Only a girl's love
"Nothing--really nothing, dear," she said, attempting to speak lightly.
"Where is Leycester?" she asked.
"That is it," replied the countess, pouring out the coffee, and keeping
her eye fixed on the cup. "The foolish boy hasn't returned yet."
"Not returned?" echoed Lenore, and a faint flush came into her face.
"Where did he go?"
"I don't know, my dear Lenore, and I cannot find out. He didn't tell
you?"
Lenore shook her head, and fastened a flower in her dress with a hand
that quivered faintly.
"No. I did not ask him. I saw him go."
"Was he on foot, or riding?" asked the earl.
"On foot," said Lenore. "He was in his shooting clothes, and I thought
he was going for a walk on the hills."
The earl broke his piece of toast with a little irritable jerk.
"It is annoying," he said. "It is extremely inconsiderate of him,
extremely. To-day, of all others, he should have remained at home."
"He will be here presently," said Lenore, calmly.
The countess sighed.
"Nothing--of course nothing could have happened to him."
She merely made the suggestion in a suppressed, hushed, anxious voice.
Lenore laughed--actually laughed.
"Happened to him, to Leycester!" she said, with proud contempt. "What
could have happened to him? Leycester is not the sort of man to meet
with accidents. Pray do not be uneasy, dear; he will come in directly,
very tired, and very hungry, and laugh at us."
"I give him credit for better manners," said the earl, curtly.
He was angry and annoyed. As he had said to the countess before Lenore
came in, he had hoped and believed that Leycester had given up this
sort of boyish nonsense, and intended to act sensibly, as became a man
who had settled to marry.
There was a moment's pause while the earl buttered his toast, still
irritably; then Lady Wyndward said almost to herself--
"Perhaps Lilian knows?"
"No," said Lenore, quickly, "she does not, or she would have told me. I
saw her last night the last thing, and she did not know he was out. Do
not tell her."
The countess glanced at her gratefully.
"She would only be anxious and fret," said Lenore. "While I am not, and
shall not be," she added, with a smile. "I am not afraid that Leycester
has run away from me."
She looked up as she spoke, and flashed her beauty upon them, as it
were, and smiled, and the mother felt reassured. Certainly it did not
seem probable that any man would run away from her.
She herself felt no fear, not even when the morning grew to noon and
the noon to evening. She went about the house superintending the
packing of the multitudinous things, arranging the epergnes, playing
the piano even, and more than once the light air from the French opera
floated through the room.
Lord Beauchamp and the rest of the visitors were to arrive about seven,
just in time to dress for dinner, and the stir that had reigned in the
house grew accentuated as the time approached. Lenore went to her room
at six to dress; she meant to look her best to-night, as well indeed
as she meant to look on the following day; and her maid knew by the
attention which her mistress had paid to the wardrobe that every care
would be expected from her ministering hands. Just before she went to
her room she met the countess on the stairs; they had not seen very
much of each other during the day; there was a great deal to do, and
the countess, notwithstanding her rank, was a housekeeper in something
more than name.
"Lenore," she said, then stopped.
The beauty bent over from her position on a higher step and kissed her.
"I know, dear--he has not come yet. Well, he will be here by
dinner-time. Why are you so anxious? I am not."
And she laughed.
It certainly encouraged the countess, and she even called up a smile.
"What a strange girl you are, Lenore," she said. "One would have
thought that you, before all of us, would have been uneasy."
Lenore shook her head.
"No, dear; I feel--I feel that he will come. Now see if my prophecy
comes true."
And she went up the stairs, casting a serene and confident smile over
her shoulder.
"I will wear that last blue dress of Worth's, and the pearls," she said
to her maid, and the girl started. The dress had just arrived, and was
supposed to be reserved for future London triumphs.
"The last, my lady?"
Lenore nodded.
"Yes; I want to look my best to-night; and if I were not afraid of
being thought too pronounced, I would wear my diamonds."
The girl arranged the beautiful hair in its close curls of gold, and
fastened the famous pearls upon the white wrists and round the dainty
throat; and Lenore surveyed herself in the Venetian mirror. A smile of
satisfaction slowly lit up her face.
"Well?" she said, over her shoulder.
"Beautiful," breathed the girl, who was proud of her mistress's
loveliness. "Oh, beautiful, my lady! but isn't it a pity to wear it
to-night?"
Lenore shook her head.
"I would wear a better if I had it," she said, softly. "Now go
down-stairs, and tell me when Lord Leycester returns."
The girl stared and then smiled. After all then they had been worrying
themselves about nothing; her ladyship had received a message from him
and knew when to expect him! She went down and crowed over them in the
servants' hall, and watched for Lord Leycester.
Seven o'clock chimed from the stables, and the carriage that had been
sent to meet the guests returned. Lord Beauchamp was a tall, stately
old gentleman who hated traveling as he hated anything else that gave
him any trouble or inconvenience, and the rest were tired and dusty,
and generally pining for soap and water. The earl and countess met them
in the hall, and in the bustle and fuss Leycester was not missed.
"Do not hurry, Lord Beauchamp," said the poor countess. "We will make
the dinner half-past eight," and she wished in her heart that she could
postpone it altogether; for Leycester had not come.
"What shall we do--what shall we do?" she exclaimed, as the earl stood
at her dressing-room door with his coat in his hand.
"Do!" he retorted. "Go on without him. This comes of humoring an only
son till he develops into a lunatic. Poor Lenore! I pity her!" and he
went out frowning.
"He has not come, my lady!" murmured the maid, entering Lenore's room a
few minutes afterwards. "Lord Beauchamp's party have arrived, but Lord
Leycester has not come."
Lenore was standing by the open window, and she turned with a sudden
smile. The sound of horse's feet had struck upon her ear.
"Yes, he has," she said. "He is here now," and she closed the window
and sat down calmly.
Leycester rode into the courtyard on the horse that he had borrowed
from the doctor, and, throwing the bridle to a groom, ascended the
stone steps and made his way through the hall.
Excepting some of the servants, there was no one about, they had all
gone to their dressing-rooms, and he went up the stairs in silence and
uninterrupted. With bent head and dragging step, for the long vigil and
hours of excitement had told upon him, he stood before Lilian's room.
It was worthy of notice that in this awful coming back of his he went
to her first, as a matter of course, and knocking gently, went in.
It was dark, and the lamp was burning softly, but she, accustomed to
the dim light, saw plainly that something had happened.
"Leycester!" she exclaimed. "Why--how is this, dear? Where have you
been all day and all last night? You did not come to me and----" she
stopped as he sat down beside her and put his hand upon her head. The
hand was burning hot, his face was white and haggard and worn, and yet
in some way strangely peaceful, with a far-away, dreamy expression upon
it--"Leycester, where have you been?"
He bent and kissed her.
"Lil," he said, and there was a great peace in his voice though it was
weary and husky, "you will be a brave good girl while I tell you!"
"Ah, Leycester!" was all she murmured.
"Well, Lil, I have found her--I have got her back--my poor Stella."
Her hand closed on his, and her delicate face went white as ivory.
"Got her back!"
"Yes," he said, in low tones. "I have found out the mystery--no, not I.
It was solved for me by a mightier hand than any human one--by Death,
Lil."
"Death, Leycester! She is not dead! Oh, Stella--Stella!"
"Heaven forbid," he breathed. "No, no; she is alive, though fearfully
near death still. I left her lying white and still and weak as a broken
lily--my poor, sweet darling!--but she is alive, thank Heaven!--she is
alive! And now can you bear to hear what separated us, Lil?"
"Tell me," she said.
Sitting there, with her loving, sympathizing heart beating against
his, he told her the strange story. Sobs, low and moving, broke from
her as he told of the boy's death, and an awful chill fell on her as
he spoke as shortly as he could of the fate that had befallen Jasper
Adelstone; but when he came to speak of that short damning note that he
had found--that note in the hand-writing of Lenore, and hinted at her
share in the conspiracy--the gentle heart grew cold and terrified, and
she hid her face for a moment, then she looked up and clasped her hands
round his neck.
"Oh, Ley, Ley! deal gently with her! Forgive her! We all need
forgiveness! Forgive her; she did it out of her love for you, and has
suffered, and will suffer! Deal gently with her!"
He bit his lip, and his brow darkened.
"Ley, Ley!" the gentle creature pleaded, "think of her now waiting for
you, think of her who was to be your wife. She loved you. Ley, she
loves you still; and that will be her punishment! Ley, you will not be
hard with her!"
Her prayer prevailed; he drew a long breath.
"No, Lil," he said, in a low voice, "I will not be hard with her. But
as for love! True love does not stand by and see its beloved suffer
as I have suffered; not true love. There is a passion which men libel
by calling love--that is what she has borne for me. Love! Think of
her? Yes; I will think of her; but how am I to forget my beautiful,
suffering darling, lying so white and wan and broken," and he hid his
face in his hands. Presently he rose and kissed her.
"I am going to her," he said. "Do not fear! I have given you my word; I
will deal gently with her."
She let him go without another word, and he went straight to Lenore's
sitting-room, travel-stained and haggard, and unrefreshed.
The maid heard his knock, and opened the door, and passed out as he
entered and stood in the middle of the room. There was a faint rustle
in the adjoining room, and then she came floating toward him in all her
loveliness, the faint, ethereal blue making her white skin to shame the
rare and costly pearls. She was dazzling in her supreme loveliness,
and at any other time he would have been moved, but now it was as if
a deadly, venomous serpent, glorious in its scaly beauty, lay coiled
before him.
She came forward, her hands outstretched, her eyes glowing with a
passionate welcome, and then stopped. Not a word passed for a moment;
the two, she in all her costly attire and loveliness, he in his stained
cord suit and with his haggard face, confronted each other. She read
her doom at a glance, but the proud, haughty spirit did not quail.
"Well?" she said at last.
Chivalrous to the last, even in this moment, he pointed to a seat,
but she made a gesture of refusal and stood, her white hands clasped
tightly, her head erect, her eyes glowing. "Well? You have come back?"
"Yes, I have come back, Lady Lenore," he said, his voice dry and hoarse.
She smiled bitterly at the "lady."
"You are late," she said. "Was it worth while coming back?"
It was a proud and insolent question, but he bore with her.
"I came back for your sake," he said.
"For mine!" and she smiled incredulously. She could smile still, though