Only a girl's love
"You know it!" he said; "and came here only to-night! How is that?"
Stella's brows contracted, dark and full they met across her brow in
true southern fashion, and lent a significant eloquence to her face;
she would have given much to avoid answering.
"How is that?" he asked, his eyes fixed on hers.
"It is very simple," she said, as if vexed at her hesitation. "I saw
your portrait and--knew you."
He smiled a curious smile.
"Knew me before we met! I wonder----" he paused and his eyes seemed to
read her thoughts. "I wonder whether you were prejudiced by what you
saw by that forshadowing of me? Is that a fair question?"
"It is a strange one," said Stella.
"Is it? I will not press it. Good-night!" and he raised his hat.
"Good-night, and good-bye," she said, and impulsively again she held
out her hand.
His eyes showed no surprise, whatever he may have felt, as he took her
hand and held it.
"No," he said, as he let her draw it away. "Not good-bye. I have
changed my mind. I shall not go. It is only good-night," and with a
smile flashing out of his eyes, he leapt upon his horse and was gone.
CHAPTER III.
Stella stood watching until the big chestnut had borne its master out
of sight, and down the lane, across the meadow; she caught one more
glimpse of them as he rode through the ford, the water dashing up a
silver shower of spray as high as the horse's head; then they vanished
in the shadow of the woods which engirdled Wyndward Hall.
But she still stood, lost in a dreamy reverie that was not thought,
until her uncle's voice came floating down the garden, and with a start
she ran up the path and stood breathless before him.
The old man's placid face wore a slight look of anxiety, which faded
instantly as he said:
"Where have you been, Stella? I thought you had changed your mind,
and flown back to Italy again. Mrs. Penfold is searching the meadows
wildly."
Stella laughed, as she put her arm round his neck.
"You will not get rid of me so easily, uncle. No, I have only been down
the pretty lane at the end of the garden. See, here are some flowers;
are they not sweet? You shall have them for your table, and they shall
stand within sight while you are at work." And she filled a vase with
water, and arranged them. "But the flowers are not all the fruits of my
wandering, uncle," she went on; "I have had an adventure."
He was strolling up and down with his pipe in his mouth, his hands
folded behind him.
"An adventure!"
"Yes," she nodded. "I have met--can you guess whom?"
He smiled.
"Mr. Fielding, the clergyman? It is his usual evening stroll."
"No."
"Perhaps an old lady in a lace shawl, with a fat pug by her side. If
so, you have made an acquaintance with the great Mrs. Hamilton, the
doctor's wife."
"No, it was not anybody's wife, uncle--it was a man. You shan't guess
any more; but what do you say to Lord Leycester?"
"Lord Leycester!" said Mr. Etheridge. "I did not even know he was at
home. Lord Leycester! And does my picture do him justice?" he asked,
turning to her with a smile.
She bent over the flowers, ashamed of the meaningless blush which rose
to her face.
"Yes, uncle, it is like him; but I could not see very distinctly you
know. It was moonlight. He was riding a great, huge chestnut horse."
"I know," he murmured, "and tearing along like a lost spirit. He
flashed past like a meteor, I expect. No, you could not see him, and
cannot judge of my portrait."
"But he didn't flash past. He would have done, no doubt, but the
chestnut declined. I think it was frightened by me, for I was standing
on the bank."
"And he stopped?" asked Mr. Etheridge. "It was a wonder; such a little
thing even as the shying of his horse was sufficient to rouse the devil
in him! He stopped!"
"Because he was obliged," said Stella, in a low voice, a deep blush of
maidenly shame rising to her face, as she remembers that it was she who
had really stopped him.
"And was he very furious?"
"No; the proverbial lamb could not have been more quiet," said Stella,
with a musical laugh.
Mr. Etheridge laughed.
"He must have been in a good humor. It was strange his being out
to-night. The Hall is full of people from town; but it would not matter
to him if he wanted to ride, though the prince himself were there; he
would go. And my picture?"
"Did him justice, uncle. Yes, he is very handsome; he wore a loose
velvet coat to-night of a dark purple; I did not know gentlemen wore
such colors now."
"A smoking coat," he explained. "I think I can see him. No doubt he had
obeyed the impulse of the moment--had jumped up and left them there at
the Hall--saddled his own horse and tore away across the river. Well,
you have probably seen the last of him for some time, Stella. He rarely
stays at the Hall more than a day or two. Town has too great a charm
for him."
Stella's lips opened, and she was about to reply that he had suddenly
resolved to stay, but something stopped the words on her lips.
Presently there was a knock at the door, and Mrs. Penfold came in with
the candles.
"You have given me quite a turn, Miss Stella," she said, with a smile
of reproach; "I thought you were lost. Your room is quite ready now,
miss."
Stella went up to the old man and kissed him.
"Good-night, uncle," she murmured.
"Good-night, my child," he said, his eyes dwelling on her tenderly, but
with something of the bewildered look clouding them; "Good-night, and
happy dreams for this, your first night at home."
"At home!" murmured Stella; "at home! You are very good to me, uncle,"
and she kissed him again.
Mrs. Penfold had done wonders in so short a time permitted her, and
Stella found herself standing alone in a tiny room, modestly but
comfortably--oh, so comfortably!--furnished, with its white bed and its
old-fashioned dimity curtains framing the lattice window. As her gaze
wandered round the room, her glorious eyes grew moist. It was all so
sudden, so sweet a contrast to the gaunt, bare room, which, for a weary
year she had shared with a score of girls as miserable as herself; so
sudden that she could scarcely believe it was real.
But youth is ever ready to accept the surprises of life, and she fell
asleep--fell asleep to dream that she was back in the wretched school
in Italy, and chained to a stone wall from which all her efforts to
free herself were unavailing, but presently she thought that a tall,
stalwart figure came riding down on a big chestnut horse, and that with
one sweep of his strong hand he broke her chains asunder, and, lifting
her into his saddle, bore her away. Then the scene changed; she seemed
to be following her rescuer who, with his handsome face turned over his
shoulder, drew her on continually with a strange fascinating smile. All
through her dreams the smiling eyes haunted her, and once she stretched
out her hands to keep it from her, but even in the action the gesture
of repulse turned in a strange, subtle manner to one of entreaty and
welcome, and she drew the smile, as it were, to her bosom, and folded
her hands over it. A girlish fancy, perhaps, but such fancies influence
a life for good or ill, for joy or misery.
Lord Leycester Wyndward, of whose smile Stella was dreaming, had ridden
up the hills, the great chestnut scarcely breaking his pace, but
breathing hard and defiantly from its wide, red nostrils--had ridden
up the hills and through the woods, and reached the open plateau lying
round the Hall.
A noble park occupied the plateau--a park of chestnuts and oaks,
which were the pride of the county. Through the park wound the road,
gleaming white in the moonlight, to the front gates of Wyndward. The
lodge-keeper heard the beat of the chestnut's feet, for which he had
been listening intently, and threw open the gates, and Lord Leycester
entered the grounds. They were vast in extent and exquisitely laid out,
the road winding between a noble avenue of trees that arched overhead.
The present earl's grandfather had gone in for arboriculture, and the
way was lined for fifty feet back with rare shrubs and conifers.
So serpentine was the road that the great gray mansion broke upon the
gaze suddenly, mentally startling him who approached it for the first
time.
To Lord Leycester it was a familiar sight, but familiar as it was he
glanced up at it with what was almost a nod of approval. Like most men
of his nature, he possessed a passionate love and appreciation for the
beautiful, and there was to-night a strange, indefinable fire in his
hot blood which made him more than usually susceptible to the influence
of the scene. A sweeping curve of the road led to the terrace which
stretched along the whole front of the house, and by which the
principal entrance was gained.
Lord Leycester struck off to the right, and entered a modern courtyard,
three sides of which were occupied by the admirable stables. A couple
of grooms had been listening as intently as the lodge-keeper, and as he
entered the yard they hurried forward silently and took the chestnut.
Lord Leycester dropped to the ground, patted the horse, which made a
playfully-affectionate snap at his arm, and, ascending a flight of
steps, entered the lower end of the long hall, which stretched through
the building.
The hall was softly but sufficiently lighted by shaded lamps, supported
by huge figures in bronze, which diffused a charming glow upon the
innumerable pictures upon the panels of dark oak. From the vaulted
roof hung tattered flags, most of them borne by the earlier Wyndwards,
some of them bestowed by the graceful hands of dead and gone princes;
the somewhat gloomy aspect of the place was lightened by the gleaming
armor of the knightly effigies which stood at regular intervals upon
the tesselated floor, and by the deep crimson of the curtains which
screened the heavy doors and tall windows. The whole scene, the very
atmosphere, as it seemed, was characteristic of an ancient and powerful
race. Notwithstanding that the house was full of guests, and that a
brilliant party was at that moment in the drawing-room, not a sound
penetrated the vast hall. The two or three servants who were standing
by the doors or sitting on the benches, talking in hushed voices, were
silent the moment he entered, and one came forward to receive any
commands.
Notwithstanding the brusqueness which is the salient characteristic of
our present life, the old world state and formality still existed at
Wyndward. Be as exacting and capricious as you might, you had no fear
of meeting with inattention or disrespect from the army of servants,
whose one aim and purpose in life seemed to be to minister to the wants
and moods of their superiors.
It was a princely house, conducted in stately fashion, without regard
to cost or trouble, and the servants, from the pages to the countess's
own maid, were as proud of their position, in its degree, as the Lord
of Wyndward of his.
"Send Oliver to me," said Lord Wyndward, as he passed the man. "I am
going to my room."
He went up the stairs, and passing along the principal corridor,
entered a room fronting the park. It was one of a suite which consisted
of a sort of sitting-room, a dressing-room, and beyond a bedroom.
The sitting-room gave pretty plain indications of the owner's tastes
and dispositions.
It was a medley of objects connected with sport and art. Here a set
of boxing-gloves and foils; a gun-rack, well stocked; fishing-rods
and whips hung over the antique fireplace with the wide open hearth
and dog-irons. On one side of the room hung a collection of etchings,
unique and priceless; on another half a dozen gems in oil, while
against the third stood a piano, and an easel upon which rested a
canvas displaying a half-finished Venus rising from her cradle of sea