Only a girl's love
"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