"They warned me that you were a terrible flirt,And bade me beware of your wiles,But rashly I thought to escape any hurt'Neath the charms of your treacherous smiles.No doubt it is sport honest love to betray—And I dare say it adds to your fame;Some day you'll repent and own that to playWith men's hearts is a dangerous game."—J. Ashby Sterry.
"They warned me that you were a terrible flirt,And bade me beware of your wiles,But rashly I thought to escape any hurt'Neath the charms of your treacherous smiles.No doubt it is sport honest love to betray—And I dare say it adds to your fame;Some day you'll repent and own that to playWith men's hearts is a dangerous game."
—J. Ashby Sterry.
While Lord Chester was fighting his hopeless passion alone out in the dusk and dew of the summer night, his friend Earle was undergoing in the village an experience not entirely dissimilar.
Aura Stanley was peeping through the parlor blinds, watching to see if her saucy rival next door had any callers. She murmured curiously:
"Ladybird must be having a party to-night, there are so many people going in—only they all seem to be men."
Curiosity overcame Aura's prudence, and stealing into the Conways' gate she hid herself in the screen of vines over the pretty bay window looking into the parlor.
She peered curiously through the lace curtains, and barely escaped betraying herself by a loud cry.
She beheld in the pretty little parlor thirteen young men—Ladybird's "baker's dozen" of lovers—some sitting, some standing, some conversing, but all with an uneasy air of expectancy.
"What can they want, all together?" she mused curiously.
At that moment Ladybird entered and stood smiling among her guests.
Never had the bewitching little fairy looked more charming.
She wore a soft white gown in the empire style, her exquisite neck and arms half-bared and gleaming through ruffles of fine white lace.
At her waist was a bunch of white and purple lilacs, breathing the sweetness and freshness of the spring. Her only ornament was a light gold chain with a small heart-shaped locket.
Aura's jealous gaze, devouring her lovely, piquant rival, saw in the dainty dimpled hand a bundle of letters, at which she glanced smilingly as she spoke:
"How good and sweet of you all to come as my messenger asked you. But I know you're all wondering why I asked you to come at the same time."
A husky murmur came from several throats, and Aura saw that they were all getting secretly uneasy.
Ladybird continued in a demure little voice that trembled with repressed laughter, like the music of an unseen brook in leafy June:
"I am the laziest girl in the world, gentlemen—that is part of the explanation. To-day I received thirteen letters—one from each of you—and each begging for the favor of an immediate reply. Only think of the labor of writing so many answers on a warm spring day! So I thought it would be easier to reply to them personally."
Oh, the tremor of the demure voice, with its ripple of hushed laughter, the childishdiablerieof the amber eyes beneath their long curling lashes of golden brown!
But there seemed to be a general uneasiness among her guests as they stood about, listening to the little siren.
She went on calmly, with lowered lids and a rising flush:
"I have here thirteen proposals of marriage—one from each of you. It is most flattering to me, for I esteem you all. You are all heroes except Mr. Winans," with a naughty bow in Earle's direction. "I like you all, butthere is only one Ladybird, so twelve of you must be disappointed."
Aura Stanley, from her ambush, heard twelve distinct sighs, and shook with envious rage.
"The simpletons!" she muttered. "Why don't they go home? Can't they see that she is just turning them into ridicule to please her wicked vanity?"
But surprise and curiosity combined kept Ladybird's lovers standing like statues awaiting the end.
"I wish now that only one of you had jumped in the river to save me yesterday!" cried Ladybird wistfully. "Then I would have accepted the hero's offer. Now there's only one way out of my dilemma."
At their surprised looks the willful girl smiled entrancingly and murmured:
"You shall all draw lots for me. Mr. Gray, your hat, please. See, here are thirteen slips of paper—one with my name, and twelve blank. You may each draw one slip. Marriage is a lottery, I've often heard, so this may turn out as well as any."
It was ridiculous, farcical, but the mischievous elf seemed in such positive earnest that twelve of her adorers entered smilingly into the spirit of the novel lottery.
Not so with Earle Winans. He stood aloof, amazed, insulted, his eyes flashing.
"There remains only one slip," Ladybird said in a tremulous voice, and she looked at him.
Earle had drawn near to the door. He turned his angry eyes on her fair wistful face, and his glance expressed cold contempt.
"I beg your pardon. I decline," he said haughtily.
"As you please," she answered coolly, and turned over the remaining strip.
It bore her own name!
When Earle saw that he started forward as though to retract his rash words and win her yet.
But Ladybird had already turned her back on him, and shrugging her willful shoulders she laughed:
"The prize is left in the bottom, like the evils in Pandora's box."
"Ah, but the lottery wasn't fair, since Mr. Winans refused to draw. Let us try it over again!" cried Mark Gwinn eagerly.
"Very well," she answered lightly, but the mirth had gone out of her voice. It was low and tremulous, for Ladybird knew now she was vanquished by those grim sisters, the Fates.
They tried again, and the slip with her name fell to Jack Tennant.
"I am the most fortunate man in the whole world!" cried the winner with beaming eyes.
Ladybird laughed merrily and cried out quickly:
"But there is a condition attached to the prize that I forgot to mention at first. It is that you will have to wait ten years for me!"
"Ten years is an eternity!" he exclaimed remonstratingly.
"You think so?" she cried saucily. "Then I will not hold you bound to marry me."
"But I shall hold your promise, Ladybird, for I would wait twenty years for such a prize!" protested the young man gallantly.
Every one laughed except Earle Winans. He bowed coldly to his hostess and withdrew from the room.
The others followed quickly, and the last sound they heard was Ladybird's gay laughter as she cried out mockingly:
"I invite you all to my wedding with Mr. Tennant ten years hence!"
They were gone, but Aura lingered, waiting to see what the whimsical little madcap would do next; no doubt, though, she would laugh at her victims.
But Ladybird staggered to a sofa and fell upon it with her face hidden on her arm. Then a low grieved sob broke the stillness of the room that had so lately echoed her mocking laughter.
She had humiliated Earle Winans, punished him as she had vowed to do in her childish resentment. But was the triumph sweet?
Aura thought not as she saw the white shoulders heaving with a storm of smothered sobs.
"She threw Earle's heart away, and now she is sorry," thought Aura, and fled back to her home somewhat comforted by the thought that all was over between Earle and Miss Conway. She would try to win him now herself while he was angry with the pretty coquette.
Earle was indeed very angry as he walked slowly toward his own home, leaving the twinkling village lights behind him in the distance.
He had received such a cruel shock that he could not tell whether he loved or hated Ladybird most.
With a heart full of love he had written to her that morning, asking leave to call that evening for the answer she had promised when he asked her to wear his ring.
She had answered with one simple little word: "Come."
"And I went for—what?" he growled furiously to himself; "to be made a fool of with a dozen other idiots—puppets that she pulled with a string!" and he gnashed his white teeth in rage.
But he knew that he had had his triumph, too. He had seen her quail momentarily at his proud refusal. He knew that she was wounded.
"She could not bend Earle Winans' proud spirit, and that will be a thorn in her pillow to-night," he laughed harshly.
He sat down inside the Rosemont grounds and bared his feverish brow to the cool, fragrant night. In the stillness a whip-poor-will called from a thicket in its eerie voice, and another replied so near at hand that he started with an uncanny thrill.
"I shall get the dismals if I stay here," rising impatiently. "Heigho! I wish I had never come to Rosemont, never met this romantic little maiden with her silly love-tests and her abominable coquetries! Well, I am donewith her forever. But what would my friends all say if they knew that Earle Winans had been vanquished by a little village beauty? And how am I to keep it from Lord Chester?"
He flushed hotly out there in the dark, for he detested ridicule.
"I must swear Chester to secrecy," he decided. "Ah, how I wish I had never come down to Virginia! I'll leave here to-morrow, and go abroad again in a week. That is," with a start, "if I am alive to-morrow."
For he had suddenly remembered that at sunrise to-morrow he was to fight a duel with pistols with Jack Tennant, who had declined to apologize for his hasty blow at the picnic.
"THE WOMAN I LOVED AND THE MAN THAT WAS ONCE MY MORTAL FOE!"
"What pulls at my heart so?What tells me to roam?What drags me and lures meFrom chamber and home?"—Goethe.
"What pulls at my heart so?What tells me to roam?What drags me and lures meFrom chamber and home?"—Goethe.
Ladybird Conway, our little "April's lady," wept disconsolately some time upon the sofa after Aura Stanley had glided away. Her willful prank had not succeeded as she expected, and her young heart was very heavy.
"Oh, how could Earle treat me so coldly?" she sobbed. "I hate all the others—silly things. And I wouldn't marry Jack Tennant to save his life."
She heard the gate-latch click, then a masculine step on the porch, and started up in a flurry, dashing away her tears.
"It is Earle coming back to beg me not to have anything to do with Jack Tennant. Oh, I thought he would repent! I'll forgive the darling, of course, but—I'll be a little haughty just at first!" she thought, her spirits rising to the point of coquetry.
She stood up expectantly, a pretty dimpling smile on her rosy lips.
In another moment a man stood at the threshold of the open door—a tall handsome man past middle age, with many gray threads in his dark hair.
Ladybird looked at the intruder, then flew to his arms with a cry of delight:
"Dear papa, you have come at last!"
"At last, my pet!" and Bruce Conway hugged her with fervor, then drew her to a seat by him on the sofa.
"You have been well, my Ladybird, I see—you are blooming as a rose. And where is good Aunt Prue?"
"Oh, nodding in the dining-room, I expect. She always nods after tea, you know. Well, you have been away almost six weeks, you naughty papa."
"You have not missed me, I'm sure, for I find you sitting alone in the parlor, and as fine as a peacock, like a young lady expecting her beau. Were you?"
He pinched the blushing cheek and laughed mischievously as she affirmed:
"No, indeed!"
"Glad to hear it. I don't want any young fellow to carry you off from me for ages yet."
Miss Prudence Primrose entered presently and Bruce Conway rose with unaffected pleasure to greet this distant relative, a kindly old Quakeress that he had induced to come and live with Ladybird after he brought her home from her Virginia boarding-school.
But the old lady did not quite approve of the wildness of the prankish girl, and when she was alone with Bruce that night she said:
"Ladybird is asleep by now, so I must tell thee that thee art spoiling thy daughter, Bruce. She is too pretty and willful for her own good."
Bruce Conway smiled in a graceful, indolent way he had.
"Oh, nonsense, Aunt Prue; there is no harm in being pretty, and she has always been an obedient child."
"But she is so young, Bruce, and she has lovers by the dozen. They call her the village belle. I don't like it."
"She's only amusing herself, the little wild bird. It's pleasant to be pretty and popular. I don't suppose she has an idea of marrying any of those dozen lovers," laughed Bruce carelessly.
"Yes, there's one—she says she likes him best of all; but I don't know if she means it, she is so teasing. His name is Earle Winans."
"Earle Winans!" and the languid, elegant gentleman started up, alert and eager. "Earle Winans!" he repeated.
"Yes, that is his name. His father is a great statesman, and his mother owns Rosemont. He is very rich, this young man, and very much in love with our Ladybird."
"Ah!" and he rose and crossed over to the window with his face averted. She thought him careless of the subject, but he was thinking excitedly:
"So our life-paths cross again after long years in this strange fashion! Her son in love with my daughter!"
He was stirred in a most subtle fashion.
Long years ago, when Mrs. Winans was a fair young girl, Bruce Conway had loved her with all the passion of his young manhood.
His young wife who had died had been Mrs. Winans' dearest friend.
How like a sequel of fate it seemed that their two children should love and wed!
The idea pleased Bruce Conway. It was a recompense for all the sufferings of the past; it was romantic to the last degree.
He did not rest well that night. The revival of the past made him restless and nervous. His sleep was haunted by restless dreams, and at daydawn he was awake after a most unrefreshing night.
Going out for a walk he soon stood by the side of the flowing river, his eyes fixed on the eastern sky now glowing with the rose and gold of dawn. Suddenly a shaft of fiery light pierced the horizon and the glorious orb of day appeared.
At that moment two pistol shots, fired simultaneously at some distance away, rang in his ears. He turned about quickly. At a little distance there was a thick grove of pines. He ran forebodingly to the spot.
Voices came to his ears. One said pityingly: "It is a fatal wound. Tennant, you had better fly."
Then the scene of a duel burst on Conway's sight.
Surgeons and seconds were grouped about in a greenleafy glade. Upon the grass lay Earle Winans, his eyes closed, his face pale, blood spurting from his breast. He had fired into the air, but his adversary had not been so generous.
Within fifteen minutes a telegram went to Washington saying that Earle was very ill and wanted his father.
IN ANGER.
"No, let me alone—'tis better so;My way and yours are widely far apart.Why should you stop to grieve about my woe,And why should I not step across your heart?A man's heart is a poor thing at the best,And yours is no whit better than the rest.Good-by, I say! This is the day's dim close;Our love is no more worth than last year's rose."
"No, let me alone—'tis better so;My way and yours are widely far apart.Why should you stop to grieve about my woe,And why should I not step across your heart?A man's heart is a poor thing at the best,And yours is no whit better than the rest.Good-by, I say! This is the day's dim close;Our love is no more worth than last year's rose."
The surgeon had pronounced that life still lingered, although he believed the wound to be a fatal one. But he added that to remove the young man to Rosemont, two miles away, would destroy the last lingering spark of life. He must be carried on a stretcher to the nearest house, then medical skill would do all that was possible.
While he talked he had extracted the bullet from Earle's breast and stanched the flow of blood. He looked up and saw a stranger by his side, a dark, elegant-looking man past middle age.
"Doctor Holdsworth, I am Bruce Conway, an old friend of the Winans family. My home is less than half a mile away, and almost the nearest to this spot. He can be taken there if you please," he said.
"Very well," the surgeon answered briefly, and accordingly Earle was carried gently to the cottage and installed in Bruce Conway's own room. Ladybird was still asleep, or she would have gone wild with the horror of seeing Earle carried into the house on a stretcher, and apparently dead.
She slept on through all the subdued noise and bustle,for she had been wakeful last night and sobbed herself to sleep at last, poor, willful child, so that when she awoke the sun rode high in the heavens, and Aunt Prue was tiptoeing about with a very important air.
She came to the bed, took Ladybird's little hands in hers and said, seriously and anxiously:
"Ladybird, I have bad news for thee, but thee must not scream out; thee must bear it very bravely and gently. A man lies wounded in thy father's chamber, and his life hangs on the slenderest thread. There was a duel at sunrise this morning between two of thy lovers, Jack Tennant and Earle Winans. One fired into the air, the other at his enemy's breast; one fled, the other your father brought here."
"Earle!" moaned the girl's white lips, and the brown eyes shut heavily, while the rose-tint fled the dimpled cheek. Aunt Prue thought she had fainted, but presently the girlish bosom began to heave beneath its soft white robe, and Ladybird sobbed:
"My heart is broken!"
"Dear, tell me, did thee have aught to do with this sad affair? Was it thy fault?"
"Oh, I don't know. I can't tell. Don't ask me anything, Auntie Prue. Let me lie here and die of remorse as I deserve!" sobbed Ladybird hysterically, for she knew nothing of the cause of the duel and feared that her own coquetry was at the bottom of it all.
No coaxing could prevail on her to rise, so presently Aunt Prue had to leave her there sobbing forlornly on her pillow.
"Perhaps her father can comfort her," thought the distressed old lady, and went in search of him.
But Bruce Conway had already gone on a mission of comfort.
Lord Chester asked him to carry the sad news up to Rosemont.
Conway performed his task as gently as he could, but Precious of course was greatly shocked.
When Conway saw her growing a little calmed under his entreaties he took leave and returned to the cottage, praying silently as he went that he might not find Earle dead as the physician foreboded.
He wished, too, to meet the Winans party when they arrived. A delicate plan had been maturing in his mind.
Earle was too low to be removed to Rosemont, and of course his relatives would be anxious to remain with him. Bruce Conway decided to give up the cottage to them and remove his own small family to a hotel.
But Senator Winans quickly vetoed the latter plan.
"We are grateful for your kind thoughtfulness, and will gladly accept your offer, but in return you must accept the hospitality of Rosemont for yourself and family," he said, and Conway knew that he was in grave earnest.
He did not refuse, for he saw that acceptance would be most proper and grateful.
Aunt Prue said that she would remain and help to nurse the invalid. There was plenty of room for Senator Winans, his wife and herself, with their servants. Miss Winans and Lord Chester could go with Bruce and Ladybird up to the great house.
Ethel was given only one glance at Earle's pallid, sleeping face, then they hurried her away with Lord Chester to Rosemont, Mr. Conway to follow later with his daughter. Mrs. Winans sent by Ethel a message for Norah to bring Precious to the cottage, then she turned her pale, grave face on her old friend.
"Lulu left a daughter, and you did not let me know. Was that kind?" she asked, gently reproachful.
He flushed and stammered:
"Mrs. Winans, forgive me. You were abroad when Lulu died and I did not have your exact address. I was very unhappy over the loss of my wife and I neglected my duty. I took the child to my good relative, Aunt Prue, and since then my life has been a restless one. My daughter has spent almost her whole life at boarding-school until now, when we hope to settle quietly here. Ihope you will give Ladybird a little of the love you gave her gentle mother."
His voice trembled, and her tender eyes were dim with tears. She could not speak. But the surgeon had debarred her from Earle's side for awhile, and presently she went to seek Ladybird in her room.
Meanwhile Lord Chester and his betrothed, in the Rosemont carriage, followed by Hetty Wilkins in the wagon with the trunks, wereen routefor the great house.
Lord Chester had been amazed at the cold hauteur of Ethel when she met him at the station.
She had merely inclined her graceful dark head to him without a word, and kept her slender hand hanging down by her side.
In the carriage she preserved the same distant demeanor. Her pale face and proud eyes were turned away from him toward the window.
Lord Chester regarded her in surprise for several moments, then asked gently:
"Have I in any way offended you, dear Ethel?"
Then she turned her eyes on his face. They were angry and accusing, and her voice trembled with anger as she cried:
"Why did you leave Washington without informing me? Surely it was my right to know!"
"Surely, Ethel, but I hope that no blame can attach to me for not seeing you first, as a telegram summoned me in haste to your brother, and in order to catch the first train here I had to leave without sending you a line. But I wrote you yesterday, and had you not left Washington so soon this morning you would have received it ere this. I trust this explanation will acquit me in your eyes of all dereliction from duty."
His voice was cold, almost contemptuous, and his resentment of anger only stung the haughty beauty to further insolence.
"Your duty to me ranked before your courtesy to Earle," she replied perversely.
"When may I hope you will forgive me this time if I promise to wear my chains more slavishly in future?" he asked, with delicate sarcasm that stung deeply.
"You call your betrothal to me a chain! Perhaps you would like to be free of your fetters!" flashed the girl.
DISCARDED!
"I give thee up—a better fateMy warm devotedness was due,Yet as I strike thee from my heartA tear shall seal our last adieu....An idle word—a careless look,That love can yet too plainly see,Has quenched the lambent, holy flame,And all estranged my heart from thee!"
"I give thee up—a better fateMy warm devotedness was due,Yet as I strike thee from my heartA tear shall seal our last adieu....An idle word—a careless look,That love can yet too plainly see,Has quenched the lambent, holy flame,And all estranged my heart from thee!"
Lord Chester's pride could scarcely brook Ethel's insolent arraignment for what she chose to term his failure in duty. Impatience was one of his faults, and he could scarcely restrain his indignation. His dark gray eyes flashed with temper until they looked as black and brilliant as Ethel's own, and a deep red spot rose to his cheek.
His heart leaped with the impulse to take the haughty beauty at her word, to be free of the fetters he had forged for honor's sake.
"Free!" Oh, what a sweet sound the word had in his ears! Surely Ethel did not dream how sorely she was tempting him with her resentful sneers. Free! Why, then, he might woo dainty Precious with her sweet blue eyes and gentle heart. Oh, what a heaven of happiness opened before him at the thought!
But he bit his lips and held his peace.
His own inner anxiety to take Ethel at her word only made him feel more deeply his lack of love for his betrothed.
"And she loves me, despite her anger. It would not be honorable to take her at her rash offer," he decided withthat keen sense ofnoblesse obligeinherent in noble natures. Ethel regarded his silence in angry wonder. She chose to consider it an affront, and said coldly:
"I offered you your freedom. Am I not worthy an answer?"
Holding his temper sternly in check Lord Chester answered gravely:
"Ethel, do you understand what you are saying? You are dismissing me on such slight cause that when your anger cools you will be surprised at yourself—surprised, and—perhaps a little sorry," and he looked full into her eyes.
"Sorry!" she cried scornfully, and tossed her head.
He answered quietly:
"Yes, sorry; for you love me a little, I think, do you not? Surely it was not all for gold and rank that you accepted me."
She knew that it was not, that she had given him all her fiery heart, but her pride was in arms. That tender appeal to her love sounded like a taunt.
The hot blood rushed to her cheeks, and her great eyes flashed with almost insane anger. She cried contemptuously:
"I fancied I loved you once, but a nature like mine cannot bear neglect and harshness. Your words to me just now were ill-chosen, and I cannot forgive them. From this moment I hate you. Take back your freedom and your ring," and she pressed the costly jewel into his reluctant hand.
"So I am jilted," laughed the young man harshly.
Not another word was spoken, for the carriage was rolling up the driveway, to the house. They saw Precious on the long piazza waiting.
At sight of that beautiful young figure Ethel frowned heavily, and a qualm of pain shook her proud heart.
"What if he turns to her? But he shall not!" she thought bitterly.
She just touched his hand in springing from the carriage, then found Precious clinging about her neck.
"Oh, I'm so glad to see you, darling!" she cooed, but Ethel soon shook her off.
"Don't you see I'm tired to death? Let me go in and rest. Norah, how are you? By the way, send the housekeeper to me. We are to have guests—Lord Chester, Mr. Conway, and his daughter. Are the guest rooms ready?"
Lord Chester stepped forward, and said in a low voice:
"It will not be convenient for me to remain at Rosemont, Miss Winans. I shall go to the village hotel until my friend Earle is better, then I am going away."
He saw the beautiful dark face turn ashy pale at his words, but she did not answer, and with a low bow that included all he walked away.
Ethel's lips half opened as if to call him back, then they closed again, and Precious cried in dismay:
"Oh, what have you done to Lord Chester? He is offended."
"I have broken my engagement," answered her proud sister coldly.
"Oh, you cruel girl!" cried Precious indignantly, but Ethel gave her a scathing glance.
"It is no quarrel of yours," she said icily, then to Norah: "My mother wishes you and Precious to come to her in the carriage for a short time at Mr. Conway's. Come, Hetty, I will go to my room," and she swept away like a queen.
Hetty lingered just long enough to whisper to Norah, "She's been in a tantrum all day," and followed her mistress.
"Come, Norah, let us get in the carriage and go at once to mamma," cried Precious eagerly, and as the carriage rolled along the village street they passed Lord Chester striding along very fast toward the hotel. He lifted his hat to Precious with a glance that made her pulses beat faster, remembering yesterday and last night.
A quick thought pulsed through her throbbing heart:
"Ethel has broken her engagement. She no longer loves him. He is free—free—to—love—me."
She did not say to herself that it was not wrong now for her to think of him. Love was a shy newcomer in her heart, too timid yet to own his presence there.
The carriage rolled past and left him, then the young girl's thoughts turned back to Earle, and the quick tears sprang to her eyes. When they stopped at the cottage gate she was sobbing convulsively, against Norah's shoulder.
Aunt Prue came out to meet them with a very sober face, and led them upstairs to Ladybird's room. Mrs. Winans rose with a cry of joy, and clasped her darling in her arms.
Ladybird, who sat at the window looking very pale and pretty in a blue morning gown, turned aside with a repressed sob. Oh, how she envied Precious her sweet and loving mother, for her own young mother had died when her little one was born, and her child had never known the sweetness of maternal love.
Perhaps Mrs. Winans thought of this, too, for when she had kissed and cried over Precious a little she led her forward to the window, saying tenderly:
"I have found in Ladybird the daughter of the dearest girl friend I ever had, and we must both love her, Precious, for her mother's sake."
"I love her already for her own," cried Precious, kissing Ladybird's white cheek fondly, and a sob rose in the little coquette's throat as she wondered if they would love her still if they ever found out how she had treated Earle, whom they loved so dearly. Alas, she loved him too—she realized it more fully now that he lay wounded, perhaps dying—and how she hated Jack Tennant, the man who held the promise of her hand. Why, she would die before she would marry such a wretch!
ROSY DREAMS.
"The child is a woman, the books may close over,For all the lessons are said."—Jean Ingelow.
"The child is a woman, the books may close over,For all the lessons are said."—Jean Ingelow.
The summer night had fallen softly at Rosemont, and all were asleep save the beautiful sisters in whose hearts burned the restless fire of love.
Precious was alone in her airy white room, with the fragrant breeze straying into her windows with the moonlight—the moonlight so clear and white that Precious could read by its silvery rays the letter Bruce Conway had given her clandestinely to-day.
It was from Lord Chester, and Precious had read it a dozen times before she retired and placed it beneath her pillow.
She lay there all lovely and restless in the moonlight, her whole being flooded with a shy, ecstatic rapture over her first love-letter. At last she lifted the golden head and slipped the little white hand under the pillow, and drew it out to read again.
"She took it in her trembling handsThat poorly served her will,The wave of life on golden sandsStood for a moment still!"
"She took it in her trembling handsThat poorly served her will,The wave of life on golden sandsStood for a moment still!"
Lord Chester had written impulsively:
"My darling little Precious, you rememberthatday,thatnight! I feared you hated me for my boldness, and I have not dared to venture near you since! But my heart urges me to write, for I amfreenow—Ethel has jilted me—and my irrepressible love for you is no longer a wrong to your sister. Ah, Precious, will you let melove you—will you love me in return? My heart is thrilling with a mad hope of success, for something tells me you will be mine! To-morrow evening I shall call on you to know my fate. Ah, love; love, love, be kind to me, for unless I win you for my worshiped bride the world will be a great dreary blank to me, and life not worth the living. Ah, Precious, the kiss I took that day when you lay senseless in my arms burns on my lips still. You were angry, and I could not blame you. Perhaps it only made it worse when I confessed that evening all my hopeless love for you. But I meant no wrong; I was leaving you forever! Ah, how changed is everything! I am glad Ethel found out she did not love me and broke our bonds of her own free will. Now she will not care for our love, now you will forgive me, now you will promise to be mine, will you not, my little darling?Arthur."
"My darling little Precious, you rememberthatday,thatnight! I feared you hated me for my boldness, and I have not dared to venture near you since! But my heart urges me to write, for I amfreenow—Ethel has jilted me—and my irrepressible love for you is no longer a wrong to your sister. Ah, Precious, will you let melove you—will you love me in return? My heart is thrilling with a mad hope of success, for something tells me you will be mine! To-morrow evening I shall call on you to know my fate. Ah, love; love, love, be kind to me, for unless I win you for my worshiped bride the world will be a great dreary blank to me, and life not worth the living. Ah, Precious, the kiss I took that day when you lay senseless in my arms burns on my lips still. You were angry, and I could not blame you. Perhaps it only made it worse when I confessed that evening all my hopeless love for you. But I meant no wrong; I was leaving you forever! Ah, how changed is everything! I am glad Ethel found out she did not love me and broke our bonds of her own free will. Now she will not care for our love, now you will forgive me, now you will promise to be mine, will you not, my little darling?
Arthur."
The happy blue eyes wandered lovingly over the tender words, and then Precious kissed the letter and placed it again beneath the pillow. Then she started, as a shadow fell across the bed.
It was Ethel, tall and white and spirit-like, hovering over her in the flood of white moonlight.
"Sister!" cried Precious in surprise, then with a swift fear: "Oh, what has happened? Earle?"
"There is no bad news of Earle. Do not be frightened, dear," and Ethel knelt down by the white bed, crying shudderingly: "Oh, Precious, I am so unhappy I shall die unless I find some comfort!"
Her face was convulsed with pain. Some burning tears fell on the younger girl's cheek as Ethel leaned above her, sobbing wildly, her pallid face half-hidden by the long veil of dark, flowing tresses.
She felt white arms reach out and draw her close; warm lips kissed the burning tears from her cheeks.
"Ah, Ethel, I know, I understand, for I heard to-day," whispered Precious fondly. "You think he loves me best—papa, I mean. But, Ethel, no, it is not that. I will tell you how it is. He loves me because I have mamma's face—mamma whom he worships so tenderly. Ethel, do not let it grieve you. He loves you well, and I——"
"Hush, child, you madden me!" cried Ethel hoarsely. She was silent a moment, then resumed passionately:
"Precious, you pretend to love me, and now I will prove your love. All your life you have robbed me with those sunny blue eyes of the love that should have been mine. Do you wish to atone, to press all this jealous anger from my breast and make me happy again? Then I will tell you how. You know that I have lost my lover, that I discarded him rashly, unjustly, in pride and anger. He is too proud to sue for a reconciliation, yet I cannot live without him. It was jealous madness that made me throw him over, and now I repent my folly, I yearn to be reconciled to my darling."
Her burning hand clasped her sister's icy fingers.
"He loves me, I know he loves me, but he is too proud to come back to me unless I send for him. And I—oh, I am proud, too; I would fain be forgiven without the asking! Oh, what shall I do?"
There was no answer. Precious sat upright with her elbow on the pillow. It seemed to her that she could hear beneath it her lover's letter rustling like a live thing under her touch, like a human heart. Words failed her, she was speechless with a hovering despair.
Ethel flung back the heavy masses of her rich black hair from her pale, convulsed face, crying wildly:
"Don't let me frighten you, Precious, but I must confide in you or my heart will break. Oh, what a night of anguish I have spent! Not a moment have I slept, and all the while suffering anguish inconceivable in my bitter jealousy of another girl."
She saw the wild start that Precious gave, and continued:
"They tell me Arthur is calling on another girl—a dark-eyed beauty down in the village. It is only in pique, I know; but what if this Aura Stanley wins him from me? Hearts are often caught in the rebound, they say. Oh, Precious, how I should hate any girl that won Arthur's heart from me! I should hate her, and in my despair and jealousy I would be certain to commit suicide."
"Oh, sister, sister!" cried Precious, horrified; but Ethel persisted wildly:
"I should be sure to do it, for I could not lose my love and live. But I will not give him up. He is mine, mine, and he must forgive me and come back to me."
Precious saw the great dark eyes flash luridly, and shuddered with the consciousness of the love-letter under her pillow.
"You can help me, Precious," cried Ethel coaxingly. "You can send for Lord Chester to come to you. You are such a child still that it will not seem strange for you to plead your sister's cause with him. You can tell him all I have confessed to you—my love, my jealousy, my repentance. You can beg him to return to me and save my heart from breaking. Will you do this for me, my little sister? Then we shall be at peace with each other."
"SWEETHEART, GOOD-BY!"
"Your trembling tones were low and deep;We smiled, we laughed, lest we should weep;Then parted for dear Honor's sake,For Honor's sake—for Honor's sake—That spot is dear for Honor's sake,'Twas there our hearts began to break."—Carlotta Perry.
"Your trembling tones were low and deep;We smiled, we laughed, lest we should weep;Then parted for dear Honor's sake,For Honor's sake—for Honor's sake—That spot is dear for Honor's sake,'Twas there our hearts began to break."
—Carlotta Perry.
Lord Chester had come up to Rosemont with Bruce Conway, and finding Precious waiting for him, had asked her to walk with him by the river.
He had a romantic longing to plight his vows of love beneath the silent stars, beside the whispering waters, where he had first kissed Precious, his heart's darling.
He drew the trembling little hand fondly within his arm, and they walked along several minutes in that silence so dear to lovers, each heart thrilling with the nearness of the beloved one. The moon silvered the graveled path they were walking, and the soft breeze blew to his senses the fragrance of the knot of violets Precious wore at her white throat.
The walk to the river seemed very short and perilously sweet. They paused in the shadow of a tree and suddenly, ere Precious realized his intention, Lord Chester clasped her in his arms, and kissed her lips.
"My own Precious, my beautiful darling!" he murmured, holding her close, and kissing again and again the lovely face, not realizing at first that she was shrinking from him, trying to struggle out of his arms.
He was not a vain man, but somehow he had been verysure that Precious returned his love; it had seemed to him that they were made for each other.