Only a girl's love
to approach or disturb her, but she saw him and came to him with
that peculiar little graceful gait which her uncle had noticed so
particularly on the first night of her coming.
"I am so glad you have come!" she said. "Uncle must be glad, too!"
"Yes," he said, in a low voice. "You are glad, really glad!"
Her beautiful eyes opened, and she smiled.
"Very glad. You must come in and have some supper. It is quite ready,"
and she went and called her uncle.
The old man came in and sat down. The boy waited until she pointed to a
chair, into which he dropped obediently.
Mr. Etheridge offered no explanation of his visit to London, and
she asked for none; but while he sat with his usual silent, dreamy
taciturnity, she talked to him.
Frank sat and listened, scarcely taking his eyes off her.
Presently Mr. Etheridge looked up.
"Where have you been this evening, Stella?" he asked.
A sudden blush covered her face, but though Frank saw it, his father
did not.
"I have been into the woods," she said, "to the river."
He nodded.
"Very beautiful. The witches' trysting-place, they call it," he added,
absently.
Stella's face paled, and she hung her head.
"You were rather late, weren't you?"
"Yes--too late," said Stella, guiltily. If she might only tell him! "I
won't be so late again."
He looked up.
"You will have Frank to keep you company now," he said.
Stella turned to the boy with a smile that was still eloquent of guilt.
"I shall be very glad," she said, feeling dreadfully deceitful. "You
know all the pretty places, no doubt, and must act as _cicerone_."
His eyes dropped.
"No, I don't," he said. "I haven't been here before."
"Frank has been at school," said Mr. Etheridge, quietly. "You will have
to be the _cicerone_," and he rose and wandered to the window.
Stella rang the bell, wheeled up the arm-chair, and got the old man's
pipe, hanging over him with marked tenderness, and the boy watched her
with the same intent look.
Then she came back to her seat, and took out some work.
"You are not going to work to-night?" he said, leaning his elbows on
the table and his head upon his hands--small, white, delicate hands, to
match the face.
"This is only make-believe," she said. "Don't you know the old proverb
about idle hands?" And she laughed.
He started, and his face paled.
Stella wondered what she had said to affect him, and hurried on.
"I can't sit still and do nothing, can you?"
"Yes, for hours," he said, with a smile; "I am awfully idle, but I must
get better habits; I must follow your example. I mean to read while
I'm down here--read hard, don't you know. Shall I begin to-night?" he
asked, his eyes upon her with almost slavish intentness.
"Not to-night," she said, with a laugh; "you must be tired. You have
come from London, haven't you?"
"Yes," he said; "and I am rather tired. I would rather sit and watch
you, if you don't mind."
She shook her head.
"Not in the least. You can tell me about your school."
"I would rather sit and watch you in silence," he said, "unless you
like to talk. I should like that."
He seemed a queer boy; there was something almost sad in his quietness,
but Stella felt that it was only temporary.
"He is tired, poor boy," she thought.
Presently she said:
"How old are you?"
"Seventeen," he said.
She looked at him.
"I did not think you were so old," she said, with a laugh.
He smiled.
"Few persons do. Yes; I am seventeen."
"Why, you are quite a man," she said, with a laugh.
He blushed--proving his boyhood--and shook his head.
"Stella," came the old man's voice, "will you play something?"
She rose instantly, and glided to the organ and began to play.
She had been playing some little time; then she commenced to sing.
Suddenly she heard a sound suspiciously like a sob close to her side,
and looking round saw that the boy had stolen to a low seat near her,
and was leaning his face upon his hands. She stopped, but with a sudden
gesture and a look toward her, the silent, seated figure motioned her
to go on.
She finished--it was the "Ave Maria,"--and then bent down to him.
"You are tired!" she whispered.
The voice was so sweet, so kind, so sisterly, that it went straight to
the bottom of the lad's heart.
He looked up at her, with that expression in his eyes which one sees in
the eyes of a faithful, devoted dog then bent and kissed the sleeve of
her dress.
All the tenderness of Stella's nature welled up at the simple act, and
with a little murmur she bent down and put her lips to his forehead.
His face flushed and he shrank back.
"Don't!" he said, in a strained voice. "I am not worthy!"
For answer she stooped again and kissed him.
He did not shrink this time, but took her hand and held it with a
convulsive grasp, and something trembled on his lip, when he started
and stared toward the window.
Stella turned her head quickly and stared also, for there, standing
with his face turned toward them, with his eyes fixed on them, stood
Jasper Adelstone. She rose, but he came forward with his finger on his
lip.
"He is asleep," he said, glancing at the chair, and he held out his
hand.
Stella took it; it was hot and dry.
"I ought to apologize for coming in so late," he said in a cautious
voice; "but I was passing, and the music proved too great a temptation.
Will you forgive me?"
"Certainly," said Stella. "We are very glad to see you. This is my
Cousin Frank," she added.
The small eyes that had been fixed on her face turned to the boy's, and
a strange look came into them for a second, then, in his usual tone, he
said:
"Indeed! home for a holiday, I suppose? How do you do?" and he held out
his hand.
Frank came out of the shadow and took it, and Jasper held his hand and
looked at him with a strange smile.
"You have not introduced me," he said to Stella.
Stella smiled.
"This is Mr. Adelstone, a friend of uncle's," she said.
Jasper Adelstone looked at her.
"Will you not say a friend of yours also?" he asked, gently.
Stella laughed.
"I beg your pardon; yes, if I may. I'll say a friend of ours."
"And yours too, I hope," said Jasper Adelstone to Frank.
"Yes, thank you," answered the boy; but there was a strange,
ill-concealed shyness and reluctance in his manner.
Stella drew a chair forward.
"Won't you sit down?" she asked.
He sat down.
"I am afraid I have interrupted you," he said. "Will you go on--do,
please?"
Stella glanced at her uncle.
"I am afraid I should wake him," she said.
He looked disappointed.
"Some other time," said Stella.
"Thanks," he said.
"Uncle is very tired to-night; he has just come from London."
"Indeed!" said Jasper, with well-feigned surprise. "I have been to
London also. That reminds me, I have ventured to bring some music for
you--for your uncle!" and he drew a book from his pocket.
Stella took it, and uttered a little exclamation of pleasure. It was a
volume of Italian songs; some of them familiar to her, all of them good.
"How nice, how thoughtful of you!" she said. "Some of them are old
favorites of mine. Uncle will be so pleased. Thank you very much."
He put his hand to his mouth.
"I am glad there are some songs you like," he said. "I thought that
perhaps you would prefer Italian to English?"
"Yes--yes," said Stella, turning over the leaves. "Very much prefer it."
"Perhaps some night you will allow me to hear some of them?"
"Indeed, you shall!" she said, lightly.
"I may have an opportunity," he went on, "for I am afraid I shall be
rather a frequent visitor."
"Yes?" said Stella, interrogatively.
"The fact is," he said, hesitatingly, and he could have cursed himself
for his hesitation and awkwardness--he who was never awkward or
irresolute at other times--he who had faced the proud disdain of Lady
Lenore and conquered it!--"the fact is that I have some business with
your uncle. A client of mine is a patron of the fine arts. He is a very
wealthy man, and he is anxious that Mr. Etheridge, whom he greatly
admires, should paint him a picture on a subject which he has given
to me! It is rather a difficult subject--I mean it will require some
explanation as the picture progresses, and I have promised, if Mr.
Etheridge will permit me, to give the explanation."
Stella nodded. She had taken up her work again, and bent over it, quite
unconscious of the admiration with which the two pair of eyes were
fixed on her--the guarded, passionate, wistful, longing in the man's,
the open awe-felt admiration of the boy's.
"But," she said with a smile, "you know how--I was going to say
obstinate--my uncle is; do you think he will paint it?"
"I hope to be able to persuade him," he said, with a modest smile.
"Perhaps he will do it for me; I am an old friend, you know."
"Is it for you, then?" she asked.
"No, no," he said, quickly; "but this art-patron is a great friend of
mine, and I have pledged myself to persuade Mr. Etheridge."
"I see," said Stella.
Jasper was silent a moment, his eyes wandering round the room in search
of the flowers--_his_ flowers. They were nowhere to be seen; but on her
bosom were the wild blossoms which Lord Leycester had gathered.
A dark shade crossed his face for a moment, and his hands clinched,
but he composed himself. The time would come when she would wear _his_
flowers and his alone--he had sworn it!
He turned to Frank with a smile.
"Are you going to stay at home for long?" he asked.
Frank had withdrawn into the shadow, where he had been watching Stella
and Jasper's faces alternately. He started visibly.
"I don't know," he said.
"I hope we shall see a great deal of each other," he said. "I am
staying at the Rectory, taking holiday also."
"Thank you," said Frank, but not overjoyously.
Jasper rose.
"I must go now," he said, "Good-night." He took Stella's hand and bent
over it; then, turning to the boy, "Good-night. Yes," he added, and he
held the small hands with a tight pressure, "we must see a good deal of
each other, you and I."
Then he stole out noiselessly.
As he disappeared, Frank heaved a sigh of relief, and Stella looked at
him.
He was still standing as he had stood when Jasper held his hand,
looking after him; and there was a strange look on his face which
aroused Stella's attention.
"Well?" she said, with a smile.
Frank started, and looked down at her with a smile.
"Is it true," he asked, "that he is a great friend of my father's?"
Stella nodded.
"I suppose so, yes."
"And of yours?" he said, intently.
Stella hesitated.
"I have known him such a short time," she said, almost apologetically.
"I thought so," he said. "He is not a friend of yours--you don't like
him?"
"But"--said Stella.
"I know it," he said, "as well as if you had told me; and I am glad of
it."
There was a tone of suppressed excitement in his voice--a restless,
uneasy look in his eyes, which astonished Stella.
"Why?" she said.
"Because," he answered, "I do not like him. I"--and a shiver ran
through him--"I hate him."
Stella stared.
"You hate him!" she exclaimed. "You have only seen him for a few
minutes! Ought you to say that?"
"No, I suppose not," he replied; "but I can't help it. I hate him!
There is something about him that--that----"
He hesitated.
"Well?"
"That makes me afraid. I felt while he was talking as if I was being
smothered! Don't you know what I mean?"
"Yes," said Stella, quickly.
It was that she had felt herself sometimes, when Jasper's low, smooth
voice was in her ears. But she felt that it was foolish to encourage
the boy's fancy.
"But that is nonsense!" she said. "He is very kind and considerate. He
has sent me some beautiful flowers----"
"He has?" he said, gloomily.