"I am mad!The torture of unnumbered hours is o'er,The strong cord is broken, and my heartRiots in free delirium! Oh, Heaven!I struggled with it, but it mastered me!I fought against it, but it beat me down!I prayed, I wept, but Heaven was deaf to me,And every tear rolled backward on my heart,To blast and poison!"—George Henry Boker.
"I am mad!The torture of unnumbered hours is o'er,The strong cord is broken, and my heartRiots in free delirium! Oh, Heaven!I struggled with it, but it mastered me!I fought against it, but it beat me down!I prayed, I wept, but Heaven was deaf to me,And every tear rolled backward on my heart,To blast and poison!"—George Henry Boker.
A crowd soon collected and the fire engines quickly came upon the scene.
Streams of water began to play on the burning house, but to no avail. The fire had made too much headway to be checked now. The old ramshackle building was doomed. In the large crowd that had collected were two very elegant-looking young men—Earle Winans and Lord Chester.
The two young men, although acquainted but a few days, had become fast friends.
It was the nobleman's deep solicitude over the fate of Precious that had first drawn Earle toward him. Lord Chester's services were always ready in any new plan for finding Precious; he was as eager as Earle himself in the search.
The Winans family believed that all this zeal was for the sake of Ethel, whom the nobleman had seemed to admire so much that gossip said he would certainly make her Lady Chester at no distant date.
So Earle had taken the handsome young nobleman warmly into his heart and confidence.
They had been walking together that chilly afternoon, several blocks away from the place, when the light of the burning building drew them to follow the crowd to the spot.
They arrived but a few moments after Ethel had turned away from the dreadful scene, hardening her jealous heart against the voice of accusing conscience, and answering to its reproaches: "I tried to save her, and it was through her own cowardice she perished."
When her brother and Lord Chester came on the scene they heard some one saying:
"There is a dog shut up in that house. Hear his frightful baying!"
They could hear it distinctly, the prolonged mournful howls, and it seemed as if the sounds came from an open window.
"The window is open. Why don't the foolish animal come out?" cried Earle Winans, and just then the streams of water playing on the side of the wall cleared away the smoke a little, and the animal was seen a moment dimly, then with another howl he fell back into the room.
"He is bewildered and afraid to jump," cried a fireman, as poor Kay's dismal wails came distinctly to the ears of the crowd.
"Perhaps there is some person in the room, and he is too faithful to desert his post. Dogs are often more faithful than friends. Put up a ladder, and I will go and see," exclaimed Lord Chester suddenly.
"No, no! you must not risk your life for a dog, even a faithful one," cried Earle, trying to hold his friend back, for the situation was very perilous.
"No, no! I must save that poor dog!" Lord Chester cried, breaking loose and ascending the ladder, while the shouts of the tumultuous crowd rang to heaven.
Slowly, carefully, through the blinding smoke and heat and threatening flame he went, and presently his headrose above the sill of the open window and he peered into the room, which seemed full of black smoke and leaping flames.
He put out his hand and it touched a big tawny head.
"Come, good fellow, come," he cried, and tried to drag him out.
Then he made a startling discovery.
The faithful mastiff had dragged an unconscious human being to the window with his teeth, and was holding her up by a mass of golden hair in a vain effort to get her up to the sill, where she might be seen and rescued by the crowd.
"HIS HEART WILL TURN BACK TO ME."
"Eyes that loved me once, I prayBe not crueler than death;Hide each sharp-edged glance awayUnderneath its cruel sheath!Make me not, sweet eyes, with scorn,Mourn that I was ever born!"—Alice Cary.
"Eyes that loved me once, I prayBe not crueler than death;Hide each sharp-edged glance awayUnderneath its cruel sheath!Make me not, sweet eyes, with scorn,Mourn that I was ever born!"—Alice Cary.
Through the falling twilight of the bleak March day Ethel Winans sped away like a guilty creature, nor paused until she reached her home.
Entering by a private door she gained her own room unobserved and hastened to bathe her face and hands and rearrange her disordered tresses.
Then she summoned Hetty, and the maid stared in surprise at her corpse-like pallor and heavy eyes.
"Oh, Miss Ethel, you look awful! Are you sick?"
"I am tired to death," sighed Ethel. "I have had such a long, weary chase after Kay! Oh, Hetty, I have lost him, but you must never, never tell, for papa would never forgive me if he knew. He ran off with some other dogs in a park, and though I ran and ran I could not get him back."
"You ought not to worry so about the dog, Miss Ethel. Lordy, he'll be sure to find his way back home," declared the maid cheerfully.
Ethel looked on the verge of tears. She half sobbed:
"Do you think so? I hope he will, for Precious loved him so dearly, and papa will be so sorry to find him gone, and he will be so angry with me for taking him out. Please don't say anything about it to any one, Hetty, and you may have that coral bracelet of mine."
"Thank you kindly, Miss Ethel, and of course it's not my business to find out that Kay is missing. So now it's time to dress for dinner, if you please. What dress will you wear, Miss Ethel? That new gold-colored silk with the black lace draperies, or something plainer? There's no one to dinner but the two gentlemen of the family. Your mamma is not well enough to dine."
"Poor mamma! But, Hetty, I am too tired to dress and dine to-night. I think I will send down excuses and retire. My head is throbbing with pain. I believe I should like a sedative."
Hetty brought the sedative and helped her to bed, saying as she tucked in the silken coverlet:
"Miss Miller called for you this afternoon, and I told her you had gone to keep an engagement with her. She said there must be some mistake; she hadn't seen you. I thought to myself that maybe you changed your mind and went to the old clairvoyant after all."
"I didn't have time to go anywhere after I lost Kay and had that long chase after him, so I hurried home," Ethel answered evasively. Then she nestled her head in the pillow and closed her eyes.
"Now, Hetty, I don't need you any longer. You can go and tell mamma I was so weary from my long walk that I retired."
Hetty dimmed the light and went out, but she thought sagely:
"Miss Ethel fibbed when she said she hadn't been anywhere. I'll bet a dime she's been to the old fortune-teller, and she told her something she didn't like and she's gone to bed to cry over it."
Ah, Hetty, your young mistress had more to grieve over than you guessed, and the pillow of down might have been full of thorns for all the rest she found that night.
For, shut her eyes as she might, there was one vision always before them—a wan little face like a snowdrop, luminous blue eyes, golden hair like an aureole of light; then it would fade and fall away into a cloud of smoke andflame, only to reappear again, until Ethel writhed in anguish and sobbed:
"It was not my fault. I could have saved her if she had not fainted. But no one must ever know I was there. They would blame me for her awful death."
She sat up in bed staring with gloomy eyes and writhing hands, trying to put from her the horror of her sister's death and to think what life would be like now when there was no pretty, willful Precious any more to envy for her fatal power of winning hearts.
"They must learn to love me now, papa, mamma, Earle and—Lord Chester, for his heart will turn back to me when there is no witching Precious to distract his thoughts. They loved her too well and fate has punished them by taking their idol away. It is my turn now," she thought with a bitter triumph.
Ah, Ethel, could the straining gaze of those somber eyes have pierced the shadows of the gloomy twilight they would have beheld a sight to blast them with its surprise.
Down the ladder came Lord Chester bearing the unconscious form of golden-haired Precious, whom Ethel had forsaken, and who never would have been saved but for the devotion of the faithful mastiff, noble Kay.
The shouts that rose from the crowd, as Lord Chester came down with the girl in his arms and the brave mastiff leaped from the window might almost have reached Ethel's ears, they were so loud and ringing.
Lord Chester was so blind and dizzy from the heat and smoke that as soon as his burden was drawn from his arms he sank exhausted to the ground.
The next instant the roof of the building fell in, leaving only the outer walls standing. Lord Chester had saved a life that but for his bravery must have perished in the raging flames.
Earle Winans pressed forward to his friend's assistance with a pang of keen remorse as he remembered how he had tried to restrain his friend from that perilous undertaking.
"How little I dreamed that a human being was in deadly peril within the house," he thought as he gazed curiously at the girl his friend had rescued from such an awful fate.
His dark eyes noted the golden hair all tossed and tangled in a curly mass, the closed eyes, the waxen fair face in its pallid beauty. Then a loud cry burst from his lips:
"Oh, Heaven! it is my missing sister—little Precious!"
And he reeled and would have fallen but for the restraining arm of a stranger.
Water was poured on his face and he quickly revived from his momentary faintness.
He knelt by the silent form of the unconscious girl, crying in anguish:
"It is Precious! my little sister! Oh, do not tell me she is dead."
A physician pushed through the crowd and made a hasty examination. His face was very grave.
"She is not dead, but her unconsciousness is very deep," he said. "If it is a simple swoon she may revive, but if asphyxiated by the smoke and heat, as I greatly fear, she will very likely soon expire."
Lord Chester, recovering from his momentary exhaustion, heard their words and looked with a bitter heart-pang at the face of Precious. Never before had he gazed at that face, yet there came a swift despair at thought of her death—a swift despair that blotted out all memory of Ethel's sparkling beauty that such a little while ago had charmed him so.
"We must have a carriage and take her home," cried Earle huskily, then wrung his friend's hand and thanked him for the rescue of his sister.
"From this hour you are dear to me as a brother," he cried with deep emotion.
So it happened that while Ethel sat up in bed staring with wild eyes into a possible future that held no lovely sister for a rival, a carriage was pausing at the door thatheld Earle Winans, his unconscious sister, and a physician, and presently there came ringing to Ethel's ear the long cry of anguish wrung from a mother's heart while bending over her dead.
Ethel started and listened in terror. What did it mean, that long, low cry of grief in her mother's voice?
Then Hetty Wilkins rushed in, pale and tearful, crying out:
"Oh, Miss Ethel, such dreadful news! They have bought Miss Precious home dead."
But from behind her came Earle Winans, and he exclaimed angrily:
"Hetty, you are a cruel girl to frighten Ethel so. You had no business to come to her with such news. My mother sent me to break it to her gently. Ethel, dear, do not sob so bitterly. We have brought Precious home, but a little life lingers still and we hope she may not die."
Ethel had dropped her face in her hands. When her brother lifted it he was startled at its expression, the ghastly face, the eyes wide and dark with horror.
He scolded Hetty roundly for her rashness in blurting out the news to his sister, and the girl stood aside sulkily at his reproof.
"Never mind Hetty; she meant no harm, Earle; but tell me all about it. Where did you find Precious?" gasped Ethel, clinging to him in wild excitement.
And holding her head against his arm and smoothing the dark waves of her hair with a loving hand Earle told the story as far as he knew it—the story of his young sister's rescue by Arthur, Lord Chester.
Kay, the splendid mastiff, came in for a share of praise too, and Hetty, the maid, listened intently to it all and nodded excitedly when Earle said:
"The greatest wonder of all is how Kay came to be there; but of course if Precious revives she can explain all that."
He felt Ethel shuddering against his arm, and Hetty saw how she trembled, and said to herself:
"I think Miss Ethel could explain it too, if she would, and if she don't speak I shall begin to think she has some strange secret worth more than the gift of a bracelet."
"I must go back to my mother now, for our father is too wretched himself to comfort her. Ethel, try to come down if you can," he said, as he left the room.
Ethel dragged herself out of bed, moaning:
"You must dress me, Hetty, and let me go to my poor sister."
Hetty brought her slippers and a pretty wrapper, and while she was putting them on she exclaimed:
"What a brave young man Lord Chester must be!"
Ethel's heart gave a fierce throb of mingled pride and pain.
"And," pursued the loquacious maid, "he is the rich lord that they all say you are going to marry, isn't he, Miss Ethel?"
"Yes," answered Ethel carelessly, then added:
"But I don't think I shall accept him."
She turned away from the maid as she spoke and went from her own apartments toward those of Precious, nearer to her mother.
She opened the door very softly and glided in.
They were all there, her father, mother, brother, and the physician.
Precious lay on her bed, white as a lily, but breathing faintly. She had revived from her swoon, but she had not yet spoken. Her half-open blue eyes seemed to know that they were all there, but she was too exhausted to utter a word.
Ethel bent down and pressed her lips on the wasted little hand, and when she met the gaze of the half-conscious blue eyes she whispered, too low for any one to hear:
"Please don't tell any one I was there with you, Precious, until you get well enough for me to explain."
The little hand she was holding gave hers a weak pressure that showed her that Precious understood and would not speak.
The others, looking on at the little by-play, thoughtthat Ethel was only whispering to Precious of her joy at her return.
A week passed and the sick girl slowly gained strength enough to tell the story of her persecutions at the hands of Lindsey Warwick and his mother, but the pair of plotters had made good their escape and were now beyond the senator's vengeance.
There was one thing that always seemed strange to them, and that was how Kay had found the way to his mistress. The girl always explained it in an embarrassed, halting fashion.
"The old woman just unlocked the door, pushed Kay in, and went away again," she said. "And just a little later the flames burst through the side of the wall. I—I—looked out of the window and saw that I could not escape, then I fainted."
"Lindsey Warwick probably stole Kay and took him there, thinking to please you," said the senator, and his black eyes flashed as he thought of the vengeance he would take on the kidnaper if he ever found him.
They did not dream of the dark secret that lay behind the reluctance of Precious to talk of the mastiff's presence in her prison. They could not guess of the twilight hour when Ethel, sitting alone by her sister for a little while, had knelt down by Precious and begged her not to tell of her presence the day of the fire.
"When I saw you fall back in the smoke, Precious, I thought you were dead, and I ran away in a frenzy of despair and came home, afraid to tell mamma because I believed the awful news would kill her. I thought a merciful silence would be best, so I kept the awful secret. And if you told them now, dear, perhaps they would blame me. They would say I ought to have sent you down the rope first, but you know how that was, dear. I wanted to be at the bottom to catch you if you should fall."
"Yes, I know, dear sister, and I don't think they would blame you if we told them," sighed Precious; but because Ethel insisted on it she gave the promise of silence.
TO FORGET THE LURING BLUE EYES.
"Droop and darken, eyes of blue,Love hath only tears for you;Love, begone, and lightly flee,Since thy smiles are not for me!Lips of scarlet, quench your fire,Torches vain of love's desire;Love, begone, and lightly flee,Since thy sweets are not for me!"
"Droop and darken, eyes of blue,Love hath only tears for you;Love, begone, and lightly flee,Since thy smiles are not for me!Lips of scarlet, quench your fire,Torches vain of love's desire;Love, begone, and lightly flee,Since thy sweets are not for me!"
But Precious improved too slowly to please the careful doctor.
The long fast and the subsequent shock had told severely on her young frame, and it was almost the last of March when she was able to come out of her room. Then she looked too thin, too frail, too lily-like, to please those who loved her best.
"Mrs. Winans, you must take her away from Washington to the country; she needs mountain air," said Doctor Heron.
"Oh, doctor, what an idea! Leave Washington before the season is over! How can you tell mamma that?" pouted Ethel.
The selfish, dark-eyed beauty had resumed all the gayeties of the brilliant Washington season as soon as her sister was declared out of danger, and dragged her gentle, yielding mother day after day from receptions to balls, from dinners to operas. Ethel was a belle, and would not yield her scepter; so Norah nursed the sick girl; and the mother who, because she loved Precious best, indulgedEthel most, followed with a sad heart into scenes of revelry, leaving her tenderest thoughts at home.
So Ethel was almost indignant when the physician ordered Mrs. Winans to the mountains with her ailing daughter.
At the proud beauty's protest Doctor Heron smiled and answered carelessly:
"You can remain in Washington, Miss Winans."
"But mamma—my chaperon! Of course I couldn't go into society without her. Really, I think that Precious can get on here till May, when we will go away for the summer."
The physician looked disgusted at her selfishness, and turned again to her mother.
"I repeat that Miss Precious should be taken to the mountains before the first of April, or her recovery will be very tedious. It is a case of nervous prostration," he said.
"You can send Norah with her, mamma; that will do very well, don't you think so?" Ethel cried airily; but there was a look of pain on the gentle face of Mrs. Winans, and she did not reply.
Earle, who was present at the conclave, broke in:
"How fortunate that your distant relative in Virginia left you her lovely mountain estate when she died last fall, mother. It is the very place to take Precious, doctor, and not more than a hundred miles from here. The kind spinster who left it to us had it elegantly appointed, and nothing has been changed. I think even the old family servants are yet in charge."
"Yes," assented his mother. "You see, I intended going there for a part of this summer. It is a charming mountain country, doctor. The estate is called Rosemont, and there is a pretty country town of the same name near by. The air is fine and pure."
"The very place for your drooping daughter," cried Doctor Heron. "Send her as soon as you can, Mrs. Winans, and if you can't be spared from Washington justnow, let the good nurse Norah take your place. She will do excellently well."
"And I will go, too, to take care of the little one. I'm tired of the social whirl," cried Earle Winans, and was rewarded by a beaming smile of gratitude from his adoring mother. He did not care for Ethel's sullen brow, and inwardly characterized her as selfish and unloving.
"To keep mother dancing attendance on her here when she looks so pale and worn and needs a change almost as much as Precious does!" the noble young man thought indignantly.
So the plan was carried out. The delicate, drooping girl was sent to Rosemont with her brother and the good nurse Norah, and Ethel drew a long breath of relief when they were gone.
"Two months of relief from their silly worship at least, for I shall not go to Rosemont any sooner if I can possibly avoid it," she cried angrily.
One thing that pleased her well was that Lord Chester and Precious had not yet met, for the young lord had gone away from the city as soon as it was announced that Precious would recover. Washington had lionized him after his heroic act, and in sheer bashfulness he had run away to travel round a few weeks until his fame blew over, he laughingly explained to his friend Earle.
Perhaps there was more in it than he had confessed.
Lord Chester regretted with a bitter pain that he had given Ethel Winans cause to expect an offer of his hand and heart.
From the day that he had first seen the portrait of Precious his heart had turned away from proud, queenly Ethel to her gentle younger sister. The strange chance by which he had saved her sweet young life only drew her closer to his heart.
Yet in all honor his fealty belonged to dark-eyed Ethel.
In desperation he went away to try to forget the blue eyes that were luring him from his honor.
And he remained away until he received a letter fromEarle Winans, telling him of all that had happened since he left Washington.
"We are here at Rosemont—Precious and I; thematerand Ethel are still in the Capitol City. Precious is improving slowly but surely in the fine mountain air, and I—well, I fear I'm losing my heart to a village coquette, the daintiest fairy I ever saw. Rosemont is a very gay little town, with some nice people—old Virginia stock, you know."
"We are here at Rosemont—Precious and I; thematerand Ethel are still in the Capitol City. Precious is improving slowly but surely in the fine mountain air, and I—well, I fear I'm losing my heart to a village coquette, the daintiest fairy I ever saw. Rosemont is a very gay little town, with some nice people—old Virginia stock, you know."
Then Lord Chester resolved to go back to Washington and see Ethel again. Perhaps now that Precious was gone his heart might return to its first love.
"A VILLAGE COQUETTE."
"Laughing eyes, curly hair, dainty robes,They had crazed his hot, fiery brain, then.Ah, the silliest maiden can makeA fool of the wisest of men!"—May Agnes Fleming.
"Laughing eyes, curly hair, dainty robes,They had crazed his hot, fiery brain, then.Ah, the silliest maiden can makeA fool of the wisest of men!"
—May Agnes Fleming.
"I am seventeen to-day, and I have thirteen lovers!" cried pretty, saucy Ladybird, pirouetting on the velvet greensward in front of her father's house at Rosemont until her short golden-brown locks danced in fluffy rings all over her round, white, babyish forehead.
"Thirteen is always an unlucky number. Thee ought to jilt thy last lover," cried Auntie Prue from the porch.
"Ay, but I won't, for I like the thirteenth best of all," laughed the little beauty.
"You'll rue the day if you marry him," cried Aura Stanley sharply.
She leaned against a rose-wreathed pillar of the porch, a tall girl in pink, with hard black eyes and thick brown hair in a rich braid. She lived next door and was the village lawyer's only daughter.
Before the Conways came here to live, five weeks ago, Aura had been called the prettiest girl in the village, but now the town was divided into two factions over the rival beauties, and among those who had gone over to the enemy was one on whom Aura's passionate heart was set.
"You'll rue the day, Ladybird, if you marry him," repeated Aura angrily, and held up her shapely white hand, on which glittered a splendid diamond ring; but, to hersurprise and horror, the little dancing madcap laughed and answered teasingly:
"Nonsense! I'll be wearing that ring in a week, Aura."
"Never! I'll throw it in the river first," flashed Aura, and Aunt Prue caught the glance of jealous hate in the girl's black eyes.
She exclaimed soothingly:
"Aura, the child is only teasing thee. She does not want thy lover, dear."
Ladybird Conway turned her laughing hazel eyes on the old lady and protested gayly:
"But, Auntie Prue, he's my lover now. Doesn't he call on me three times a week, and send me flowers and books and candy? And hasn't he promised to escort me to the picnic to-morrow?"
"He asked me first, but I refused," cried Aura triumphantly, and added spitefully: "I wouldn't take what another girl refused."
"Neither would I!" flashed Ladybird, with such sarcastic emphasis that Aura flushed burning red at the intimation that she had told a falsehood.
"Girls, girls, don't thee quarrel over nothing!" cried the old Quakeress anxiously, but Aura was furious.
"Ladybird Conway, I'll never speak to you again," she cried, and flew down the graveled path, shutting the front gate with a vicious slam.
Aunt Prue cried out reprovingly:
"Thee has lost thy young friend forever, Ladybird, and thee ought to be ashamed of thyself, taking another girl's lover so audaciously."
"But he isn't hers—so there! I know, because I asked him. I said she claimed him, and if that was so not to come to see me any more. But he denied it. He said he had only known her two weeks when we moved here, and had no idea of being engaged to her. He lent her the ring because she asked him to, and she's only trying to claim him to vex me," and the lovely face, with its dancinghazel eyes and lilies and roses, looked quite earnest for a moment.
"But, child, thee ain't in love with this Earle Winans? Thee ain't thinking of marrying him, dear?"
Willful Ladybird smiled and blushed, and answered roguishly:
"Why, Auntie Prue, of course I intend to get married some time; I don't want to be an old maid like you; but I mean to marry the man that loves me best."
"The one that loves thee best? But, child, how can thee guess that out of thirteen lovers?"
"Oh, I have a grand plan to test all my lovers—at the picnic to-morrow!" and the fair face dimpled all over with mischievous laughter.
"Are they all going—the thirteen? Thee will not have any peace, child, and the other girls will be jealous."
"I don't care. It's such fun to have so many admirers showing me attention at the same time," laughed the little incarnation of sunny beauty and unconscious cruelty.
"But it's cruel to make the young men suffer so!" hazarded the kind-hearted old lady, and again the girl laughed archly:
"Suffer? Oh, pshaw! they need to have the conceit taken out of them," and Ladybird began to run over the category of the faults and foibles of her admirers, making such sarcastic hits that the old Quakeress shook with silent laughter and gave up her futile lecture on coquetry.
But when the girl paused for breath, all rosy and laughing, Aunt Prue exclaimed:
"Thee hasn't said a word about thy last lover—about Earle Winans."
"My thirteenth lover. Oh, no, I have no fault to find with him. He is simply perfect," cried Ladybird, as innocently as if she had not guessed that Aura Stanley was listening behind her parlor blinds to every word.
Aura was listening, her eyes wrathful, her cheeks burning.
But she heard no more just then.
After that saucy parting shot Ladybird sat down on the porch steps like a little child, with her round, dimpled chin in the hollow of her soft little hand, and fell to watching the rosy sunset as the god of day sank to rest behind the purple western hills. Her face wore a pensive cast that made her look positively angelic. And yet she was actually meditating a deed of girlishdiablerieon the morrow, the naughty little coquette!
The next day was perfect—a May day, clear and golden, and when the fervid sunbeams began to dry the dew-tears from the eyes of the blue violets in the grass, the gay picnic party assembled in the Rosemont orchard by the river, the scene of the day's festivities.
All the prettiest girls of the village were there, and not one of Ladybird's lovers had stayed away. And how they envied handsome Earle Winans, who was her special companion for the day, while they had to be content with other girls—pretty enough, to be sure—but—"not the rose."
Aura Stanley had come with Clarence Grey, but she knew she was second choice, that he had asked Ladybird first, and she could hardly control her bitter resentment.
Ladybird gave her a saucy nod and smile when they met, but Aura averted her head in jealous anger when she saw how lovely her rival looked in her white flannel suit with the blue silk blouse showing under the open white jacket, and the white sailor hat crowning the little head, with its fluffy rings of golden brown.
"Miss Stanley would not speak to you—why?" Earle Winans asked in surprise.
"Because I teased her yesterday. I—I—told her I'd be wearing that ring of yours within a week," and Ladybird gave him a coquettish side glance from her dazzling eyes that made his heart leap and his cheek burn.
She was playing with fire, this thoughtless girl, for Earle Winans' heart knew how to love with burning passion.
His voice trembled with emotion as he said eagerly:
"Would you like to have the ring, Miss Conway?"
"I, Mr. Winans? Why, certainly not. I was only teasing Aura; she seemed to prize it so highly and declared she would throw it in the river before I should have it," asserted Ladybird, gayly.
"I will get the ring for you any minute you say you'll wear it, Ladybird. You know what I mean—as my betrothed," murmured her handsome young lover eagerly.
Ladybird blushed rosy red, then smiled brightly and whispered back:
"I'll give you my answer to-morrow."
And all his pleading would not induce her to shorten his probation.
"To-morrow—you must wait till to-morrow," she repeated, but her drooping eyes and rosy blushes made him almost certain what her answer would be.
Aura Stanley watched the lovers with a jealous pang, for it was a cruel blow to lose Earle, whom she had hoped to captivate, not only because she loved him, but because he was the son of a great man and had a fortune in his own right. She was ambitious and longed to reign a social queen.
By some clever maneuvering she managed to get atête-à-têteby the river bank with Earle that day, and then she said coldly:
"Ah, really, I must return your ring, Mr. Winans."
She held the glittering circlet toward him on the end of her taper finger, and somehow, just as he was about to accept the ring, it slipped off Aura's finger, flashed like an evil eye in the sunlight, then rolled into the river.
"Oh, I am so sorry—but it was an accident," cried Aura quickly.
The young man's eyes flashed with anger, and he cried with stinging contempt:
"Oh, no, you did it on purpose, because you thought I meant to give it to Miss Conway. But it does not matter; I will buy her a prettier one to-morrow."
Aura sprang to her feet, her eyes blazing, her cheeks crimson, and exclaimed in a loud, angry voice:
"You villain! How dare you insult me like that?"
LADYBIRD'S LOVE-TEST.
"Proud young head, so lightly lifted,Crowned with waves of gleaming hair;Eyes that flash with tell-tale mischief,Fearless eyes to do and dare;Cheeks that start to sudden flame,Willful mouths that none can tame."—Elaine Goodale.
"Proud young head, so lightly lifted,Crowned with waves of gleaming hair;Eyes that flash with tell-tale mischief,Fearless eyes to do and dare;Cheeks that start to sudden flame,Willful mouths that none can tame."
—Elaine Goodale.
Those angry words to Aura Stanley had barely passed Earle Winans' lips ere he regretted them, although he knew quite well that she had deserved them, and had dropped the ring purposely, as she had told Ladybird she would do.
But he regretted his exhibition of temper, and was about to apologize, when her angry words arrested the speech on his lips.
"You villain! How dare you insult me like that!"
Although they seemed to be alone on the river-bank, there were several young men near by under a tree, and, catching Aura's angry denunciation, they hurried to the spot.
Aura turned quickly toward them, exclaiming maliciously:
"Gentlemen, Earle Winans has insulted me, and if I had a brother to take my part he should knock the coward down!"
All of these young gentlemen admired Ladybird Conway, and envied Earle Winans because she had shown a preference for him. Accordingly they were eager to take Aura's part, just to humiliate their dangerous rival. Theforemost one therefore sprang with fierce agility at Earle just as he was rising from his seat on the grassy bank, and with a stinging blow knocked him backward to the ground.
There was laughter—spiteful from Aura, appreciative from the men—but it did not last long.
Earle Winans scarcely touched the earth ere he rebounded like a ball, and flew directly at Jack Tennant, his adversary, a big, burly fellow, with fists like iron.
Earle was slender, but he was an athlete too, and with a rush he caught his assailant around the waist with both arms, lifted him almost above his head, and hurled him with superb strength far out into the river, firing after him this parting shot:
"There, my lad! a cold bath will cool your temper!" Then he turned a scornful smile on the others. "Are there any more who wish to play the rôle of Miss Stanley's brothers?" he sneered.
"Oh, no; the quarrel is between you and Jack Tennant," they hastily replied, having no desire to be made ridiculous like their hasty friend, who was now swimming ashore, his picnic toggery, sash and flannels, dripping and ruined, but with his rage not yet cooled, for as he clambered up the bank he exclaimed:
"Mr. Earle Winans, I will fight this quarrel out with you now."
Earle's handsome face flushed with anger, but, holding in his temper, he answered with cool scorn:
"Your pardon, but it would not be quite proper to settle it in a lady's presence. I will send a friend to you to-morrow."
"A duel! Oh, Heaven!" cried Aura, in a panic of fear, but no one seemed to notice her as she sank trembling on the grassy bank. Mark Gwinn exclaimed kindly:
"I'll drive you home for your dry clothes, Jack, and we can be back in a jiffy."
They were all turning away, but Earle Winans arrested them with one stern word:
"Wait!"
They all turned back to him in impatient surprise.
Pale with anger, he pointed to Aura, crouching on the green, flowery bank.
"Miss Stanley, you must now repeat to these gentlemen who defended you the words of my insult."
Flashing on Earle a glance of sullen resentment, she obeyed.
"I dropped his diamond ring into the water—and he said I did it on purpose."
"Was that all?" exclaimed a wondering voice.
"That was all," Aura answered indignantly, and every one turned away and left Aura alone with the bitter consciousness that they despised her, while as for Jack Tennant, he felt decidedly blue at the prospect of a duel with the fiery Earle Winans for the sake of a girl he didn't care two straws for, as he, like all the others, adored the bewitching Miss Conway.
But Aura had carried out her threat to Ladybird. The beautiful ring was in the river, and would never shine on the little white hand of her lovely rival. Her jealous malice was gratified, at least, and she cared very little if Earle fought a duel and lost his life. She would rather see him dead than married to that little coquette Ladybird.
Meanwhile Miss Conway, all unconscious of what had happened at the lower end of the orchard, was sitting on a mossy throne under a wide-spreading apple tree, holding mimic court. Her adoring subjects had woven a wreath of apple blossoms, and crowned her Queen of May.
"Somebody give us a song, please. It's a day for love, and poetry, and song!" she cried gayly.
"Don't you think the birds sing sweetest, dear?" asked a fair girl by her side, one that she called her maid of honor.
But the girl under the next nearest tree—the girl with the guitar—thought differently. She touched her instrument with soft, loving fingers, and her tender voice was solow and sweet that it seemed to blend with the bird songs, the soft rustle of the leaves, and the ripple of the river.
"Oh, darling, when you love me,The sky is soft and bright;Life asks no troubled questions,The world is safe and right.I whisper happy secretsWith every flower and tree,And lark and thrush and linnetSing all their songs for me!"Oh, darling, when you chide me,The world is dumb and cold;The mists creep up the valley,And all the year is old;The fields are black and sodden,The shivering woods are sere!I see no face in heaven,And death is very near!"Oh, darling, always love me,The song-birds look to you;The skies await your bidding,To dome the world with blue.Then keep the rose in glory,And make the swallow stay,And hold the year foreverAt summer's crowning day!"
"Oh, darling, when you love me,The sky is soft and bright;Life asks no troubled questions,The world is safe and right.I whisper happy secretsWith every flower and tree,And lark and thrush and linnetSing all their songs for me!
"Oh, darling, when you chide me,The world is dumb and cold;The mists creep up the valley,And all the year is old;The fields are black and sodden,The shivering woods are sere!I see no face in heaven,And death is very near!
"Oh, darling, always love me,The song-birds look to you;The skies await your bidding,To dome the world with blue.Then keep the rose in glory,And make the swallow stay,And hold the year foreverAt summer's crowning day!"
While the pretty girl was singing, Earle Winans came up silently and stood by the tree, looking down at Ladybird with the apple-blossom wreath on her shining hair.
Ladybird's arch, pretty face had grown pensive while she listened to the song, and her tiny white hand, with its babyish dimples, played absently with a branch of pink crab-apple blooms that lay in her lap. She was more lovely than any picture ever painted, and Earle's heart swelled with a passionate longing to catch the exquisite young creature in his arms and press all that budding beauty against his ardent breast.
Ladybird knew that he was there, but she would notturn her head; and when the song came to an end she sighed and murmured softly:
"I wonder what this love is like of which poets sing, and lovers rave, and spring-birds warble. It must be very sweet."
"My darling, let me teach you all its sweetness," murmured Earle's voice in her ear, but though a swift blush burned her face, she shrugged her willful shoulders, and continued in a louder voice, that all around might hear:
"If I everdofall in love, it will be with ahero, with some man who has done something great, or perhaps risked his life to save mine. I don't believe I could ever love a common, everyday sort of man, like the ones I know, unless he turned out to be ahero. Then I could worship him!"
And just a few hours later those words, spoken in such artless innocence, came back to the heart of every man there—came back with a thrill of love and hope.
She had stolen away from them all a short time before, and just as they were wondering what had become of the little sprite, they heard some one singing blithely on the river.
It was Ladybird in a little blue boat, rowing herself with consummate skill, the water falling in silvery sparkles from the light oars. Her pretty face glowed rosily, and her eyes danced with fun as she trilled a gay little boating song. It was the bonniest sight ever seen on the broad, beautiful river flowing between its banks of spring-time green.
Every one ran down to the bank—every one but Aura Stanley, who sulked beneath a tree.
"Take me in, Ladybird—take me!" called one after another eagerly; but she cried out saucily:
"I will take one of the gentlemen to row me, because my arms are getting tired."
All in a minute followed the terrible accident.
In the middle of the river where she was rowing it wasdeep and dangerous, but she seemed to forget that in her joyous excitement; and, turning the boat too quickly toward the shore, it careened over, and Ladybird fell into the water. One long shriek of fear and terror, and the rippling waves of the beautiful river closed sullenly over the little head!
A cry of grief arose from fifty throats, but it was speedily turned to a cheer, for—Splash! splash! splash! came the sounds, too fast to count, and twelve out of Ladybird's thirteen lovers had leaped boldly into the river to save her precious life.
"LIKE DIAN'S KISS."