Only a girl's love
prompted me to remain and, an unwilling listener, I heard the strange
engagement--betrothal, call it what you will--that took place."
He paused. She drew the shawl round her head and eyed him askance.
"In what way does this concern me, sir?" she demanded, haughtily.
"Pardon! you perceive my mistake," he said, with a fitting smile. "I
was under the impression that as _interest_ or _curiosity_ prompted you
also to listen, you might be pleased to assist me."
She bit her lip now.
"How did you know that I was listening?" she demanded.
He smiled.
"I saw your ladyship approach; I saw you take up your position behind
the tree, and _I saw your face as they talked_."
As she remembered all that that face must have told him, her heart
throbbed with a wild longing to see him helpless at her feet; her face
went a blood red, and her hands closed tightly on the shawl.
"Well, sir?" she said at last, after a pause, during which he had stood
eying her under his lowered lids. "Granting that you are right in your
surmises, how can I assist you, supposing that I choose to do so?"
He looked at her full in the face.
"By helping me to prevent the fulfillment of the engagement--betrothal,
which you and I have just witnessed," he said, promptly and frankly.
She was silent a moment, her eyes looking beyond him as if she were
considering, then she said:
"Why should I help you? How do you know that I take any interest in--in
these two persons?"
"You forget," he said, softly. "I saw your face."
She started. There was something in the bold audacity of the man that
proved him the master.
"If I admit that I do take some interest, what proof have I that I
shall be following that interest by confiding in you?" she asked,
haughtily, but less haughtily than hitherto.
"I can give you a sufficient proof," he said, quietly. "I--love--her."
She started. There was so calm and cool and yet intense an expression
in his voice.
"You love her?" she repeated. "The girl who has just left us?"
"The young lady," he said, with a slight emphasis, "who has just
plighted her troth to Lord Leycester Wyndward."
There was silence for a moment. His direct statement of the case had
told on her.
"And if I help you--if I consent--what shape is my assistance to take?"
"I leave that to you," he said. "I can answer for her, for Stella
Etheridge--that is her name."
"I do not wish to mention names," she said, coldly.
"Quite right," he said. "Trees have ears, as you and I have just
proved."
She shuddered at the familiar, confident tone in his voice.
"I will not mention names," he repeated, "let us say 'him' and 'her.'
Candidly--and between us, my lady, there should be nothing but
candor--I have sworn that nothing shall come of this betrothal. I love
her, and--I--hate him."
She looked at him. His face was deadly white, and his eyes gleamed, but
a smile still played about his lips.
"You," he continued, "hate her, and--love--him."
Lady Lenore started, and a crimson flush of shame stained her fair face.
"How dare you!" she exclaimed.
He smiled.
"I have shown you my hand, my lady; I know yours. Will you tell me that
I am wrong? Say the word--say that you are indifferent how matters
go--and I will make my bow and leave you."
She stood and looked at him--she could not say the word. He had spoken
the truth; she did love Lord Leycester with a passion that surprised
her, with a passion that had not made itself known to her until
to-night, when she had seen him take into his arms another woman--had
heard his protestations of love for another woman, and seen him kiss
another woman.
Wounded pride, self-love, passionate desire, all fought for mastery
within her bosom, and the man who stood calmly before her knew it.
He read every thought of her heart as it was mirrored on the proud,
beautiful face.
"I do not understand," she said. "You come to me a perfect stranger,
and make these confessions."
He smiled.
"I come to you because you and I desire to accomplish one end--the
separation of these two persons. I come to you because I have already
found some means toward such an end, and I believe you are capable of
devising and carrying out the remainder. Lady Lenore----"
"Do not utter my name," she said, looking round uneasily.
"--You, and you alone, can help me. As I have said, I can influence
the girl, you can influence him. I have worked hard for that
influence--have plotted, and planned, and schemed for it. Cleverness,
ingenuity--call it what you will--has been exerted by me; you have only
to exert your--pardon me--your beauty."
With a gesture, she drew the shawl nearer her face--it was like
profanation to hear him speak of her beauty.
"--Together we conquer; alone, I think, we should fail, for though I
hold her in a cleft stick I cannot answer for him. He is headstrong and
wild, and in a moment might upset my plans. Your task--if you accept
it--is to see that he does not. Will you accept it?"
She paused.
"What is your hold over her?" she asked, curiously.
He smiled.
"Pardon me if I decline to answer. Be assured that I have a hold upon
her. Your hold on him is as strong as that of mine on her. Will you
exert it?"
She was silent.
"Think," he said. "Let me put the case clearly. For his own good
you ought not to hesitate. What good can come of such a marriage--a
viscount, an earl, marry the niece of a painter, an obscure nobody! It
is for his own good--the husband of Stella--I forgot!--no names. As her
husband he sinks into insignificance, as yours he rises to the height
which his position and yours entitle him to. Can you hesitate?"
No tempter since the world began, not even the serpent at the foot
of the apple-tree in Eden, could have put it more ingeniously. She
wavered. Reluctant to make a compact with a man and a stranger, and
such a man! She stood and hesitated.
He drew out his watch.
"It is getting late," he said. "I see your ladyship declines the
alliance I offer you. I wish you 'good-night,'" and he raised his hat.
She put forth her hand; it was as white as her face.
"Stop," she said, "I agree."
"Good," he said, with a smile. "Give me your hand," and he held out his.
She hesitated, but she put her hand in his; the mental strength of the
man overcame her repugnance.
"So we seal our bargain. All I ask your ladyship to do is to watch, and
to strike when the iron is hot. When that time comes I will give you
warning."
And his hand closed over hers.
A shudder ran through her at the contact; his hand was cold as ice.
"There is no chance that these two will keep their compact now," he
said; "you and I will prevent it. Good-night, my lady."
"Stop!" she said, and he turned. "You have not told me your name--you
know mine."
He smiled at her--a smile of victory and self-confidence.
"My name is Jasper Adelstone," he said.
Her lips repeated the name.
"Shall I see you safely into the hall?"
"No, no," she said. "Go, if you please."
He inclined his head and left her, but he did not go until she had
entered the private park by another gate, and her figure was lost to
sight.
Lord Leycester rowed Stella across the river, and parted from her.
"Good-night, my beloved," he whispered. "It is not for long. I shall
see you to-morrow. Good-night! I shall wait here until I see you enter
the lane; you will be safe then."
He held her in his arms for a moment, then he let her go, and stood on
the bank watching her.
She sped across the meadows and entered the lane breathless.
Pausing for a moment to recover her composure, she went on to the gate
and opened it.
As she did so a slight, youthful figure slipped out of the shadow and
confronted her.
She uttered a slight cry and looked up.
At that moment the moonlight fell upon the face in front of her.
It was the same face in the miniature. The same face, though changed
from boyhood to youth.
It was "Frank!"
CHAPTER XIX.
It was the face she had seen in the miniature, changed from childhood
to youth. The same blue eyes, frank, confiding, and womanish--the
same golden hair clustering in short curls, instead of falling on the
shoulders as in the picture--the same smiling mouth, with its little
touch of weakness about the under lip. A taking, a pretty rather than a
handsome face; it ought to have belonged rather to a girl than a boy.
Stella stared, and doubted the evidence of her senses. Her dream
flashed across her mind and made her heart beat with a sudden emotion,
whether of fear or pleasure she could not tell.
Who was this boy, and what was he doing there leaning on the gate as if
the place belonged to him, and he had a right to be there?
She took a step nearer, and he opened the gate for her. Stella
entered, and he raised his hat, allowing the moonbeams to fall on his
yellow hair, and smiled at her, very much as a child might smile, with
grave, open-eyed admiration and greeting.
"Are you--you _are_ Stella!" he said, in a voice that made her
start,--it was so like her uncle's, but softer and brighter.
"My name is Stella!" she said, filled with wonder.
He held out his hand frankly, but with a little timid shyness.
"Then we are cousins," he said.
"Cousins?" exclaimed Stella, but she gave him her hand.
"Yes, cousins," he said. "You are Stella, Uncle Harold's daughter, are
you not? Well, I am Frank."
She had felt it.
"Frank?" she repeated, amazedly.
He nodded.
"Yes, I am your Cousin Frank. I hope"--and a cloud settled on his
face--"I hope you are not sorry?"
"Sorry!" she uttered, feeling stupid and confused. "No, I am not sorry!
I am very glad--of course I am very glad!" and she held out her hand
this time. "But I didn't know!"
"No," he said, with a little sigh. "No, I suppose you did not."
A step was heard behind them, and Mr. Etheridge appeared.
Stella ran to him with a glad cry and put her arms round his neck.
"Uncle!"
He kissed her, and parting the hair from her forehead, looked into her
eyes tenderly.
"Yes, Stella, I am back," he said; there was a sad weariness in his
voice, and he looked haggard and tired. "And"--he hesitated, and put
his hand on the boy's shoulder--"I have brought someone with me.
This--is Frank," he hesitated again, "my son."
Stella suppressed a start, and smiled up at him as if the announcement
were one of the most natural.
"I am so glad," she whispered.
He nodded.
"Yes, yes," and his gaze wandered to the face of the boy who stood
looking at them with a little faint smile, half timid, half uneasy.
"Frank has come to stop with us for a time. He is going to the
university."
"Yes," said Stella, again. She felt that there was some mystery, felt
that the boy was connected in some way with that telegram and the
hurried visit to town, and with her characteristic gentleness and tact
hastened to smooth matters. "I'll go and see if Mrs. Penfold has made
proper arrangements," she said.
Mr. Etheridge looked after her as she went into the house; the boy's
voice startled him.
"How beautiful she is!" he murmured, a faint flush on his cheek, a
light of boyish admiration in his eyes. "I didn't know I had such a
beautiful cousin, so----"
"No," said the old man, warmly. "Go on, Frank. Wait."
The boy paused and Mr. Etheridge put his hand on his shoulder.
"She is as good as she is beautiful. She is an angel, Frank. I need not
say that she knows--nothing."
The boy's face flushed, then went pale, and his eyes drooped.
"Thank you, sir," he said, gratefully. "No," and he shuddered, "I
wouldn't have her know for--for the world."
Then he went in. Stella was flitting about the room seeing the laying
of a cloth for an impromptu meal. He paused at the window as if afraid