CHAPTER XIII
He started. The words had almost the solemnity of a prophesy.
"Who will dare?" he said; then he laughed. "My little, fearsome, trembling darling!" he murmured, "fear nothing or rather, tell me what you fear, and whom."
She glanced toward the windows.
"I fear them all!" she said, quietly and simply.
"My father?"
She inclined her head and let her head fall upon his shoulder.
"The countess, all of them. Lord Leycester – "
He put his hand upon her lips softly.
"What was that I heard?" he said, with tender reproach.
She looked up.
"Leycester," she whispered.
He nodded.
"Would to Heaven the name stood alone," he said, almost bitterly. "The barrier you fancy stands between us would vanish and fade away then. Never, even in sport, call me by my title again, my darling, or I shall hate it!"
She smiled.
"I shall never forget it," she said. "They will not let me. I am not Lady Lenore."
He started slightly, then looked down at her.
"Thank Heaven, no!" he said, with a smile.
Stella smiled almost sadly.
"She might forget; she is noble too. How beautiful she is!"
"Is she?" he said, smiling down at her. "To me there is only one beautiful face in the world, and – it is here," and he touched it with his finger – "here – my very own. But what is Lenore to us to-night, my darling? Why do you speak of her?"
"Because – shall I tell you?"
He nodded, looking down at her.
"Because they said – Lady Lilian said, that – " she stopped.
"Well?"
"That they wished you to marry her," she whispered.
He laughed, his short laugh.
"She might say the same of several young ladies," he said. "My mother is very anxious on the point. Yes, but wishes are not horses, or one could probably be persuaded to mount and ride as their parents wish them – don't that sound wise and profound? I shall not ride to Lady Lenore; I have ridden to your feet, my darling!"
"And you will never ride away again," she murmured.
"Never," he said. "Here, by your side, I shall remain while life lasts!"
"While life lasts!" she repeated, as if the words were music. "I shall have you near me always. Ah, it sounds too beautiful! too beautiful!"
"But it will be true," he said.
The clock chimed the hour. Stella started.
"So late!" she said, with a little sigh. "I must go!" and she glanced at the windows with a little shudder. "If I could but steal away without seeing them – without being seen! I feel – " she paused, and the crimson covered her face and neck – "as if they had but to glance at me to know – to know what has happened," and she trembled.
"Are you so afraid?" he said. "Really so afraid? Well, why should they know?"
She looked up eagerly.
"Oh, no, do not let them know! Why should we tell them; it – it is like letting them share in our happiness; it is our secret, is it not?"
"Let us keep it," he said, quietly, musingly. "Why should they know, indeed! Let us keep the world outside, for a while at least. You and I alone in our love, my darling."
With his arm round her they went back to the fernery, and here she drew away from him, but not until he had taken another kiss.
"It is our real 'good night,' you know," he said; "the 'good-night' we shall say presently will mean nothing. This is our 'good-night.' Happy dreams, my angel, my star!"
Stella clung to him for a moment with a little reluctant sigh, then she looked up at him with a smile.
"I am afraid I am awfully tumbled and tangled," she said, putting her hand to her hair.
He smoothed the silken threads with his hand, and as he did so drew the rose from her hair.
"This is mine," he murmured, and he put it in his coat.
"Oh, no!" she exclaimed. "And this is how you keep our secret! Do you not think every eye would notice that great rose, and know whence it came?"
"Yes, yes, I see," he said. "After all, a woman is the one for a secret – the man is not in the field; but then it will be safe here," and he put the rose inside the breast of his coat.
Then trying to look as if nothing had happened, trying to look as if the whole world had not become changed for her, Stella sauntered into the drawing-room by his side.
And it really seemed as if no one had noticed their entrance. Stella felt inclined to congratulate herself, not taking into consideration the usages of high breeding, which enable so many people to look as if they were unaware of an entrance which they had been expecting for an hour since.
"No one seems to notice," she whispered behind her fan, but Lord Leycester smiled – he knew better.
She walked up the room, and Lord Leycester stopped before a picture and pointed to it; but he did not speak of the picture – instead, he murmured:
"Will you meet me by the stile by the river to-morrow evening, Stella?"
"Yes," she murmured.
"I will bring the boat, and we will row down the stream. Will you come at six o'clock?"
"Yes," she said again.
If he asked her to meet him on the banks of the Styx, she would have answered as obediently.
Then Mr. Etheridge approached with the countess, and before he could speak Lord Leycester took the bull by the horns, as it were.
"Lilian is delighted with the sketch," he said. "We left her filled with gratitude, did we not Miss Etheridge?"
Stella inclined her head. The large, serene eyes of the countess seemed to penetrate to the bottom of her heart and read her – their – secret already.
"I think we must be going, Stella; the fly has been waiting some time," said her uncle in his quiet fashion.
"So soon!" murmured the countess.
But Mr. Etheridge glanced at the clock with a smile, and Stella held out her hand.
As she did so, she felt rather than saw the graceful form of Lady Lenore coming toward them.
"Are you going, Miss Etheridge?" she said, her clear voice full of regret. "We have seen so little of you; and I meant to ask you so much about Italy. I am so sorry."
And as she spoke, she looked full into poor Stella's eyes.
For a moment Stella was silent and downcast, then she raised her eyes and held out her hand.
"It is late," she murmured. "Yes, we must go."
As she looked up, she met the gaze of the violet eyes, and almost started, for there seemed to be shining in them a significant smile of mocking scorn and contemptuous amusement; they seemed to say, quite plainly:
"You think that no one knows your secret. You think that you have triumphed, that you have won him. Poor simple child, poor fool. Wait and see!"
If ever eyes spoke, this is what Lady Lenore's seemed to say in that momentary glance, and as Stella turned aside, her face paled slightly.
"You must come and see us again, Miss Etheridge," said the countess, graciously.
"Lilian has extorted a solemn promise to that effect," said Leycester, as he shook hands with Mr. Etheridge.
Then he held out his hand to Stella, but in spite of prudence he could not part from her till the last moment.
"Let me take you to your carriage," he said, "and see that you are well wrapped up."
The countess's eyes grew cold, and she looked beyond them rather than at them, and Stella murmured something about trouble, but he laughed softly, and drawing her hand on his arm led her away.
All the room saw it, and a sort of thrill ran through them; it was an attention he paid only to such old and honored friends as the old countess and Lenore.
"Oh, why did you come?" whispered Stella, as they reached the hall. "The countess looked so angry."
He smiled.
"I could not help it. There, not a word more. Now let me wrap this round you;" and, of course, as he wrapped it round her, he managed to convey a caress in the touch of his hand.
"Remember, my darling," he murmured, almost dangerously loud, as he put her into the fly. "To-morrow at six."
Then he stood bareheaded, and the last Stella saw was the light of tender, passionate love burning in his dark eyes.
She sank back in the furthermost corner of the fly in silent, rapt reflection. Was it all a dream? Was it only a trick of fancy, or did she feel his passionate kisses on her lips and face entangled in her hair. Had she really heard Lord Leycester Wyndward declare that he loved her?
"Are you asleep, Stella?" said her uncle, and she started.
"No, not asleep, dear," she said. "But – but tired and so happy!" The word slipped out before she was aware of it.
But the unsuspecting recluse did not notice the thrill of joy in the tone of her reply.
"Ah, yes, just so, I daresay. It was something new and strange to you. It is a beautiful place. By the way, what do you think of Lady Lenore?"
Stella started.
"Oh, she is very beautiful, and as wonderful as you said, dear," she murmured.
"Yes, isn't she. She will make a grand countess, will she not?"
"What!" said Stella.
He smiled.
"Wonderful creatures women are, to be sure. For the life of me I could not tell in exact words how the countess managed to give me the impression, but she did give it me, and unmistakably."
"What impression!" said Stella.
He laughed.
"That matters were settled between Lord Leycester and Lady Lenore, and that they were to be married. They will make a fine match, will they not?"
"Yes – no – I mean yes," said Stella, and a happy smile came into her eyes as she leant back.
No, it was not Lady Lenore he was going to marry – not the great beauty with the golden hair and violet eyes, but a little mere nobody, called Stella Etheridge. She leant back and hugged her secret to her bosom and caressed it. The fly trundled along after the manner of flys, and stopped at last at the white gate in the lane.
Mr. Etheridge got out and held his hand for Stella, and she leapt out. As she did so, she uttered a slight cry, for a tall figure was standing beside the gate in the light by the lamps.
"Bless my soul, what's the matter?" exclaimed Mr. Etheridge, turning round. "Oh, it's you, Mr. Adelstone."
"I am very sorry to have startled you, Miss Stella," said Jasper Adelstone, and he came forward with his hat raised by his left hand; his right was in a sling. Stella's gentle eyes saw it, and her face paled.
"I was taking a stroll through the meadows and looked in. Mrs. Penfold said that you had gone to the Hall. Coming back from the river I heard the fly, and waited to say 'good-night.'"
"It is very kind," murmured Stella, her eyes still fixed on the useless arm with a kind of fascination.
"Come in and have a cigar," said Mr. Etheridge. "Ah! what is the matter with your arm, man?"
Jasper looked at him, then turned his small keen eyes on Stella's face.
"A mere trifle," he said. "I – met with an accident the other day and sprained it. It is a mere nothing. No, I won't come in, thanks. By-the-way, I'm nearly forgetting a most important matter," and he put his left hand in his pocket and drew something out. "I met the post-office boy in the lane, and he gave me this to save his legs," and he held out a telegram envelope.
"A telegram for me!" exclaimed Mr. Etheridge. "Wonders will never cease. Come inside, Mr. Adelstone."
But Jasper shook his head.
"I will wish you good-night, now," he said. "Will you excuse my left hand, Miss Stella?" he added, as he extended it.
Stella took it; it was burning, hot, and dry.
"I am so sorry," she said, in a low voice. "I cannot tell how sorry I am!"
"Do not think of it," he said. "Pray forget it, as – I do," he added, with hidden irony. "It is a mere nothing."
Stella looked down.
"And I am sure that – Lord Leycester is sorry."
"No doubt," he said. "I am quite sure Lord Leycester did not want to break my arm. But, indeed, I was rightly punished for my carelessness, though, I assure you, that I should have pulled up in time."
"Yes, yes; I am sure of that. I am sure I was in no danger," said Stella, earnestly.
"Yes," he said, in a low voice. "There was really no necessity for Lord Leycester to throw me off my horse, or even to insult me. But Lord Leycester is a privileged person, is he not?"
"I – I don't know what you mean!" said Stella, faintly.
"I mean that Lord Leycester may do things with impunity which others cannot even think of," and his sharp eyes grew to her face, which Stella felt was growing crimson.
"I – I am sure he will be very sorry," she said, "when he knows how much you are hurt, and he will apologize most sincerely."
"I have no doubt," he said, lightly, "and, after all, it is something to have one's arm sprained by Lord Leycester Wyndward, is it not? It is better than a broken heart."
"A broken heart! What do you mean?" said Stella, her face flushed, her eyes challenging his with a touch of indignation.
He smiled.
"I meant that Lord Leycester is as skilled in breaking hearts as limbs. But I forgot I must not say anything against the heir to Wyndward in your hearing. Pray forgive me. Good-night."
And, with a bow and a keen look from his small eyes, he moved away.
Stella stood looking after him for a moment, and a shiver ran through her as if from a cold wind.
Breaking hearts! What did he mean?
An exclamation from her uncle caused her to turn suddenly.
He was standing in the light of the window, with the open telegram in his hand, his face pale and anxious.
"Great Heaven!" he muttered, "what am I to do?"
CHAPTER XIV
"What shall I do?" exclaimed Mr. Etheridge.
Stella came to him quickly, with a little cry of dismay.
"What is it, uncle? Are you ill – is it bad news? Oh, what is the matter?"
And she looked up into his pale and agitated face with anxious concern.
His gaze was fixed on vacancy, but there was more than abstraction in his eyes – there was acute pain and anguish.
"What is it, dear?" she asked, laying her hand on his arm. "Pray tell me."
At the words he started slightly, and crushed the telegram in his hand.
"No, no!" he said – "anything but that." Then, composing himself with an effort, he pressed her hand and smiled faintly. "Yes, it is bad news, Stella; it is always bad news that a telegram brings."
Stella led him in; his hands were trembling, and the dumb look of pain still clouded his eyes.
"Will you not tell me what it is?" she murmured, as he sank into his accustomed chair and leant his white head on his hand. "Tell me what it is, and let me help you to bear it by sharing it with you."
And she wound her arm around his neck.
"Don't ask me, Stella. I can't tell you – I cannot. The shame would kill me. No! No!"
"Shame!" murmured Stella, her proud, lovely face paling, as she shrank back a little; but the next moment she pressed closer to him, with a sad smile.
"Not shame for you, dear; shame and you were never meant to come together."
He started, and raised his head.
"Yes, shame!" he repeated, almost fiercely, his hands clinched – "such bitter, debasing shame and disgrace. For the first time the name we have held for so many years will be stained and dragged in the dirt. What shall I do?" And he hid his face in his hands.
Then, with a sudden start, he rose, and looked round with trembling eagerness.
"I – I must go to London," he said, brokenly. "What is the time? So late! Is there no train? Stella, run and ask Mrs. Penfold. I must go at once – at once; every moment is of consequence."
"Go to London – to-night – so late? Oh, you cannot!" exclaimed Stella, aghast.
"My dear, I must," he said more calmly. "It is urgent, most urgent business that calls for me, and I must go."
Stella stole out of the room, and was about to wake Mrs. Penfold, when she remembered having seen a time-table in the kitchen, and stealing down-stairs again, hunted until she found it.
When she took it into the studio, she found her uncle standing with his hat on and his coat buttoned.
"Give it to me," he said. "There is a train, an early market train that I can catch if I start at once," and with trembling fingers he turned over the pages of the time-book. "Yes, I must go, Stella."
"But not alone, uncle!" she implored. "Not alone, surely. You will let me come with you."
He put his hand upon her arm and kissed her, his eyes moist.
"Stella, I must go alone; no one can help me in this matter. There are some troubles that we must meet unaided except by a Higher Power; this is one of them. Heaven bless you, my dear; you help me to bear it with your loving sympathy. I wish I could tell you, but I cannot, Stella – I cannot."
"Do not then, dear," she whispered. "You will not be away long?"
"Not longer than I can help," he sighed. "You will be quite safe, Stella?"
"Safe!" and she smiled sadly.
"Mrs. Penfold must take care of you. I don't like leaving you, but it cannot be helped! Child, I did not think to have a secret from you so soon!"
At the words Stella started, and a red flush came over her face.
She, too, had a secret, and as it flashed into her mind, from whence the sudden trouble had momentarily banished it, her heart beat fast and her eyes drooped.
"There should be no secrets between us two," he said. "But – there – there – don't look so troubled, my dear. I shall not be long gone."
She clung to him to the last, until indeed the little white gate had closed behind him, then she went back to the house and sat down in his chair, and sat pondering and trembling.
For a time the secret trouble which had befallen her uncle absorbed all her mind and care, but presently the memory of all that had happened to her that evening awoke and overcame her sorrow, and she sat with clasped hands and drooping head recalling the handsome face and passionate voice of Lord Leycester.
It was all so wonderful, so unreal, that it seemed like a stage play, in which the magnificent house formed the scene and the noble men and women the players, with the tall, stalwart, graceful form of Lord Leycester for the hero. It was difficult to realize that she too took a part, so to speak, in the drama, that she was, in fact, the heroine, and that it was to her that all the passionate vows of the young lord had been spoken. She could feel his burning kisses on her lips; could feel the touch of the clinging, lingering caresses on her neck; yes, it was all real; she loved Lord Leycester, and he, strange and wonderful to add, loved her.
Why should he do it? she marveled. Who was she that he should deign to shower down upon her such fervent admiration and passionate devotion?
Mechanically she rose and went over to the Venetian mirror, and looked at the reflection which beamed softly in the dim light.
He had called her beautiful, lovely! She shook her head and smiled with a sigh as she thought of Lady Lenore. There were beauty and loveliness indeed! How had it happened that he had passed her by, and chosen her, Stella?
But it was so, and wonder, and gratitude and love welled up in her heart and filled her eyes with those tears which show that the cup of human happiness is full to overflowing. The clock struck the hour, and with a sigh, as she thought of her uncle, she turned from the glass. She felt that she could not go to bed; it was far pleasanter to sit up in the stillness and silence and think – think! To take one little incident after another, and go over it slowly and enjoyingly. She wandered about her room in this frame of mind, filled with happiness one moment as she thought of the great good which the gods had given unto her, then overwhelmed by a wave of troubled anxiety as she remembered that her uncle, the old man whose goodness to her had won her love, was speeding on the journey toward his secret trouble and sorrow.
Wandering thus she suddenly bethought her of a picture that stood with its face to the wall, and swooping down on it, as one does on a suddenly remembered treasure, she took up Leycester Wyndward's portrait, and gazing long and eagerly at it, suddenly bent and kissed it. She knew now what the smile in those dark eyes meant; she knew now how the lovelight could flash from them.
"Uncle was right," she murmured with a smile that was half sad. "There is no woman who could resist those eyes if they said 'I love you.'"
She put the portrait down upon the cabinet, so that she could see it when she chose to look at it, and abstractedly began to set the room in order, putting a picture straight here and setting the books upon their shelves, stopping occasionally to glance at the handsome eyes watching her from the top of the cabinet. As often happens when the mind is set on one thing and the hands upon another, she met with an accident. In one corner of the room stood a three-cornered what-not of Japanese work, inclosed by doors inlaid with ivory and mother-of-pearl; in attempting to set a bronze straight upon the top of this piece of furniture while she looked at the portrait of her heart's lord and master, she let the bronze slip, and in the endeavor to save it from falling, overturned the what-not.
It fell with the usual brittle sounding crash which accompanies the overthrow of such bric-a-brac, and the doors being forced open, out poured a miscellaneous collection of valuable but useless articles.
With a little exclamation of self-reproach and dismay, Stella went down on her knees to collect the scattered curios. They were of all sorts; bits of old china from Japan, medals, and coins of ancient date, and some miniatures in carved frames.
Stella eyed each article as she picked it up with anxious criticism, but fortunately nothing appeared the worse for the downfall, and she was putting the last thing, a miniature, in its accustomed place, when the case flew open in her hand and a delicately painted portrait on ivory looked up at her. Scarcely glancing at it, she was about to replace it in the case, when an inscription on the back caught her eye, and she carried case and miniature to the light.
The portrait was that of a boy, a fair-haired boy, with a smiling mouth and laughing blue eyes. It was a pretty face, and Stella turned it over to read the inscription.
It consisted of only one word, "Frank."
Stella looked at the face again listlessly, but suddenly something in it – a resemblance to someone whom she knew, and that intimately – flashed upon her. She looked again more curiously. Yes, there could be no doubt of it; the face bore a certain likeness to that of her uncle. Not only to her uncle, but to herself, for raising her eyes from the portrait to the mirror she saw a vague something – in expression only perhaps – looking at her from the glass as it did from the portrait.
"Frank, Frank," she murmured; "I know no one of that name. Who can it be?"
She went back to the cabinet, and took out the other miniatures, but they were closed, and the spring which she had touched accidentally of the one of the boy she could not find in the others.
There was an air of mystery about the matter, which not a little heightened by the lateness of the hour and the solemn silence that reigned in the house, oppressed and haunted her.
With a little gesture of repudiation she put the boy's face into its covering, and replaced it in the cabinet. As she did so she glanced up at that other face smiling down at her, and started, and a sudden thought, half-weird, half-prophetical, flashed across her mind.
It was the portrait of Lord Leycester which had greeted her on the night of her arrival, and foreshadowed all that had happened to her. Was there anything of significance in this chance discovery of the child's face?
With a smile of self-reproach she put the fantastic idea from her, and setting the beloved face in its place amongst the other canvases, took the candle from the table, and stole quietly up-stairs.
But when she slept the boy's face haunted her, and mingled in her dreams with that of Lord Leycester's.