CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE SOUND OF WEDDING-BELLS.
It was a bright day at the seashore, and the beach was crowded.
Lord and Lady Quaintree were at Eastbourne, with the Honorable Gerald and “the two girls,” as Lois and Blanche were affectionately designated. Frank Amberley had come to spend his few weeks of holiday here.
Paul, by the advice of his colonel, had seen the Italian consul in London. The consul had looked grave, listened to his story, received the register, and said:
“The matter shall have every attention, and in all probability we shall communicate with you shortly respecting it.”
Some months, after all, elapsed before Captain Desfrayne received any communication, and then he learned the painful facts of the unhappy Lucia’s third marriage and the loss of her reason.
He made every effort to find her on settling the affair at the Italian consulate—but vainly, and was obliged to relinquish the attempt. Then he repaired to Eastbourne. The agitation of these last few weeks had told terribly on his health, although he was rejoicing with unspeakable joy over his recovered liberty.
He knew that the Quaintrees had chosen the place; indeed, that had been the attraction for him. And Frank Amberley had seen him during his visit to London, and mentioned his intention of coming.
Captain Desfrayne set off to pay a visit of ceremony to Lady Quaintree.
On the way, however, the scene was so bright, so alluring, so unlike what he had been condemned to for some time, that he paused to contemplate it.
How many minutes he lingered he did not know, but he was aroused from a bitter-sweet day-dream by hearing some one address him by name. It was Frank Amberley.
The young lawyer had left a party seated on the beach to come and intercept Paul; but returned to them, followed by his treasure-trove.
Paul’s heart beat violently, for he perceived Lois Turquand, dazzlingly beautiful as a sea-nymph. He knew not what he said, either to the ladies or to Lord Quaintree and his son, and sat down mechanically when Blanche moved a little to make room for him on the beach.
The remarks, the replies, the notes, and queries, were all commonplace enough, so Paul could keep up a show of attention without betraying his abstracted state of mind.
“Charming, indeed,” he had just returned, to an observation of Lady Quaintree’s—Lois was absolutely silent.
Frank Amberley, too loyal to gain any advantage by treachery, would have explained to Lois that the sad story he told her had ended less tragically than it threatened to do; but he had not yet found any opportunity of speaking to Miss Turquand undisturbed. He had, in fact, preceded Captain Desfrayne by only a couple of days.
Gerald had continued to devote himself to Blanche, in spite of his mother’s evidences of displeasure. Lady Quaintree had begun to despair of being able to secure Lois as a daughter-in-law. Blanche was amused by the little flirtation into which Gerald had drawn her, but she cared not a straw for him; while the grave, handsome face, the soft, musical accents of Frank Amberley began to dangerously haunt her dreams.
The little party rose, and Paul Desfrayne accompanied them a short way. For part of the time he found himself lingering behind the others, with Miss Turquand.
An almost irrepressible desire to confide in her rose in his heart; but he crushed the wish, for this was neither the time nor place. A few impetuous words, however, gave her an inkling of the change that had come to him, and she glanced up at him. A look of passionate admiration—of dawning love—made her blush deeply and avert her head, and hurry a few steps to rejoin the others. Butwhen they were about to part, she gave him her hand with a little happy smile of confidence.
The tranquil, sunlit days glided by, and lengthened into weeks.
Frank Amberley, fully conscious of the risk to his peace involved by lingering, could not tear himself away. But by degrees he discovered the charm, the beauty, the sweetness of the innocent Blanche’s character, so was in a fair way of being consoled. Happily for himself, he was not one of those who love but once and forever.
Paul Desfrayne did not tell his painful story all at once, and Lois spared him much of the distress involved in the recital, but by degrees she became aware of all the sad details; and she gave him all the pity and sympathy of her fresh young heart.
The Honorable Gerald found some one more appreciative and more warmly disposed in his favor than the pretty Blanche, and transferred all the devotion he had to offer to the more accessible divinity.
Paul was left pretty much to his own devices in winning the prize held out to him so strangely.
It was not a difficult task. Never did wooing prosper more hopefully.
The last few days of this brief, delicious holiday were fast winging to the dim past.
Nay, the last evening had come—a soft, cloudless, moonlit night, when the very air seemed to breathe of love.
Gerald was away; Blanche and Lady Quaintree were taking a farewell turn on the sands; Lord Quaintree was asleep. Lois had stayed at home, for she had a tolerably clear idea that Paul would come, and he had looked a hope that he might find her alone.
The young girl was sitting in the long, flower-wreathed balcony, the mild, silvery moonbeams falling over her like a radiance, making her look some lovely ethereal spirit.
Paul did come, as she anticipated. The dim, mysterious light did not betray the glowing blush upon her beautiful face, the sparkling, happy light in her eyes. She didnot hear his step upon the carpet, nor see him, but some electrical sympathy told her he was approaching.
With a soft, welcoming, trustful smile, she held out her hand, which he took, but omitted to release. Then he sat down close to her, yet slightly behind her chair, as if even now he scarcely dared to believe that the promise of the future could be true.
A murmuring conversation, too low for ears less acute than those attuned by love to hear, and then Paul gently folded Lois in his arms. Then, after a pause, he slipped a diamond ring of betrothal upon her finger, and she was his promised wife.
Vere Gardiner’s dying wishes had come to a happy fruition, after all. And the story ended like the delightful old fairy-tales, with a joyous clash of merry wedding-bells.
But this time there was no rash marrying in haste. Almost a year elapsed, by the influence and desire of Lady Quaintree, before the pretty bridal-party met in Flore Hall, about six weeks before the marriage of Frank Amberley and Blanche Dormer.
The echoes of the harmonious wedding-bells sound as yet through the wedded life of Paul and his true love. Adieu, care; farewell, sorrow, for the inevitable cares and sorrows are shared, so fall lightly.
Sometimes a faint cloud comes over Paul’s face as he thinks of the one act of folly which had so nearly ruined his life; but he tries to forget the forbidding past, and to sun himself in the love and bright smiles of his wife and two little angel-children, baby Lois, and her elder brother, Paul.
THE END.
“Her Heart’s Delight,” by Bertha M. Clay is the title of No. 301 of theNew Bertha Clay Library. It is a story that the readers of this series will not find lacking in the skill that Bertha Clay displays in telling a vivid romance.