Dainty's Cruel Rivals; Or, The Fatal Birthday
"Oh, Aunt Judith! She was eighteen in May, and graduated in June. She is
taller than I am!" cried Ela.
"Well, well, well, I am very sorry that I invited her, if there's any
likelihood of her spoiling your chances with Love. But I can't believe
she is so pretty till I see her, for John Chase was as homely as sin.
Anyway, you girls must try to hold your own against her charms."
"We will try, now that we have you on our side, dear Aunt Judith.
Perhaps Mr. Ellsworth may not admire blondes like Dainty. Besides, she
is a vain, silly little thing, and very deceitful!" fibbed Olive, trying
to prejudice her aunt against Dainty in advance.
Mrs. Ellsworth drew a sigh of relief, and replied:
"If that is the case, she can not charm Love Ellsworth, for he is the
soul of truth and honor, and abhors deceit. But there is one thing I
must caution you both about, if you wish to please my step-son, and
that is, if you hear any of the servants gossiping about Ellsworth being
haunted, do not mention it to him, as it makes him very angry, and he
has turned away several servants for talking about it."
They both promised not to breathe such a thing to their host; and as
Mrs. Ellsworth saw that they were secretly curious, she explained:
"Of course, you have noticed and admired the ivy-grown stone wing to the
left of the mansion. It is all that is left of Castle Ellsworth, that
was built before the Revolution by Love's ancestor, Baron Ellsworth. It
has fallen into disuse now, and the servants declare it is haunted, but
it makes Love perfectly furious to hear such reports."
When the girls were alone again they whispered to each other:
"If Dainty Chase finds out about the ghosts, she will be frightened
almost to death, she is such a little coward!"
Sitting on the broad veranda at sunset, the cousins heard the whistle of
the train at the station, miles away, that was to bring Dainty, if she
decided to come.
"That is Love's train, if he comes," said their aunt. "But there must be
some delay, or he would have telegraphed for the carriage."
CHAPTER III.
THE HAPPIEST DAY SHE HAD EVER KNOWN.
Olive and Ela sighed with relief, hoping something had happened after
all, to keep Dainty at home; but they would have been horrified if they
had guessed that Ellsworth had not telegraphed his aunt, choosing to
secure a trap at the station, and have a _tete-a-tete_ drive over the
road with winsome Dainty.
They had started even now, the young man driving a light buggy, with
Dainty's trunk strapped on securely at the back. They went at a
leisurely pace, for which he accounted by saying lightly:
"I hope you won't mind because we have to travel slowly. The road is
rough, and the horse slow--what we call in the country a 'courting
horse,'" smiling at her with quizzical dark eyes that made Dainty blush
like a rose. "Do not be frightened. I will try to remember that I have
known you but a day," he added, softly; and they were silent for a
while, while Dainty's eyes drank in the sunset beauty of the mountain
scenery.
"What a glorious view! I never before saw anything so beautiful!" she
cried.
"Would you like to live in West Virginia?" he asked, eagerly.
"Oh, I don't know!" trembling somehow at his pointed tone, and adding,
quickly: "I--I couldn't be happy anywhere without mamma!"
And yet she knew in her heart that this day of separation from all that
she had hitherto known had been the most ecstatic of her whole life,
filled with thrilling sensations that emanated from the attentions of
the man by her side.
"Oh, there are looks and tones that dart
An instant sunshine through the heart;
As if the very lips and eyes,
Predestined to brave all our sighs,
And never be forgot again,
Sparkled and smiled before us then!"
Every glance and tone of Love Ellsworth subtly conveyed the impression
that she was already dear to him, and that but for the fear of alarming
the shy girl he would have declared his love at once, demanding her
heart in return.
What wonder that the day had flown fast to both, and that the drive
seemed all too short when, in the purple haze of twilight, they drove in
at the gates of Ellsworth, and saw three ladies sitting on the porch
watching them with what lively dismay the reader can well imagine.
"I fear you are tired from your tedious journey; but perhaps we can give
you a novel ride in an airship while you are at Ellsworth. I have a
clever neighbor who is inventing one," said Love, as he helped her from
the buggy and led her up the steps to his aunt, under the fire of three
pairs of disapproving eyes.
"Your niece, Miss Chase, madame," he said, presenting Dainty to her
aunt, with a smile that maddened Olive and Ela, it was so tender.
Mrs. Ellsworth gave her a cordial greeting, saying kindly:
"I can see that you are not tired from your trip, but I will take you to
your room to freshen up a bit;" and only pausing to present Love to
Olive and Ela, she hurried her away, while he began to make himself
agreeable with a secret, comprehensive amusement at the situation.
Mrs. Ellsworth led her niece up a splendid, wide oaken staircase, and
along a large corridor to a beautiful room, a symphony in blue and
white, where a maid was already lighting the wax candles in the polished
silver candelabra on the dressing-table.
"Sheila will help you to unpack and make your toilet for dinner," she
said, adding, as an after-thought: "You need not trouble to make an
elaborate toilet, as there will be no one but ourselves, but to-morrow
we will have some guests, among them several young men worth your
while."
The tone was significant, as if her step-son did not count at all, and
Dainty's heart sank as she turned away, leaving her alone with Sheila
Kelly, the Irish maid.
"Shure, ye have but twinty minutes, miss, to make yer _twilight_, so
best give me yer kays, and let me unpack whilst ye bathe," she said, in
broadest brogue.
Dainty had conceived an instant aversion to the coarse-mouthed,
sly-looking Irish girl, so she answered, quietly:
"You may bring me some flowers for my corsage--some of those pink roses
I saw as we drove in--while I unpack the trunk myself."
CHAPTER IV.
THE OLD MONK.
The ill-looking maid flounced away, thinking resentfully that the pretty
young lady was afraid to trust her with her keys, while Dainty, whose
only reason had been an unwillingness to expose her simple wardrobe,
proceeded to lay out a gown for the evening--a delicately embroidered
white cashmere that no one would have suspected had been cleverly made
over from her mother's bridal _trousseau_.
While she was dressing her hair with deft fingers, she was startled by a
very unpleasant sound--a series of harsh, hacking coughs--seeming to
proceed from the room next her own. She thought:
"Some one is ill in there. What a terribly consumptive cough, poor
soul!"
Presently Sheila hurried in with a wealth of roses glistening with the
fresh-fallen evening dew, and after thanking her, Dainty asked,
curiously:
"Is there some one ill in the next room?"
"Shure, miss, there's nobuddy in the next room at all, at all, and not a
sick crathur in the house. Why is it ye thought so?"
"I heard some one coughing in there--a tight, hacking cough, like some
one in the last stages of consumption," Dainty answered; and instantly
Sheila Kelly crossed herself and looked furtively behind her like one
pursued, muttering:
"The saints preserve us! T' ould _monk_!"
"The old monk, did you say? Who is he?" exclaimed Dainty, sharply; but
the maid shook her head.
"Don't ask _me_, _miss_, please--ask the young master about the _cough_
ye heard, and shure he will tell ye, darlint," returned Sheila, with a
somewhat nervous giggle and a second furtive glance behind her, as she
added: "Better hurry up, now; ye've only five minutes before dinner is
announced, ye see."
Dainty quickly pinned on a great bunch of the fragrant roses, and
hurried down to the parlor, where she found the others waiting, Mrs.
Ellsworth alone in an easy-chair, Olive and Love at the piano with Ela,
who was playing the accompaniment for a sentimental song that Olive sang
while Love turned the leaves.
At dinner the hostess managed to separate Dainty and Love as widely as
possible, and when they left the table, she pursued the same course,
leading Dainty to a distant seat, saying:
"Come and sit by me, dear. I have so many questions to ask you about
your home and your mother; and I will tell you some interesting things
about your papa's boyhood."
Her step-son, pleased at her seeming interest in his beautiful love, and
unwilling to interrupt the flow of their mutual confidences, permitted
the two other girls to monopolize him the whole evening; so that when
bed-time arrived, he had not had the chance of a single word, except the
formal good-night.
He went out then to smoke a cigar, and secretly deprecate Mrs.
Ellsworth's selfishness in keeping such a lovely girl to herself all the
evening, and the girls went upstairs to their rooms along the dimly
lighted corridor.
Dainty slipped her hand through Ela's arm, whispering, nervously:
"Are your rooms close to mine, Ela?"
"No; mine and Olive's are down there at the end of the corridor,
adjoining, and there are only vacant rooms next you."
"But that can not be, Ela, for I heard some one in the room next mine
coughing horribly while I was dressing; but the maid denied that any one
was in there, and muttered something about the old monk. What could she
have meant?"
She fancied that Ela shuddered, and her eyes dilated with alarm as she
returned:
"Good heavens! is that old wretch going to haunt us? Why, Dainty, don't
you know about the family ghost of Ellsworth?--the wicked old monk, a
relative of the family, who murdered one of the brotherhood, and fled to
his old home, hiding himself in a dungeon here till he died of
consumption. Well, it is said that he haunts the old wing of Ellsworth,
and that whenever his awful, discordant cough is heard it forebodes evil
to the hearer. But here is your door. Good-night!"--with a mocking
laugh.
Dainty had never slept away from her mother's arms before. Lonely and
nervous, she slipped into a white dressing-gown, and sat down by the
window to watch the full moon sailing above the purple peaks of the
mountain range, and listening in a sort of terror for the monk's cough;
but the excitement of the day induced speedy sleep.
How long she rested there in the moonlight, sleeping heavily, like a
weary child tired of playing, she could not tell, only that suddenly she
started wide awake in terror, feeling as if a cold, icy hand had pressed
her warm bosom, turning her cold as death.
Springing to her feet, she found she was not alone, for in the broad
glare of the moonlight she saw by her side the tall form of a man gowned
in a long black robe girdled with a rosary of beads, while his
close-shaven face shone ghastly white under his black skull-cap, and the
dull, fixed eyes had the awful stare of death.
With a piercing cry, Dainty sprang past the midnight visitant, rushed to
the door, and throwing it open, bounded into the corridor, flying with
terror-winged feet toward her cousin's room. Then she pounded on the
door, shrieking, piteously:
"For God's sake, let me in!"
The door opened so quickly that Dainty, leaning against it, lost her
balance, and fell blindly forward into the arms of the man who had
opened it--Lovelace Ellsworth, who had not yet retired, because his
heart and mind were so full of her he knew he could not sleep.
CHAPTER V.
"ONLY A DREAM."
"Ah, sweet, thou little knowest how
I wake and passionate watches keep;
And yet while I address thee now,