Only a girl's love
"And this music."
Frank took up the book and eyed it scornfully, and threw it on the
table as if he were tempted to pitch it out of the window.
"What does he do it for!" he demanded.
"I don't know--only out of kindness."
Frank shook his head.
"I don't believe it! I--I wish he hadn't! I beg your pardon. Have I
offended you?" he added, contritely.
"No," said Stella, laughing. "Not a bit, you foolish boy," and she
leant on her elbows and looked up at him with her dark eyes smiling.
He came nearer and looked down at her.
"I am glad you don't like him."
"I didn't say----"
"But I know it. Because I shouldn't like to hate anyone you liked," he
added.
"Then," said Stella, with her rare, musical laugh, "as it's very wicked
to hate anyone, and I ought to help you to be good, the best thing I
can do is to like Mr. Adelstone."
"Heaven forbid!" he said, so earnestly, so passionately, that Stella
started.
"You are a wicked boy!" she said, with a smile.
"I am," he said, gravely, and his lips quivered. "But if anything could
make me better it would be living near you. You are not offended?"
"Not a bit," laughed Stella; "but I shall be directly, so you had
better go to bed. Your room is quite ready, and you look tired.
Good-night," and she gave him her hand.
He too bent over it, but how differently to Jasper! and he touched it
reverently with his lips.
"Good-night," he said; "say good-night to my father for me," and he
went out.
CHAPTER XX.
One hears of the devotion of a dog to its master, the love of a horse
for its rider; such devotion, such love Stella received from the boy
Frank. He was a very singular boy, and strange; he soon lost the air of
melancholy and sadness which hung about him on the first night of his
arrival, and became happier and sometimes even merry; there was always
a certain kind of reserve about him.
As Stella--knowing nothing of the history of the forged bill--said, he
had his thinking fits, when he used to sit with his head in his hands,
his eyes fixed on vacancy.
But these fits were not of frequent occurrence, and oftener he was
in the best of boyish moods, chatty and cheerful, and "chaffy." His
devotion to Stella, indeed, was extraordinary. It was more than the
love of a brother, it was not the love of a sweetheart, it was a kind
of worship. He would sit for hours by her side, more often at her
feet listening to her singing, or watching her at work. He was never
so happy as when he was with her, walking in the meadows, and he would
gladly lay aside his fishing rod or his book, to hang about with her in
the garden.
There had never been anyone so beautiful as Stella--there had never
been anyone so good. The boy looked up to her with the same admiration
and love with which the devotee might regard his patron saint.
His attachment was so marked that even his father, who noticed so
little, observed it and commented on it.
"Frank follows you like a dog, Stella," he said, the third evening
after the boy's arrival. "Don't let him bother you; he has his reading
to get through, and there's the river and his rod. Send him about his
business if he worries you."
Stella laughed.
"Frank worry me!" she exclaimed lightly. "He is incapable of such a
thing. There never was such a dear considerate boy. Why, I should miss
him dreadfully if he were to go away for an hour or two even. No, he
doesn't bother me in the slightest, and as to his books and his rod, he
shamelessly confessed yesterday, that he didn't care for any of them
half as much as he cared for me."
The old man looked up and sighed.
"It is strange," he said, "you seem to be the only person who ever had
any influence over him."
"I ought to be very proud, then," said Stella, "and I am. No one could
help loving him, he is so irresistible."
The old man went on with his work with a little sigh.
"Then he's so pretty!" continued Stella. "It is a shame to call a boy
pretty, but that is just what he is."
"Yes," said Mr. Etheridge, grimly. "It is the face of a girl, with all
a girl's weakness."
"Hush," said Stella, warningly. "Here he comes. Well, Frank," she said,
as he came in, his slim form dressed in boating flannels, his rod in
his hand. "What have you been doing--fishing?"
"No," he said, his eyes fixed on her face. "I meant to, but you said
that you would come out directly, and so I waited. Are you ready? It
doesn't matter--I'll wait. I suppose it's the pudding, or the custards,
or the canary wants feeding. I wish there were no puddings or canaries."
"What an impatient boy it is," she exclaimed, with a laugh. "Well, now
I'm ready."
"Let's go down to the river," he said. "There's someone fishing
there--at least, he's supposed to be fishing, but he keeps his eyes
fixed in this direction, so that I don't imagine he is getting much
sport."
"What is he like?" said Stella.
"Like?" said Frank. "Oh, a tall, well-made young fellow, in brown
velvet. A man with a yellow mustache."
Stella's face flushed, and she glanced round at her uncle.
"Let us go," she said. "I know who it is. It is Lord Leycester."
"Not Lord Leycester Wyndward," exclaimed Frank. "Not really! I should
like to see him. Do you know him, Stella?"
"Yes--a little," said Stella, shyly. "A little."
"Yes, it is Lord Leycester," said Stella, and the color came to her
face.
"I have heard so much about Lord Leycester," said Frank, eagerly;
"everybody knows him in London. He is an awful swell, isn't he?"
Stella smiled.
"You will teach me the most dreadful slang, Frank," she said. "Is he
such a 'swell,' as you call him?"
"Oh, awful; there isn't anything that he doesn't do. He drives a coach
and four, and he's the owner of two of the best race horses in England,
and he's got a yacht--the 'Gipsy,' you know--and, oh, there's no end to
his swelldom. And you know him?"
"Yes," said Stella, and her heart smote her, that she could not say: "I
know him so well that I am engaged to be married to him." But she could
not; she had promised, and must keep her promise.
Frank could not get over his wonder and admiration.
"Why, he's one of the most popular men in London," he said. "Let me
see! there's something else I heard about him. Oh, yes, he is going to
be married."
"Is he?" said Stella, and a little smile came about her lips.
Frank nodded.
"To a swell as great as himself. To Lady Lenore Beauchamp."
The smile died away from Stella's lips, and her face paled.
It was false and ridiculous, but the mere rumor struck her, not with a
dagger's but a pin's point.
"Is he?" she said, feeling deceitful and guilty, and she walked on in
silence to the river's bank, while Frank ran on telling all he knew of
Lord Leycester's swelldom. According to Frank he was a very great swell
indeed, a sort of prince amongst men, and as Stella listened her heart
went out to the boy in gratitude.
And she was to marry this great man!
They reached the river's bank, and Lord Leycester, who had been
watching them, put down his rod and came across.
Stella held out her hand, her face crimson with a warm blush, her eyes
downcast.
"How do you do, Stel--Miss Etheridge?" he said, pressing her hand; then
he glanced at Frank.
"This is my cousin, Frank," said Stella. "Frank Etheridge."
Frank, with his blue eyes wide open with awe, looked up at the handsome
face of the "awful swell," and bowed respectfully; but Lord Leycester
held out his hand, and smiled at him--the rare sweet smile.
"How do you do, Mr. Etheridge?" he said, warmly, and at the greeting
the boy's heart leaped up and his face flushed. "I am very glad to meet
you," went on Leycester, in his frank way--just the way to enslave a
boy--"very glad, indeed, for I was feeling bored to death with rod and
line. Are you fond of fishing? Will you come for a row? Do you think
you can persuade your cousin to accompany us?"
Frank looked up eagerly at Stella, who stood, her beautiful face
downcast and grave, but for the little tremulous smile of happiness
which shone in the dark eyes and played about the lips.
"Do, Stella!" he said, "do let us go!"
Stella looked up with a smile, and Lord Leycester helped her into the
boat.
"You can row?" he said to Frank.
"Yes," said Frank, eagerly, "I can row."
"You shall pull behind me, then," said Leycester.
They took up sculls, and Lord Leycester, as he leaned forward for the
stroke, spoke in a low tone:
"My darling! Have you wondered where I have been?"
Stella glanced at Frank, pulling away manfully.
"He cannot hear," whispered Leycester; "the noise of the sculls
prevents him. Are you angry with me for being away?"
She shook her head.
"You haven't missed me?"
"I have missed you!" she said, sharply.
His heart leaped at the plain, frank avowal.
"I have been to London," he said. "There has been some trouble about
some foolish, tiresome horses; I was obliged to go. Stella, every hour
seemed an age to me! I dared not write; I could not send a message.
Stella, I want to speak to you very particularly. Will he be offended
if I get rid of him. He seems a nice boy!"
"Frank is the dearest boy in the world," she said, eagerly.
Leycester nodded.
"I did not know Mr. Etheridge had a son--it is his son?"
"Yes," she said; "neither did I know it; but he is the dearest boy."
Leycester looked round.
"Frank," he said--"you don't mind my calling you Frank?"
Frank colored.
"It is very friendly of your lordship."
Leycester smiled.
"I shall think you are offended if you address me in that way," he
said. "My name is Leycester. If you call me 'my lord,' I shall have
to call you 'sir.' I can't help being a lord, you know. It's my
misfortune, not my fault."
Frank laughed.
"I wish it was my misfortune, or my fault," he said.
Leycester smiled.
"There is a jack just opposite where I was fishing; I saw him half an
hour ago. Would you like to try for him?"
Frank put the sculls up at once.
"All right," said Leycester, and he pulled for the shore.
"You'll find my rod quite ready. You'll stay here Stel--Miss Etheridge.
We'll pull about gently till Frank has caught his fish."
Frank sprang to land and ran to the spot where Leycester had left his
rod, and Leycester sculled up stream again for a few strokes, then he
put the sculls down and leant forward, and seized Stella's hand.
"He will see you," said Stella, blushing.
"No, he will not," he retorted, and he bent until his lips touched her
hand. "Stella, I want to speak to you very seriously. You must promise
you will not be angry with me."
Stella looked at him with a smile.
"Is it so serious," she said, in that low, murmuring voice which a
woman uses when she speaks to the man she loves.
"Very," he said, gravely, but with the bold, defiant look in his eyes
which presaged some bold, defiant deed. "Stella, I want you to marry
me."
Stella started, and her hand closed spasmodically on his.
"I want you to marry me soon," he went on--"at once."
"Oh, no, no!" she said, in a whisper, and her hand trembled in his.
Marry him at once! The thought was so full of immensity that it
overwhelmed her.
"But it must be 'Yes! yes! yes!'" he said. "My darling, I find that I
cannot live without you. I cannot! I cannot! You will take pity on me!"
Take pity on him--the great Lord Leycester; the most popular man in
London; the heir to Wyndward; the hero of whom Frank had been speaking
so enthusiastically; while she was but Stella Etheridge, the painter's
penniless niece.
"What am I to say? what can I say?" she said, in a low voice, her eyes
downcast, her heart beating fast.
"I will tell you," he said. "You must say 'Yes,' my darling, to all I
ask you."