleigh +little knew how near he was then to the solving of the mystery; but the +same carefully prepared story was told to them as was told to every one +else--a burglar had broken into her room, and, in the effort to give an +alarm, Lady Doris Studleigh had been cruelly murdered. Nothing was said +of the crushed bridal wreath or the torn wedding-dress. + +Honest Mark never heard that there was any other mystery connected with +the murder than the wonder of who had done it. Perhaps had he told the +story of Lord Vivianne's visit to Brackenside, it would have furnished +some clew; but the earl was deeply engrossed and troubled. Mark never +even remembered the incident. Had he heard anything of the captain's +suspicions, he might have done so. It did not seem to him improbable +that the young girl had been slain in the effort to save her jewelry; +and jewel robberies, he read, were common enough. + +Though the summer's sun shone and the flowers bloomed, the darkest gloom +hung over Linleigh Court. Who could have believed that so lately it had +been gay with preparations for a wedding? Lady Doris lay white, still, +and beautiful in her silent room. Earle had shut himself up in the +solitude of his chamber, and refused to come out into the light of day. +Lady Estelle was really ill, and the duchess never left her. The one +source of all help and comfort, the universal consoler, was Mattie; in +after times they wondered what they should have done without her. + +The duke and Lord Linleigh were incessantly engaged. + +For many long years nothing had made so great a sensation as this +murder--all England rang with it. So young, so beautiful, so highly +accomplished, heiress to great wealth, and on the point of marriage with +the man she loved best in all the world. It was surely the most sad and +pathetic affair within the memory of man. There was a suspicion of +romance in it, too--murdered on the eve of her marriage. + +Some of the best detective skill in England was employed to trace out +the murderer; but it was all in vain. The duke offered an unprecedented +reward, the earl another, and government another; but it was all in +vain; there did not seem to be the slightest clew--no handkerchief with +the murderer's name, no weapon bearing his initials, no trace of any +kind could be discovered of one of the most horrible crimes in the whole +annals of the country. + +There had been an inquest. The maid Eugenie, Mattie Brace, Earle, and +Lord Linleigh, all gave their evidence; but when it was sifted and +arranged, there was absolutely nothing in it; so that the verdict given +was, "Found murdered, by some person or persons unknown." + +Nothing remained then but to bury her. The brief life was ended; there +was no more joy, no more sorrow for her--it was all over; neither her +youth, her beauty, nor her wealth could save her. Her sin had found her +out, and the price of her sin was death. There could have been no +keener, swifter punishment than hers, and sin always brings it. + +It seems so easy; the temptation, like that of Doris, is so sudden, so +swift, so sweet; the retribution seems so far off. But, sure as night +follows day, surely as the golden wheat ripens under the summer sun, it +comes at last. + +Until the hour she was taken from the sight of men she never lost any of +her marvelous loveliness; until the last she looked like a marble +sculpture, the highest perfection of beauty. They wondered--those who +loved her best, as they knelt by her side and kissed her for the last +time--why such wondrous loveliness had been given to her; it had brought +her no good--it had given her swift, terrible death. Rank, wealth, +position, all have their perils, but it seemed to those who watched her +that surely the greatest peril of all is the peril of beauty. She had +been so vain of her fair face; it seemed to her that fair, fragile +beauty was the chief thing in life. It had led her to vanity, and from +vanity to sin of the deepest, deadliest dye. She had paid the price +now--her life was the forfeit. The sheen of the golden hair, the light +of the proud eyes, the beauty of the radiant face, the grace of the +perfect figure, were all hidden away; that for which she had sinned and +suffered--for which she had neglected her heart, mind, and soul--for +which she had neglected Heaven--was already a thing of the past. Let +poets and artists rave of beauty--let the dead girl answer, "What had +beauty done for her?" + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXV. + +A SURPRISE FOR LORD LINLEIGH. + + +The funeral at Linleigh Court is still talked of in the county. There +had not been for many generations such a scene. The whole country side +were present; the rich and the noble to sympathize and assist, the poor +to look on in wonder. They stood in groups under the trees discussing +the event, they told each other that she had been beautiful as an angel, +with hair that shone like the sun: that when she was younger and before +she had come into possession of her fortune she had loved some one very +much, a handsome, young poet; and after she came into her fortune, she +had been true to him, and had refused some of the greatest men in +England, to marry him. + +Tears stood in the eyes of those simple men and women as they told each +other the story--that the night before her wedding-day she had been so +cruelly murdered by a burglar who wanted her jewelry. Was there ever a +story so sad. They stood bare-headed as that mournful procession passed +by, pointing out to each other the chief mourners. "There was the young +poet," they said--but who would have recognized Earle? His face was +quite changed; the youth, the beauty had died from it, it was white with +the pallor of despair; the eyes were haggard and wild, the lips quivered +piteously, as the lips of a grieving child. It was hard to believe that +he had ever been handsome, gallant, and gay. Women wept as they looked +at him, and men stood bare-headed, mute, silent, before a great sorrow +that they could so well understand. There was the earl; he looked very +sad, grieved, and anxious, but he was a Studleigh, and on that debonair +race trouble always sat lightly; they had grand capabilities for +throwing off sorrow. They showed each other the stately Duke of +Downsbury, one of the noblest men in England, who was not ashamed to +take his station by the side of Mark Brace, the honest farmer; then +followed a long train of nobles, gentlemen, and friends. + +The long procession wound its way through the park, the leaves fell, the +flowers stirred idly in the summer wind, as though recognizing the fact +that a fairer flower had been laid low; the birds sang joyously, as +though death and sorrow were not passing through their midst, and the +bright sun shone warm and golden as they carried the beautiful Lady +Doris to her last home. Oh! sweet summer and fragrant flowers, singing +birds and humming bees, no sadder sight than this ever passed through +your midst! + +The same minister who was to have married her read the funeral service +over her. She was to be buried in the family vault of the Studleighs, +but, at the last, Lady Estelle had clung to her, declaring that she +could not endure her darling buried out of her sight, that she must +sleep in the sunshine and flowers, where she could see her grave; and +the duke begged Lord Linleigh to grant her prayer. So it was done; and +in the pretty churchyard so green and silent, with its tall trees and +flowers, she sleeps the long sleep that knows no waking. + +The sparrows build their nests there, the gray church-tower is a home +for the rooks, the wood-pigeons coo in the tall trees, the nightingale +sings her sweetest songs, and the fairest blossoms grow over her grave. +The white marble cross gleams through the trees and on it one may read +the short, sad story of Lady Doris Studleigh. + +That same summer day, guests and friends returned home, the duke and +duchess alone remaining, with Mattie Brace. Mark and his wife took their +leave. + +"I shall never forget her," said honest Mark, as he wrung Earle's hand; +"she was the most winsome lass I ever saw; I shall never look up at the +skies without thinking I see her sweet face there." + +Some months afterward--he did not attend to it just then--Lord Linleigh +settled a handsome annuity on the farmer and his wife. They lived +honored, esteemed, and respected to a good old age; but they never +forgot the child who had come to them in the wind and the rain--the +beautiful girl whose tragical end cast a shadow over their lives. + +A deep, settled gloom fell over Linleigh. Many thought that Earle would +never recover; the spring of his life seemed broken. It would have been +hard for him if he had never found her in Florence; but having so found +her, having won her love, her heart, her wild, graceful fancy, having +made so sure that she would one day be his wife, it was harder still. +Every resource, every energy, every hope, seemed crushed and dead. + +He remained at Linleigh Court through the winter. Lord Linleigh would +say to him at times: + +"We must think about your future, Earle; it is time something was done." + +His only answer was that he wanted no future; that the only mercy which +could be shown to him now, was an early death and a speedy one. + +They had great patience with him, knowing that youth is impatient with +sorrow, with despair--knowing that time would lessen the terrible grief, +and give back some of its lost brightness to life. + +At the end of the autumn even his physical strength seemed to fail him, +and the doctors, summoned by Lord Linleigh in alarm, said he must +positively spend the winter in some warmer climate. + +"Let me stay and die here," he said to the earl. + +But Lord Linleigh had grown warmly attached to him. He was intent on +saving him if possible. The duchess came to the rescue: she said, that +after the terrible shock some change was needful for all. If Lady +Estelle did not feel equal to going abroad, let her spend the winter at +Downsbury Castle with them, while Lord Linleigh and Earle went abroad +together. Though Lady Estelle demurred at being separated from her +husband, she saw that the change of scene and travel would be most +beneficial for him, so she consented. + +She went to Downsbury Castle with the duchess, and Lord Linleigh took +Earle to Spain. + +They were absent nearly five months, but time and travel did much for +them. Earle recovered his lost strength and much of his lost energy; +once more his genius reasserted itself; once more grand, beautiful, +noble ideas shaped themselves before him; once more the strong manly +desire to be first and foremost in the battle of life came over him. +Together they planned great deeds. Earle was to take his place in +Parliament again; he was to be Lord Linleigh's right hand. + +"You will always be like an elder son to me," said Lord Linleigh one +day. "I shall have no one to study but you." + +Then Earle was doubly fortunate; the duke had an excellent civil +appointment in his power; when it became vacant, he offered it to Earle, +who gratefully accepted it. + +"Now," said Lord Linleigh to him, "your position is secure--your fortune +is made." + +And Earle sighed deeply, remembering how happy this might have made him +once. + +They were to return to England in April; and then a grand surprise +awaited the earl. He received a letter to say that Lady Estelle, having +grown tired of Downsbury Castle, had gone to a pretty estate of his in +Wales--Gymglas--and that, on his return, he was to join her there. + +"What a strange whim," said Lord Linleigh to Earle. "Gone to Gymglas. I +have not been in Wales for some time. It will be quite pleasant--quite a +treat to me." + +When he returned to England, they went at once to Gymglas. + +They reached the hall one fine day in April, when the world was all fair +with the coming spring. Lord Linleigh thought he had never seen his wife +looking so young or so fair. He had left her pale, with a quiet, languid +sadness that seemed almost like despair: now her face was flushed with a +dainty color, her eyes were bright; she was animated, joyous, and happy. +It was a strange, subtle change, that he hardly understood. + +"My darling Estelle," he said, "how happy I am to see you looking so +bright! Has anything happened while I have been away?" + +"Am I looking so well?" she asked, in a voice so full of heart's music +he hardly recognized it. "Do you love me better than ever, Ulric?" + +"Yes, a thousand times, if it be possible," he replied. + +"Come with me," she said. + +He half hesitated. He was tired, hungry, and longing for rest and +refreshment. + +She laughed in a gay, saucy fashion, quite unlike her own. + +"I know," she said, "you think a glass of sherry would be far better +than any little sentimental surprise I could give you. Wait and see; +follow me." + +She looked so charming and irresistible, he forgot all that he wanted +and went after her. He expected to see a new conservatory or some pretty +improvement in the old hall; but, rather to his surprise, she led the +way up-stairs. He had almost forgotten the house; it was so large and +old-fashioned. The beautiful countess stood quite still as they reached +a large door, and placed her finger mysteriously on her lips. + +"I am quite sure that you will be more pleased than ever you have been +in your life before," she said. + +She opened the door, and he followed her into a large, lofty, +beautifully furnished room. In the midst of it stood a cozy and costly +cradle. His wife took his hand and led him to it. She drew the silken +curtain aside, and there lay the loveliest babe the sun ever shone on--a +little, golden head, shining with curls--a face like a rosebud, with +sweet little lips. One pretty hand lay outside on the silken coverlet. +Lord Linleigh looked on in wonder too great for words. + +"What is this?" he said, at last. + +His wife laughed a sweet, low, happy laugh, such as he had not heard +from her lips since the days of her happy girlhood. + +"I will introduce you," she said. "Lord Linleigh, this is your son and +heir, Lawrence Lord Studleigh, called in nursery parlance 'Laurie the +beautiful!'" + +The earl looked at his wife in a bewildered manner. + +"You do not mean to tell me that this is my--our son, Estelle?" + +"I do, indeed, Ulric. I did not tell you before, because I was afraid. I +thought I should die. I never even had the hope of living--that made me +go home with my mother. Are you pleased?" + +"Why, my darling! how can I tell you? what am I to say to you? Pleased +is not the word. I am lost in delight. So I really have a little son. +Raise him--he looks like a beautiful bird in a nest. Place him in my +arms, and let me kiss him. My own little son! Talk of a surprise! this +is one! Call Earle, darling! let Earle see him." + +And when Earle came, just as though he knew he was to be admired and +worshiped, the baby opened a pair of beautiful eyes, and looked so good +and sweet that they were charmed. + +Lord Linleigh could not recover himself to think that he who had no hope +of succession should suddenly find this pretty little son. To the end of +his life he persisted in teasing his wife by always calling his eldest +son "The Surprise." + +So that was, indeed, a happy coming home. + +Earle went to London then to begin his life's work. The earl and the +countess returned to Linleigh, where, in the smiles of her children, +Lady Estelle grew young again. Fair-faced daughters and sturdy, noble +boys made the walls of the Court ring again. The earl was happy beyond +measure, but neither he nor his wife ever forgot the hapless, beautiful +girl whom they had lost. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVI. + +HAUNTED BY A DEAD FACE. + + +Two years after the birth of his son, the earl and countess went to +London for the season. It so happened that the desire for a picture he +had seen led him to the studio of Gregory Leslie. The artist was engaged +for the moment, and asked Lord Linleigh to wait. While so waiting, he +occupied himself in looking round at the pictures on the wall. He +stopped before one as though spell-bound. If ever he had seen the face +of his daughter at all, it was shining there on the canvas, beautiful as +the radiant dawn of the morning, with the sunlight on her hair, and in +her eyes a light that seemed to be from heaven. She was standing in the +midst of flowers, and his own face grew pale as he looked at the radiant +loveliness of hers. + +"Doris," he said to himself; "but how comes she here?" + +He saw the white hands that he remembered last as folded in death; he +saw the white, graceful breast that had been disfigured by that terrible +wound. + +"My darling Doris," he said; "how came you here?" + +He was standing there, with tears in his eyes, when Mr. Leslie entered +the room. + +"I should like to ask a few questions about that picture, Mr. Leslie," +he said, courteously. "Is it for sale?" + +"I can hardly say; I have had a very large bid for it. It was purchased +some time since by one of our merchant princes, who has since failed, +and I bought the picture at his sale; since then I have been offered a +large sum for it." + +"It is my daughter's portrait," said the earl, calmly. "I cannot see how +it came into your possession." + +"I painted it," said Mr. Leslie. + +"You did! Where did you see my daughter?" + +Then the artist told him the whole story of his going to Brackenside, +and the earl told him the story of Lady Doris Studleigh's childhood. + +"I never believed that she was Mark Brace's daughter," said Gregory +Leslie; "she was so daintily beautiful--her grace was so complete, so +high-bred, I could not fancy that she belonged to them. Was the mystery +of her journey to Florence ever explained?" + +"What mystery?" asked the earl, quickly; so quickly that Mr. Leslie +thought that he had been wrong in naming it at all. + +"There was some little confusion," he said. "Her face is very beautiful; +it attracted great attention, and one of my fellow artists assured me +that he had seen her in Florence, and that she was married." + +"Nothing of the kind!" said the earl. + +Then an uncomfortable conviction seized upon him. Could there be any +truth in this? Could there be any truth in the idea--the suspicion that +his wife entertained that all had not been well with Doris? Could there +have been a mystery in that young life, so soon, oh, so soon ended? + +The earl sighed deeply. It would be better, perhaps, to let it alone. If +there had been anything wrong, it was too late to right it now. Let the +dead past bury its dead. She was a Studleigh, and there were many of +that race whose lives would not bear looking into. He dismissed the +subject from his mind, and said to himself he would think of it no more. + +"Who wants this picture?" he asked, abruptly. "I am sure that Lady +Linleigh would like it." + +"It is a strange coincidence that you should call this morning," said +Mr. Leslie; "the gentleman who wishes so strongly for it appointed to +meet me at two--it wants but ten minutes of the time. Will you wait and +see him? Perhaps, under the circumstances, he might be willing for you +to have the original, which I might copy." + +Lord Linleigh was perfectly willing. He was rather surprised, however, +when the door opened, to see--in the expected visitor--Lord Vivianne! +Lord Vivianne--but so changed, so unlike himself, that it was with +difficulty he recognized him. His hair was white as snow, his face +furrowed with deep lines, haggard, careworn and miserable. He looked +like a man bowed down with care, wretched beyond words. + +When he saw Lord Linleigh he grew even more ghastly pale, and all sound +died away on his lips. + +The earl eagerly extended his hand. + +"Lord Vivianne!" he cried, "what a stranger you are! I am heartily glad +to meet you again." + +He did not understand why that great, gasping sigh of relief came from +the wretched lips. + +"I have thought of you," continued the earl. "Of course you heard the +story of my terrible trouble?" + +More ghastly still grew the white face. + +"Yes, I heard of it; who did not?" + +"Poor child!" sighed the earl; "It was a terrible blow to us; the very +night before her wedding-day, too." + +Ah! the night before the wedding-day! He was not likely to forget that. +He saw it all again--the beautiful, defiant face; the wedding costume; +the long, sharp knife; the bare, white breast. Ah! merciful God, was he +never to forget! He groaned aloud, then saw the earl looking at him in +wonder. + +"You did not know, Lord Linleigh," he said, "that I loved your daughter. +If I had gone to Linleigh again in August, it would have been to ask her +to be my wife." + +The earl held out his hand in silent sympathy. + +"It was a terrible blow," he said. + +Then he thought to himself that it was because he had loved his daughter +that Lord Vivianne wished for the picture. + +"I fancied once or twice," he said, "that you admired her. I did not +know you loved her." + +"I did. If any one had told me it was in my power to love any woman, or +to mourn for any woman as I have done for her, I should have laughed at +the notion. My life is blighted." + +They sat then in silence for some time; then the earl said: + +"I am glad that I have met you. Lady Linleigh and I have often spoken of +you. Will you pay us a visit at Linleigh Court?" + +"No," replied the wretched man, with a shudder. "You are very kind. I +thank you, but my visiting days are over. I am nothing but a curse to +myself and to others." + +"You will get better in time," said the earl. + +It was a new idea to him to play the part of comforter to a man of the +world, and he did it awkwardly. + +"I grow worse; not better," was the desponding reply. "I suppose, Lord +Linleigh, nothing more was heard of that dreadful occurrence--the crime +was never traced?" + +"No; it was one of those mysteries that baffle solution," he replied. +"The rewards offered have been enormous, and we have employed the best +detectives in England, without success." + +"It is very strange," said Lord Vivianne, musingly. + +"Yes, it is strange. I am quite certain of one thing," said the earl, +with energy; "it will come to light--murder always does--it will come to +light." + +The white face grew even whiter. + +"You believe that?" said Lord Vivianne, in a low, hoarse voice. + +"Yes," said the earl. "Although I am not what the world would call a +religious man, I am quite sure that a just God will never allow such a +crime to go unpunished. Now, about the picture. Lord Vivianne, if you +loved my dear, dead daughter, I can well understand that you want this." + +Then they finally agreed that Lord Linleigh should have the original, +and Mr. Leslie should paint a copy for Lord Vivianne. Lord Linleigh at +the same time ordered a copy for Earle. Then, looking at the picture, he +saw the name. He looked at the artist with a smile. + +"'Innocence,'" he said. "Why did you call that picture 'Innocence?'" + +"Because the face was so fair, so fresh, so bright. I could think of no +other name. There is in it the very innocence and beauty that angels +wear. Look at the clear, sweet eyes, the perfect lips, the ideal brow." + +"'Innocence!'" said Lord Vivianne, in a strange voice; "It was well +named." + +They both looked at him quickly, but he was on his guard again. He shook +hands with the earl. They never met again. He said adieu to Leslie, and +begged that the portrait might be sent home as soon as possible. Then he +went away. The earl and the artist looked after him. + +"That is a dying man," said Gregory Leslie, slowly. + +"If he dies," said the earl, "it will be love for my daughter that has +killed him." + +The earl was never any nearer to the solution of the mystery. That Lord +Vivianne, who spoke so openly of having loved her, had any hand in her +death, he never even faintly surmised. He took the picture home, and it +hangs now in Linleigh Court, where the earl's children pause sometimes +in their play to ask about their elder sister, Doris, whose name the +picture says was "Innocence." + +It was not long afterward that the fashionable world was startled from +its serenity by the sad intelligence of the suicide of Lord Vivianne. +Then they heard a strange story, although no one could solve it. His +servants told how dreadfully he had suffered. Let those who laugh at the +retribution that follows sin believe. Slowly, and in terrible torture, +had that wretched life ended. He had rushed from the scene of his crime, +mad with baffled love, with fiercest passion, with regret and remorse. +Mad with the wild fury of his own passions--above all, with the terrible +knowledge of her death--for many days and nights he neither slept, +rested, ate, nor drank. He went away to Paris. It was not exactly that +he feared pursuit--he knew that it was not likely that any suspicion +should attach itself to him. But, wherever he went, he saw that dead +face, that golden web with the crimson stain. + +In Paris he plunged into the wildest dissipation. He tried drink--all +possible resources--in vain. Where the sun shone brightest, where the +gaslight flared, where painted faces smiled--he saw the same sight--a +white face looking up, still and cold in death. + +If by chance he were left alone, or in the dark, his cries were awful. +His servants talked about him, but they never thought crime or remorse +was busy with him; they fancied he had drank himself into a fit of +delirium. They could have told, and did tell after his death, of awful +nights when he raved like a madman--when he was pursued by a dead woman, +always holding a knife in her hand; they told of frantic fits of anguish +when he lay groaning on the floor, biting his lips until they bled, so +that one's heart ached to hear him. + +Let no man say that he can sin with impunity; let no man say sin remains +unpunished. + +The time came when he said to himself, deliberately, and with full +purpose, that he would not live. What was this tortured, blighted life +to him? Less than nothing. + +Once, and once only, he asked himself if it were possible to +repent--repent of his sins, his unbridled passions, his selfish loves? +Repent? He laughed aloud in scornful glee. It would, indeed, be a fine +thing, a grand idea for him, a man of the world; he who had been +complimented on being the Don Juan of the day. He--to repent? Nonsense! +As he had lived he would die. + +What mad folly had possessed him? He gnashed his teeth with rage when he +thought of what he had done. Then something brought to his mind the +remembrance of that picture, and his heart filled with hope. Perhaps if +he could buy it--could have the pictured face in its living, radiant +beauty always before him, it might lay the specter that haunted him; it +might turn the current. He had forgotten almost what the lovely, living +face was like; he only remembered it cold and dead. + +He purchased the picture, but it only worked him deeper woe--deeper, +darker woe. He fancied the eyes followed him and mocked him; he had a +terrible dread that some time or other the lips would open and denounce +him. + +Then, when he could bear it no longer, he determined to kill himself. He +would have no more of it. + +All London was horrified to hear that Lord Vivianne had been found dead; +he had shot himself. Even the journals that, as a rule, avoided details, +told how he died with his face turned to a picture--the picture of a +beautiful girl with a fair face, tender eyes, and sweet, proud lips--a +picture called "Innocence." + +If any one dare to believe that he can sin with impunity, let him stand +for one minute while a sin-stained suicide is laid in his lonely grave. + + + + +CHAPTER LXXXVII. + +SILENT LOVE REWARDED. + + +Five years had passed since the occurrence of the events recorded in the +preceding chapter. Lord Vivianne's place was filled, his name forgotten; +flowers bloomed fair and fragrant on the grave of Lady Doris; the earl +and countess had drawn themselves more from public life, and found their +happiness in the midst of their children. The duchess seemed to have +renewed her youth in those same children, and was never so happy as when +she could carry one or two of them off with her to Downsbury Castle. + +One autumn day Mattie Brace stood at the little gate that led from the +garden to the meadow. The sun was shining, and the red-brown leaves were +falling from the trees. She was thinking of Earle; how prosperous, how +fortunate he had been during these last few years, when he had worked +with all his heart to drown his sorrow. How he had worked! And now he +reaped the reward of all industry--success. The critics and the public +hailed him as the greatest poet of the day. In the House of Commons he +was considered a brilliant leader, a brilliant speaker. He had +speculated, too, and all his speculations turned out well; he had sent +his last poem to Mattie, and told her he should come to hear her opinion +from her own lips. + +It was not a great surprise to her, on that bright autumn day, to see +him crossing the meadows. How many years had she waited for him there! +She thought him altered. They had written to each other constantly, but +they had not met since the tragedy. He was older, his face had more +strength and power, with less brightness. She thought him handsomer, +though so much of the light of youth had died away from him. + +He held out his hand to her in loving greeting, then he bent down and +kissed her face. + +"Such a kind, sweet face, Mattie," he said: "and it is sweeter than ever +now." + +He spoke truly. Mattie Brace had never been a pretty girl, but she was +not far from being a beautiful woman. The rich brown hair was smooth and +shining as satin; the kindly face had an expression of noble resolve +that made it beautiful; the brown eyes were clear and luminous; the lips +were sensitive and sweet. Earle looked at her with critical eyes. + +"You please me very much, Mattie," he said. "Do you know what I have +come all the way from London to ask you?" + +"No," she replied, in all simplicity, "that I do not." + +"I want you to be my wife, dear. I know all that lies between us. If I +cannot offer you the enthusiastic worship of a first love, I can and do +offer you the truest and deepest affection that a man can give. I always +liked you, but of late have begun to think that you are the only woman +in the world to me." + +"Can I make you happy, Earle?" she asked, gently. + +"Yes, I am sure of it." + +"But I am not beautiful," she said, sadly. + +An expression of pain came over his face. + +"Beauty! Oh, Mattie, what is it? Besides, you are beautiful in my eyes. +Be my wife, Mattie; I will make you very happy." + +It was not likely that she would refuse, seeing that she had loved him +for years. They were married, much to the delight of Lord and Lady +Linleigh. + +Now Earle has a beautiful house of his own: his name is honored in the +land; his wife is the sweetest and kindest of women; his children are +fair and wise. He has one golden-haired girl whom they call Doris; and +if Earle loves one of the little band better than another, it is she. He +has a spacious and well-adorned room opening on a flowery lawn; it is +called a study. And here sometimes, at sunset, his children gather round +him, and they stand before a picture--a picture on which the sunbeams +fall, shining on a radiant face, with bright, proud eyes, and sweet, +smiling lips--a picture known to them by the name of "Innocence." + + +[Illustration] + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 41932 *** |