CHAPTER XXXII.
THE NUN AT THE BAL MASQUE
"Is it true that many hands
Find that rosary a chain?
True that 'neath those snowy bands
Throbs full oft a restless brain?
True that simple robe of gray
Covers oft a troubled breast?
True that pain and passion's sway
Enters even in this rest?"
—Mary Lowe Dickinson.
Mrs. Winans hoped great things from her letter to Earle.
She believed that his love for Ladybird would solve the problem of all difficulties that hedged the young girl's future.
Lawyer Stanley had told Senator Winans that his authority over his ward would cease at her marriage, or on her attaining the age of twenty. In the former clause there appeared the one possibility of escape from the clutches of her unkind guardian.
"If she and Earle could only make up their quarrel all might end well," she thought, with all the complacency of a match-making mamma.
Three days after her call on the Stanleys the post brought her a letter from Ladybird that she welcomed with delight, because she foresaw that it would make her plans easier in every way.
Ladybird had written in a burst of tenderness and penitence:
"They will not let me come to you, nor write to you, my kind, kind friend; but I have bribed a servant to mail this letter to you.
"You are too good and kind to me, dear Mrs. Winans, for you surely cannot know how dreadfully I behaved to your son, or you would not wish me to live under the same roof with him. You would despise me as much as he does if you knew how silly I am, and that I threw his love away just to show my power over a dozen grinning idiots that I disliked in my heart. I was a wicked little flirt, so happy and careless that I did not know how badly I was behaving until Earle's scorn stung me into a realization of the truth. Now I repent, but it is too late. I know he can never forgive me, so how could I dare become an inmate of your home? I know that the sight of me would be hateful to him, perhaps drive him from his home.
"I have thought it all over and decided that it is best to stay where I am, although these people are harsh and unloving. But, after all the past, it would not be right for me to come to you. Though I adore you all, I am rightly punished for my faults by being forced to remain here. So leave me to my fate, and trouble yourself no more over the misfortunes of unhappy
Ladybird."
Perhaps it was treason to her impulsive young correspondent, but when Earle arrived the next day Mamma Winans lost no time in showing him the letter.
When she saw the glow of joy in his dark eyes she knew that her boy's love was still faithful to his willful little sweetheart, who had suffered so much for her girl's romance.
"You will forgive her, Earle?" she cried anxiously, and his smile answered her without word.
"Darling, I knew you would!" she cried joyously, running her slender fingers through his crown of dark curls and bending his head back against her arm to kiss the noble white brow. Then they talked together over the possibility of seeing Ladybird. They agreed that it must be done by strategy. There would be no use to write to her, for the jealous Aura would be sure to intercept the letter.
Earle was boyishly happy and hopeful.
"So you would advise me to marry Ladybird, as her only means of escape from her wicked guardian?" he laughed. "Very well, little mamma, we will see what we can do to deliver the princess from prison! Leave it all to me. I will take Lord Chester into my confidence, and between us we will try to outwit the Stanleys in their game of revenge!"
The week succeeding Lord Chester's return passed in a whirl of receptions, cotillions, and opera parties, and at each one he saw Precious the center of attraction, her smiles eagerly competed for, her words listened to as though each one was a jewel dropped from her lovely lips. He did not wonder that they almost fought for the prize of that fair little hand. It seemed to him, in the madness of his hopeless, silent love, that he would have been willing to lay down his life for the pleasure of calling her his own even one short hour. In his heart was all the passion of the poet's plaint:
"To know for an hour you were mine completely,
Mine in body and soul, my own—
I would bear unending tortures sweetly,
With not a murmur and not a moan!"
If he had seen that Precious had a favored lover it would have been the cruelest torture; but he was spared that agony. She was the same to all—bright, sweet, spirited, yet without a shadow of coquetry. To her father's old friends, the gray-haired statesmen and diplomats, she was as cordial and courteous as to the young butterflies of fashion and wealth that hovered around her; but in her sweet graciousness to all Lord Chester saw no sign of that preference for one at which Ethel had hinted in more than one letter. Bitterly, jealously, he watched for his happy rival, and at last he reminded Ethel of her letter, and asked the name of her sister's lover.
The warm color flamed into Ethel's olive cheeks, and she knit her dark, slender brows in momentary perplexity.
"Why, I have forgotten," she exclaimed, then added: "Oh, yes, it was at Narragansett Pier, was it not, Arthur? I remember it now, but I have forgotten the young man's name, it is so long ago, and one meets so many strangers in a summer! But the affair never came to anything after all. Precious loved him, I know, but he was a wretched flirt and went away without asking her to marry him. You notice how sad she looks at times. I think she still grieves in secret over her disappointment."
In his heart he doubted Ethel's story. There was no man on earth who would have flung away the jewel of Precious' love if he could have had it for his own. He believed that Ethel, in her jealousy of her sweet sister, had uttered an untruth.
And he quailed at the thought of spending all his life with one who could stoop to so cruel a falsehood.
He was the soul of white-handed honor, this handsome young scion of a noble house, and he held with the poet:
NOBLESSE OBLIGE
"I hold it the duty of one who is gifted,
And specially dowered in all men's sight,
To know no rest till his life is lifted
Fully up to his gift's great height.
"He must mold the man into rare completeness,
For gems are set only in gold refined;
He must fashion his thoughts into perfect sweetness
And cast out folly and pride from his mind."
It gave Ethel a cruel pleasure to wound Lord Chester by such stories of her sister. When she saw his handsome face blanch and his proud eyes darken with pain, she felt that she was taking a fair revenge for his heart's perfidy to her who should have reigned in it supreme.
And at times like this the old, jealous pain and envy of the innocent young sister who had come so fatally between her and happiness ached in her heart almost to frenzy, although she had learned cunning in its expression. Many a time she shut her crimson lips tight over the burning words of passion, but the close-kept fire only smoldered more hotly in her heart, waiting for the slightest breath to stir it into destructive flame.
And suddenly the day and the hour came when, maddened by jealous love, she was ready to palter with temptation as terrible as that which had once before breathed its poison breath upon her soul.
It was at a masquerade ball given by the wife of a cabinet official that Ethel's hovering fate found her out.
A strange freak of fancy had made the beautiful brunette choose the garb of a nun for the gay pageant of the night.
Precious had chosen quite a different costume, but she had concealed from all but her mother and Ethel the character she chose to personate. She had all the debutante's curiosity to find if any one would detect her identity behind her mask.
Within an hour after they reached the ball Ethel saw Lord Chester in his character of King Arthur of Ye Table Round in close converse with a masked princess whom she knew as Precious. The pair were sitting a little apart from the crowd in a secluded flowery alcove, and the thought instantly rushed over Ethel that her sister had played her false, and confided to her lover the secret of her mask. "It is a cunning trick to enjoy each other's society," she muttered angrily, and her heart leaped to suffocation under the plain gray serge gown with its long, straight folds, and the rosary hanging down by her side.
She was standing alone for a moment in the conservatory door, and the low, muttered words reached the ears of a knight just behind her who had hovered unobserved for some time in her vicinity. At her angry heart-cry and the heavy sigh that breathed over her lips, the knight's eyes flashed beneath his mask, while his lips curled in a diabolical smile. Moving close to her ear he whispered gallantly:
"Clouds often hide the stars, but the white cap of the nun cannot obscure the brilliancy of Miss Winans, the star of Lord Chester's heart."
Was there a sneer in the low voice? Ethel looked around with a start, and there was the knight at her elbow, with a form and voice that seemed entirely strange. Yet he had recognized her instantly, so he must be one of her friends.
But before she could speak he continued:
"Yet your choice of a costume surprises me. Miss Winans is not one to wear a penitential mood or garb. She is of the earth earthy, and must feel her heart thrill with jealous rage beneath even the sacred garb of the nun."
"Who are you that can know Miss Winans so well?" she asked, with blended anger and surprise, and his low-breathed answer was startling:
"I am one on whose fiat hangs the future of Miss Winans for good or ill!"
Ethel felt a strange thrill of repulsion run over her frame, and cresting her head with a haughty movement unbefitting her convent garb she exclaimed sternly:
"Your jest is ill-timed, sir!"
A low laugh answered her—low and menacing. Somehow the blood ran coldly through her veins at the sound. Shuddering, she was turning away when his hand fell lightly on her arm, staying her steps.
"Let me speak to you a moment in the conservatory, Miss Winans. I come to you from Hetty Wilkins," he said coolly.
She dared not hesitate. Trembling with fear she followed him to a quiet place, where there could not possibly be any listeners. They sat down side by side, and he whispered:
"When Hetty Wilkins came to you for a thousand dollars, I sent her. I hold the secret of your presence in the burning house, and the secret of your cruel abandonment of your sister to a terrible fate."
"It is not true. It was an accident," she muttered hoarsely; then with a searching glance: "Perhaps you are Lindsey Warwick."
"No matter what my name is, I am one who will betray your guilty secret unless you pay my price for keeping it. You have paid Hetty, now you must pay me. I do not believe you will shrink from the price of your safety, for it is only that you will betray into my hands to-morrow the beautiful sister that you hate!"
CHAPTER XXXIII.
"AH! YOUR BLUSH BETRAYS YOU!"
"All those who journey, soon or late,
Must pass within the garden's gate;
Must kneel alone in darkness there,
And battle with some fierce despair.
All paths that have been, or shall be,
Pass somewhere through Gethsemane."
—Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
Mrs. Winans went with her husband to the capitol next morning, leaving her two daughters preparing for a trip to the dressmaker.
But when the iron-gray horses were champing their bits impatiently in the street, and the coachman waiting on the box, Ethel sent her new maid Laura to ask Precious to come to her dressing-room.
She found her sister lying languidly on a silken divan, scarcely able to speak, and the maid explained:
"Miss Winans had a fainting spell when she was dressing."
"I shall be better after awhile. It is only the over-fatigue of last night. But I could not endure the ordeal of Madame La Mode this morning. You will have to go alone, Precious," murmured Ethel faintly, and she did indeed look ill and weak. Perhaps the treachery she was planning did not come easy.
"Perhaps we can postpone it till to-morrow," Precious answered.
"No, for madame is so very busy, and would be seriously put out if we do not go to her this morning. Besides, she can finish that waist of yours to-day. If you are afraid to go alone in the carriage, take Norah."
"Norah is quite sick this morning, Ethel, but I am not afraid of anything. I can go alone."
"That is right, for—oh, Precious, I want a little favor from you!"
The maid had retired and closed the door. Ethel beckoned her sister nearer.
"Have you any pin-money left?" she asked eagerly.
"Oh, yes; do you want some?" bringing out a little silk net purse with gold coins gleaming through its violet meshes.
"Not for myself, Precious, though I spent all mine the day after papa gave it to me. But it was for charity, and you know mamma likes us to be kind to the poor."
"I would like to help, too, Ethel. Tell me how to spend this."
"You remember my old maid, Hetty Wilkins, that mamma dismissed so suddenly at Rosemont? Well, her lover deserted her, and she sank into ill-health, and is dying of a broken heart. She is very poor, and lives with an old grandmother that keeps a tobacco shop. She came to see me once since we returned here, and I gave her some money. In fact, I have been to see her twice, and all my pin-money goes on poor Hetty, for I do not like to see her suffer for the necessaries of life after the way she was turned out of her place on an unjust suspicion," and Ethel sighed deeply over poor Hetty's fate.
"And you want me to give the poor girl some money? Oh, I will do it gladly. Tell me her address, and I will send it to her this morning," cried Precious, her sweet blue eyes glowing with sympathy.
"Would you mind taking it to her yourself, Precious? Yesterday she sent me a little note begging me to come to her this morning—that she was so ill she could not live much longer. I promised to go, and would have gone only for this strange fainting spell. But if you would take my place–"
"Oh, I will, I will! Poor, poor Hetty! I think mamma would be very sorry to know she had wronged her. Oh, Ethel, wouldn't it please Hetty for mamma to go with me?"
"Oh, no, no! not for the world! The poor girl would not like it at all. And mamma is peculiar about some things. She would be angry if she knew I had befriended my poor maid; so, if you do this favor for me, it must be in secret."
"But, Ethel, is it right to deceive our dear mamma?"
"Have you never kept any secret from mamma?" demanded Ethel, with her keen eyes searching the lovely young face.
Precious grew pale, then crimson, for though she had always made a confidante of her mother she knew that one page was folded down in her heart on which was written the story of a beautiful, hopeless love that no one must ever read.
"Ah, your blush betrays you!" cried Ethel exultantly, and after a moment Precious answered:
"There is one secret, Ethel, that you bade me keep, you know!"
"Hush!" cried Ethel fearfully, and grew pale as death.
"I did not mean to mention it, Ethel; but now tell me what you wish me to do. You are older than I, and you would not surely bid me do anything wrong!"
"No, dear, only a little deed of charity; only to slip out from madame's and go on foot to this address, see Hetty a few minutes, give her some money, and explain why I failed to come, then return on foot as you went, for it would not do to take the carriage into such a shabby place. The coachman would talk about it, then mamma would find out. After I'm married and gone you can confess it all to her if it lies uneasy on your conscience, little saint," added Ethel, pressing a little note from Hetty into her sister's tiny gloved hand.
"I'll manage it," Precious promised, and stooping, pressed a light and tender kiss on Ethel's Judas lips. "Poor dear, you do look very sick. I'll send Laura back to sit by you while I'm gone. By-by," and Precious glided out, the soft frou-frou of her silk carriage gown sounding in Ethel's ears like a thunder-peal of reproach.
She half-lifted herself on the divan, her face ghastly, her white jeweled hand pressed hard against her heart, that was beating to suffocation.
"Oh, Heaven, what have I done? But it was the price of my safety, the price of my happiness!" she moaned faintly, and when the maid came in presently she found Ethel weeping like one distraught.
"Oh, what is it, dear Miss Winans? Are you worse?" exclaimed the maid anxiously.
"N-n-no, but I'm so sorry I could not go with Precious this morning. Give me a sedative, Laura, for I'm so nervous I shall be in hysterics presently."
"Must I send for the doctor, miss?"
"Oh, no, no! I'll be better presently if I take that medicine. There, that will do. Leave me alone now, and I'll try to sleep."
She shut her eyes and tried to lie still, but now and then she brushed her hand across her pale lips.
"She kissed me good-by, and it burns my lips, it is like fire!" she muttered, almost deliriously. "Ah, Precious, Little Blue Eyes, will it always burn like this, or will Arthur's cold kiss cool the fire of remorse? Will I ever forget last night and to-day?"
She lay still as death a little while, her face death-white, her eyes closed, but all alive within with wild emotion. She felt like a murderess.
The sedative took no effect. She could not sleep. Time passed on and she lay with her brain on fire till the low chime of a French clock striking noon startled her like a clarion tone.
Ethel sprang wildly from the couch and sought her writing-desk. With a shaking hand she wrote a few lines, enveloped and sealed the note, then wrote on the back her sister's name.
Laura entered in answer to the tinkle of the little bell.
"You are better, Miss Winans?"
"Oh, yes, and I want the carriage to come back for me. Go, my good girl, as fast as you can to Madame La Mode's with this note for my sister. Give it into her own hands, and the faster you do my errand, Laura, the richer shall be your reward."
"I'll run every step of the way, miss," promised the girl, taking the letter, and darting out.
Ethel had written only this:
"Dear Precious:—Do not by any means go to Hetty. I have just received a message that she is dead. You can do her no good now. Come back immediately in carriage with Laura. I want you at once.
Ethel."
When the messenger had gone Ethel fell on her knees beside a chair sobbing wildly:
"Would my mother's God listen if I tried to pray? Dare one so wicked as I am pray that her own cruel plans may miscarry, and that not one hair of that little golden head be harmed by the fiend who tempted me to evil?"
Her bosom rose and fell with choking sobs, the tears poured down her white cheeks, her slender hands clasped each other in convulsive writhings.
"Dear God, have pity on me, a sinner!" she moaned. "Save Precious, save me, from the consequences of my guilty act! Oh! I repent, I repent! have mercy, Heaven!"
Her whole soul was shaken with remorse and grief at thought of the fate to which she had doomed her innocent, loving sister.
"Betrayed into the hands of a fiend who will murder her unless she becomes his unwilling bride! What a horrible fate for that gentle heart that sacrificed its dearest hopes for me!" she thought, and bowed her face on her shaking hands.
And ever on her lips burned like fire that parting kiss, and in her ears rang the loving farewell words. Their memory would not down.
"If she had not kissed me, if only she had not kissed me, I should not have repented; I would have saved myself at her expense; but now, now, let the blow fall on me, and I—and I can die, for there is nothing left in this world but misery and disgrace for poor Ethel!" was her bitter cry.
Suddenly the door opened and Laura flew in with the unopened letter.
"Miss Precious was not there!" she panted. "Madame said she had gone out to match some ribbons, but the carriage was there waiting, and I told John to watch for her and bring her back as soon as she returned. Oh, Miss Ethel, dear, you're ill again!" for with a shriek that rang to heaven Ethel flung out her arms and sank senseless on the floor.