CHAPTER XXI.
DISCARDED!
"I give thee up—a better fate
My warm devotedness was due,
Yet as I strike thee from my heart
A 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 with that keen sense of noblesse oblige inherent 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!
CHAPTER XXII.
ROSY DREAMS
"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 hands
That poorly served her will,
The wave of life on golden sands
Stood for a moment still!"
Lord Chester had written impulsively:
"My darling little Precious, you remember that day, that night! 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 am free now—Ethel has jilted me—and my irrepressible love for you is no longer a wrong to your sister. Ah, Precious, will you let me love 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."
CHAPTER XXIII.
"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.
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 very sure that Precious returned his love; it had seemed to him that they were made for each other.
"God made two souls in Paradise
Of air and fire and dew,
Then oped the morning's crystal gates,
And let them wander through."
It seemed to the young lover that God had created himself and Precious twin souls. They belonged to each other, and neither could desire to escape so sweet a fate.
He had quite forgotten the beautiful belle for whom he had cherished a fleeting fancy. The passion of a lifetime had swept across his soul like a wave upon the shore, obliterating all other things, and as he clasped and kissed the girl beneath the watching stars it seemed to him that the whole universe contained only God, Precious, and himself.
It was a moment of the purest rapture, the most ecstatic bliss; it was so exquisite it touched the border line of pain.
That girlish, budding form in the circle of his tender arms, that golden head on his shoulder, that lovely face beneath his lips, her warm breath and the odor of the violets at her throat blending together, it was intoxicating, divine.
"My little bride that is to be," he whispered; but a frightened sob replied to him; she writhed herself out of his clasping arms.
"Have I startled you, my Precious? Ah, forgive me, little angel," he cried eagerly, and added: "You received my letter, Precious? You know how much I love you! Do you love me a little in return? May I speak to your father to-morrow, and tell him that it is Precious, not Ethel, who is to be my bonny bride?"
Ah, Heaven, the sweetness of that wooing voice, the glorious beauty of that face smiling down on her, the heaven of love in those eager, extended arms! Her tender heart went out to him with passionate yearning to grant his prayer:
"To grow, live, die, looking on his face,
Die, dying, clasped in his embrace!"
For a moment she could not speak. She leaned back dizzily against the tree with her half-shut eyes upon his face—leaned there silently, and heard the night breeze sighing over her head, the river lapsing at her feet, whispering over and over to her heart, "Regret! Regret! Regret!"
He would have taken her hand, but she waved him back.
"Precious, speak to me," he urged. "Why are you so strange? Has my impulsiveness offended you? I pray you forgive me."
She answered, in a low and hollow voice:
"Listen to the river. It is saying again and again those words you heard that day, 'Too late! Too late!'"
"Ah, no, my love, they are different now. Listen how clear and distinct the words, 'Love! Love! Love!'"
But she did not smile; he saw her shudder and draw back as he advanced to her side.
A sudden dreadful thought came over him like an icy chill. He faltered:
"Can it be I have been over-confident? Am I mistaken in believing–"
"Yes, oh, yes—a great mistake!" she breathed faintly, just loud enough for him to catch the words.
He stood like one stunned, the hope and joy fading from his eyes, his heart sinking with despair.
Then he found his voice, and cried hoarsely:
"I must be going mad. I was as sure of your love, as sure of my happiness, as I am that God reigns in heaven. Do you mean that you do not love me, that you cannot marry me?"
"Never! never!"
"Child, child, you cannot be so cruel! Ah, give me a little hope to live on! Say you will try to love me. Let me teach you love's sweet lesson. Let me plead to you!"
"Ah, no, no, no! Let me plead to you, Arthur—nay, Lord Chester!" and suddenly she was on her knees, at his feet, her white face uplifted in the moonlight, the burning tears upon her cheeks. Wild words came from the pale, writhing lips—startling words full of Ethel's repentance and Ethel's prayer for pardon.
"You are not free, you dare not love another lest Ethel's despair blight your happiness. Go back to her, forgive her, and the old love will return," she sobbed.
He had listened in terrified silence to every word. Now he took her hands and lifted her gently to her feet.
"Do not kneel to me, little saint," he said sadly, and looked into her eyes.
They could not meet his. The long lashes drooped and shadowed her cheek. Then he asked gently:
"Would you build Ethel's happiness on the wreck of yours and mine, my darling?"
"You must not call me your darling, you must not think of me. I am only a child, she says, too young to know what love is like. So," wearily, "you see there is no question of me. It is only you and Ethel—two lovers who have quarreled, and must make it up again."
"Never! never!" he cried angrily. "She released me of her own free will—flung me off in scorn."
"She repents! She prays you to return! Oh, Arthur, go!"
"You can send me back to her! Ah, then, indeed, I dreamed a vain dream. You never loved me, never!"
"Go then, for pity's sake, return to unhappy Ethel, and save her heart from breaking!" she sobbed miserably.
"And sacrifice my own!" he muttered, in the hoarse tones of despair.
She saw him stoop down a moment. A sob shook her frame as he gathered the violets that had fallen from her throat, and placed them in his breast. Then he looked at her, saying:
"You can do this horrible thing—send me from you with this tortured heart to another? Then, indeed, you must be a child as she says. You cannot know the strength and the madness of love!"
"Go back to Ethel! It is my one prayer to you, Lord Chester," she faltered imploringly.
"Then I will go. May God forgive you, Precious," and he hurried away.
CHAPTER XXIV.
A PROUD GIRL'S HUMILITY
"The roses that his hands have plucked
Are sweet to me, are death to me;
Between them, as through living flowers,
I pass, I clutch, I crush them, see!
The bloom for her, the thorn for me!"
—Crandall.
Ethel had seen them go. At last, unable to restrain her impatience, she followed them halfway to the river. She met Lord Chester returning alone.
Ethel stood still, looking at Arthur with her whole soul in her dark, passionate eyes.
He struggled with his feelings for a moment, then the pain and imploring in her face won his pity. He took her hand, whispering gently:
"Dear Ethel!"
"Oh, Arthur, you forgive me!" she panted, and leaned her regal head against his shoulder.
The humility of the proud girl won for her more than all her pride could have done—his pitying regard. He put his arm tenderly about her, and held her close for a moment, and he could never tell why she lifted her head so suddenly and drew back in silent pain.
As she leaned against him the odor of crushed violets came to her with sickening sweetness—violets, her sister's favorite flowers. She had seen Precious wearing them awhile ago, and she guessed that now they were hidden on Lord Chester's breast. She would hate them now all her life, those purple-blue globes of elusive sweetness.
But she dared not give voice to her jealous pain. She could only smile up in his face and murmur:
"You forgive me, dear? You will love me again?"
"Everything shall be as it was before," he answered, and kissed her lips—not such kisses as he had given Precious just now, but a light caress, one that she knew was a duty kiss.
A bitter sigh burst from her lips, and she felt for a moment as if she would like to fall down dead at his feet in her shame and humiliation over the poor victory she had won.
But he was speaking again, gravely, quietly:
"Let me take you to the house, Ethel, for I must leave you very soon. I must go back to Washington to-night."
"But why so soon?" she pouted, and he answered:
"I had letters from England to-day, calling me home at once. There is something gravely wrong, but neither the lawyer nor my father, the earl, gave me any particulars, only they said I must come as soon as possible."
He paused, touched by the gasping sob on her lips.
"Do not take it so hard, Ethel, dear. I will write often, and return long before the date of our marriage this winter. Meanwhile I will be making soft my English nest for my beautiful bride. But I am very curious over the matter that has called me home, and I shall be in New York to-morrow, and sail on the first ship."