Dainty's Cruel Rivals; Or, The Fatal Birthday
me, begging me to ask Ela to grant him an interview. I asked her, but
she refused in scorn; and when I carried him her refusal, he sent her
this note of love and reproach. He also told me he would stay in the
neighborhood several days, hoping she would relent. That is the true
story, and if you wish to verify it, Love, you can easily find Mr.
Ashley at Caldwell Station, and he will settle all your doubts."
"I have never had a doubt of you, my darling," he answered, bending
forward to kiss her tenderly, as he continued: "But what shameful
duplicity to deceive my step-mother with this false story, for I am sure
she believed every word she was telling me! But never mind; I will get
even with Miss Craye, be sure of that, Dainty. And now I have to tell
you of another story. It is said that you have hysterical spells every
night, declaring that you are haunted by the mythical old monk, with the
consumption. Is this true?"
Instantly the fair, rosy face became pale and downcast, and Dainty
shuddered as if an icy blast had swept over her lissom form.
"Oh, who has told you this?" she cried, regretfully.
"The story was told Mrs. Ellsworth by Sheila Kelly. Is it true?" he
demanded, earnestly; and the girl bowed her golden head sorrowfully,
faltering:
"Oh, do not be angry with me, Love, but it is true!"
"True? Then why have you kept it from me?" he cried.
"Oh, Love, they told me you always grew angry when you heard anything
about the Ellsworth ghost. They warned me that you would never forgive
the mention of it. But I can not tell you an untruth. Since you ask me,
I must own everything, and take the bitter consequences."
She bowed her fair face in her little white hands, and her form shook as
with ague, in spite of the heat of the July weather.
"Since I came to Ellsworth," she cried, "there has never been a night
but I have been tortured by the sight or sound of that old sick man. In
the dead of night I have felt his cold, clammy hand on my brow, and
wakened, sobbing with fright, sometimes to see his dark form fading from
sight, and the echo of his hollow cough ringing in my horrified ears.
Yet that Sheila Kelly, on her cot across the room, slept heavily on and
heard nothing. What secret agonies I have nightly endured only the
angels can ever know, Love; but I bore it all rather than incur the risk
of your anger and contempt. They had told you I was a coward, and I was
trying to be brave, and not to tell you--to tell you--"
Her voice broke in a storm of choking sobs, and her lover caught her to
his breast in a passion of sympathy.
"My own brave darling! How much you have endured, like a patient little
martyr, without complaint! Yet I feel sure it is nothing but your too
vivid imagination. You have heard the silly stories from the servants,
and you dreamed the rest while stolid Sheila Kelly slept on unconscious.
But this must not go on. I shall write to your mother to come to
Ellsworth to stay with you until our wedding; and then, please God, you
will forget, in the shelter of my love, all these nervous fancies."
"Our wedding!" she sobbed, bashfully, against his breast.
"Yes, darling, our wedding; for it must be very soon. I have never told
you yet, love, that by the terms of my father's will I must marry on or
before my twenty-sixth birthday, or forfeit my fortune to my
step-mother."
"What a strange will!" she cried, forgetting her terrors in simple
wonderment.
"Yes; my father had some peculiar notions. One of them was a rooted
belief in the necessity, or expediency, of early marriages; and to
insure my obedience to his wish, he framed his will in the fashion he
did. But he was a good man, and I am not quarreling with his plans; for
I would gladly get married to-day if you were willing, my precious
girl," declared Love, kissing her as a fitting period to his sentence.
Dainty made no answer. She was fluttering with girlish timidity at
thought of the early marriage he was threatening. She said to herself:
"I love him dearly, but I am afraid I shall not like to be married
soon. I have not enough dignity to look like a married lady."
Unconscious of her girlish fears, Love continued, fondly:
"The first day of August is my twenty-sixth birthday, and we must be
married on that day, my darling."
"Oh, I--" she began; but he stopped the objection with a kiss.
"You are going to say you can not get ready so soon; but you need not
make many preparations, love. I want you to wear my mother's
wedding-dress; it is so beautiful--a white brocade, veiled in costly
lace. And we will be married at Ellsworth. That will be better than
going back to the hot city for a wedding--do you not think so? Oh, I
intend to have everything my own way, sweet; and so I shall write to
your mother to-day to come at once to Ellsworth."
"But Aunt Judith--and the girls? They will be fearfully angry," she
whispered, tearfully.
"Yes, they will be very angry, I grant you. But Ellsworth belongs to me,
so they will have to behave or leave; and I fancy they will choose the
former part. Now come with me to your aunt and cousins, and see how
cleverly I shall pay them out for their meanness. Don't tremble so, my
timid little love."
And taking her hand, he led her back to the house, to a long,
vine-wreathed veranda, where the three ladies were sitting together.
Mrs. Ellsworth had just told them of Love's betrothal to Dainty, and
they frowned when the happy lovers came among them hand in hand.
Love placed Dainty in a chair, then turned to his step-mother.
"Madame, Dainty has explained to my satisfaction the story you told me
just now. One of these notes was written to her, the second one to Miss
Craye, who will not deny that Vernon Ashley is her lover, and that
Dainty only acted the part of a friend in trying to reconcile the
estranged lovers."
If a bomb had exploded at her feet, Ela could not have been more
startled than at his bold charge.
She started, and paled to an ashen hue, flashing a malevolent look at
Dainty, and cried threateningly:
"How dared you tell?"
"It was true," the young girl answered, dauntlessly.
"I deny it!" muttered Ela; but every one could read her guilt in her
abashed face.
"How dare you tell such falsehoods on Ela?" stormed Mrs. Ellsworth to
Dainty; but her step-son frowned angrily.
"Madame, I will not permit such disrespect to my betrothed. This is my
roof, and every one beneath it shall respect her position. Let me add
that Vernon Ashley is staying at the station still, hoping that Miss
Craye will relent, and recall him to her side. If you need corroboration
of the truth, send for him here, and he will tell you how heartlessly
Miss Craye threw him over before she left Richmond," the young man
answered, indignantly; and Ela, unable to bear the fire of their
glances, rose, and hurried away to her room, while the others remained
silent, nursing bitter hatred to fever-heat in their hearts, the proud
Mrs. Ellsworth blaming Dainty most unjustly for her deserved
discomfiture, and registering a secret vow of deadly vengeance.
CHAPTER X.
"THE GRIM FATES."
"I know a maiden fair to see,
Take care!
She can both false and friendly be,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!
"And she has hair of a golden hue,
Take care!
And what she says is not true,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!
"She gives thee a garland woven fair,
Take care!
It is a fool's cap for thee to wear,
Beware! Beware!
Trust her not,
She is fooling thee!"
Love Ellsworth had won, as it appeared, a signal victory, and he hoped
that by his determined will he had vanquished the opposition, so that
Dainty would not have to suffer any further persecution.
Indeed, at luncheon, beyond a very slight coolness, the clouds of the
morning seemed to have cleared away. Mrs. Ellsworth led the conversation
to pleasant generalities, and presently proposed that the whole party
should attend a charity entertainment to be given that evening at a
country church in the neighborhood.
"Besides the usual supper of berries, cake, and ice cream, there will be
some fine tableaus, I am told, and also a tent with a real gypsy
fortune-teller, they say. I suppose we ought to patronize it for
charity's sake, and because the girls might find it rather amusing!"
"Oh, I would not miss it for anything! I should love dearly to have my
fortune told!" cried Olive, with unwonted animation.
"And the fortune-teller is a real gypsy, too; so I heard the preacher's
wife say," chimed in Ela; adding: "There's been a gypsy encampment on
the banks of the river for more than a week."
The vote was taken, and all decided to go, as it was only two miles
away.
At twilight they set forth in the roomy Ellsworth carriage that easily
accommodated the five, and on reaching the scene, found it very
picturesque, the fine grove around the low white church being
illuminated by Chinese lanterns, shedding their light on the decorated
tables, where ice cream and accompaniments were served by the ladies of
the church to quite a large throng of people.
"How romantic it looks under those dark trees with the flickering lights
and leaf-shadows! Just the spot for lovers!" cried Olive, smiling at
Love and Dainty in quite a conciliatory manner, adding, lightly: "Do not
ask me, Aunt Judith, to do anything so prosaic as to eat cream yet. I
shall stroll away by myself under these magnificent trees."
She kept her word, and turned up quite half an hour later, when the
other four were eating cream at a table, laughing, and saying:
"I have had such a long stroll, I am hungry now; and, oh! what fun I
have had with the old gypsy! She told my fortune for a dollar, and if it
comes true, it will be worth more than that to me, for she promised me a
rich and adoring husband, beautiful children, and a long and happy
life!"
She was more than usually animated, her dark eyes glowing with
excitement, and Ela caught the infection, exclaiming:
"Hurry and eat your cream, and take me to the tent, Olive. I want to
hear my fortune, too."
Love and Dainty, listening to her careless words, thought that if the
gypsy told her truly, she would hear an unwelcome story of a heartless
girl who had thrown over a true lover for the sake of captivating a
richer one; but they held their peace, and presently the two girls went
off together, and the minister and his wife engaged Mrs. Ellsworth in
conversation, leaving the pair of lovers free to mingle with the gay
crowd of young and old strolling beneath the trees. They spoke little to
the casual acquaintances they met, preferring to enjoy each other's
society.
It was an ideal July night, warm and odorous with the sweet breath of
nature, and the moon shone so bright that the fantastic lanterns were
scarcely necessary, save to add to the festivity of the scene.
Love thought Dainty looked more lovely than he had ever seen her
to-night, in her soft white gown with a bunch of dewy white lilies at
her waist and a wreath of them around her white chip hat, making up such
a simple, lovely costume that Olive and Ela had been wild with envy,
despite their own shimmering silks, and gay hats loaded with artificial
flowers.
When Dainty had come to Ellsworth they had laughed at her simple gowns,
and more especially her last summer's hat--a fine white chip, simply
trimmed with a bow of white ribbon.
"She can not help looking shabby in that old hat, and her beauty will
not count for much. Fine feathers make fine birds," quoted Olive,
complacently.
She forgot Dainty's exquisite taste, and that the gardens of Ellsworth