No. 25 10 Cents
LITTLE SOUTHERN BEAUTY
[Illustration]
BY
MRS. ALEX
McVEIGH MILLER
PHOTO COPYRIGHT
BY SCHLOSS N. Y.
All stories Copyrighted
Cannot be had in any
other edition
EAGLE LIBRARY
STREET
& SMITH
Publishers, New York
The Eagle Series
_RETAIL, 10 CENTS_
293--For Love of Anne Lambart. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
292--For Her Only. By Charles Garvice.
291--A Mysterious Wedding Ring. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
290--A Change of Heart. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
289--Married in Mask. By Mansfield T. Walworth.
288--Sibyl’s Influence. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
287--The Lady of Darracourt. By Charles Garvice.
286--A Debt of Vengeance. By Mrs. E. Burke Collins.
285--Born to Betray. By Mrs. M. V. Victor.
284--Dr. Jack’s Widow. By St. George Rathborne.
283--My Lady Pride. By Charles Garvice.
282--The Forsaken Bride. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
281--For Love Alone. By Wenona Gilman.
280--Love’s Dilemma. By Charles Garvice.
279--Nina’s Peril. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
278--Laura Brayton. By Julia Edwards.
277--Brownie’s Triumph. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
276--So Nearly Lost. By Charles Garvice.
275--Love’s Cruel Whim. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
274--A Romantic Girl. By Evelyn E. Green.
273--At Swords’ Points. By St. George Rathborne.
272--So Fair, So False. By Charles Garvice.
271--With Love’s Laurel Crowned. By W. C. Stiles.
270--Had She Foreseen. By Dora Delmar.
269--Brunette and Blonde. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
268--Olivia; or, It Was for Her Sake. By Charles Garvice.
267--Jeanne. By Charles Garvice.
266--The Welfleet Mystery. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
265--First Love is Best. By S. K. Hocking.
264--For Gold or Soul. By Lurana W. Sheldon.
263--An American Nabob. By St. George Rathborne.
262--A Woman’s Faith. By Henry Wallace.
261--A Siren’s Heart. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
260--At a Girl’s Mercy. By Jean Kate Ludlum.
259--By a Golden Cord. By Dora Delmar.
258--An Amazing Marriage. By Mrs. Sumner Hayden.
257--A Martyred Love. By Charles Garvice.
256--Thy Name is Woman. By F. H. Howe.
255--The Little Marplot. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
254--Little Miss Millions. By St. George Rathborne.
253--A Fashionable Marriage. By Mrs. Alex. Frazer.
252--A Handsome Sinner. By Dora Delmar.
251--When Love is True. By Mabel Collins.
250--A Woman’s Soul. By Charles Garvice.
249--What Love Will Do. By Geraldine Fleming.
248--Jeanne, Countess Du Barry. By H. L. Williams.
247--Within Love’s Portals. By Frank Barrett.
246--True to Herself. By Mrs. J. H. Walworth.
245--A Modern Marriage. By Clara Lanza.
244--A Hoiden’s Conquest. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
243--His Double Self. By Scott Campbell.
242--A Wounded Heart. By Charles Garvice.
241--Her Love and Trust. By Adeline Sergeant.
240--Saved by the Sword. By St. George Rathborne.
239--Don Cæsar De Bazan. By Victor Hugo.
238--That Other Woman. By Annie Thomas.
237--Woman or Witch? By Dora Delmar.
235--Gratia’s Trials. By Lucy Randall Comfort.
234--His Mother’s Sin. By Adeline Sergeant.
233--Nora. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
232--A Debt of Honor. By Mabel Collins.
230--A Woman’s Atonement, and A Mother’s Mistake. By Adah M. Howard.
229--For the Sake of the Family. By May Crommelin.
228--His Brother’s Widow. By Mary Grace Halpine.
227--For Love and Honor. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
226--The Roll of Honor. By Annie Thomas.
225--A Miserable Woman. By Mrs. H. C. Hoffman.
224--A Sister’s Sacrifice. By Geraldine Fleming.
223--Leola Dale’s Fortune. By Charles Garvice.
222--The Lily of Mordaunt. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
221--The Honorable Jane. By Annie Thomas.
220--A Fatal Past. By Dora Russell.
219--Lost, A Pearle. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
218--A Life for a Love. By Mrs. L. T. Meade.
217--His Noble Wife. By George Manville Fenn.
216--The Lost Bride. By Clara Augusta.
215--Only a Girl’s Love. By Charles Garvice.
214--Olga’s Crime. By Frank Barrett.
213--The Heiress of Egremont. By Mrs. Harriet Lewis.
212--Doubly Wronged. By Adah M. Howard.
211--As We Forgive. By Lurana W. Sheldon.
210--Wild Oats. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
209--She Loved but Left Him. By Julia Edwards.
208--A Chase for a Bride. By St. George Rathborne.
207--Little Golden’s Daughter. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
206--A Daughter of Maryland. By G. Waldo Browne.
205--If Love be Love. By D. Cecil Gibbs.
204--With Heart So True. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
203--Only One Love. By Charles Garvice.
202--Marjorie. By Katharine S. MacQuoid.
201--Blind Elsie’s Crime. By Mary Grace Halpine.
200--In God’s Country. By D. Higbee.
199--Geoffrey’s Victory. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
198--Guy Kenmore’s Wife, and The Rose and the Lily. By Mrs. Alex.
McVeigh Miller.
197--A Woman Scorned. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
196--A Sailor’s Sweetheart. By the author of Dr. Jack.
195--Her Faithful Knight. By Gertrude Warden.
194--A Sinless Crime. By Geraldine Fleming.
193--A Vagabond’s Honor. By Ernest De Lancey Pierson.
192--An Old Man’s Darling, and Jacquelina. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
191--A Harvest of Thorns. By Mrs. H. C. Hoffman.
190--A Captain of the Kaiser. By St. George Rathborne.
189--Berris. By Katharine S. MacQuoid.
188--Dorothy Arnold’s Escape. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
187--The Black Ball. By Ernest De Lancey Pierson.
186--Beneath a Spell. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
185--The Adventures of Miss Volney. By Ella Wheeler Wilcox.
184--Sunlight and Gloom. By Geraldine Fleming.
183--Quo Vadis. By Henryk Sienkiewicz.
182--A Legal Wreck. By William Gillette.
181--The Baronet’s Bride. By May Agnes Fleming.
180--A Lazy Man’s Work. By Frances Campbell Sparhawk.
179--One Man’s Evil. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
178--A Slave of Circumstances. By Ernest De Lancey Pierson.
177--A True Aristocrat. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
176--Jack Gordon, Knight Errant. By William C. Hudson (Barclay North)
175--For Honor’s Sake. By Laura C. Ford.
174--His Guardian Angel. By Charles Garvice.
173--A Bar Sinister. By the Author of Dr. Jack.
172--A King and a Coward. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
171--That Dakota Girl. By Stella Gilman.
170--A Little Radical. By Mrs. J. H. Walworth.
169--The Trials of an Actress. By Wenona Gilman.
168--Thrice Lost, Thrice Won. By May Agnes Fleming.
167--The Manhattaners. By Edward S. Van Zile.
166--The Masked Bridal. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
165--The Road of the Rough. By Maurice M. Minton.
164--Couldn’t Say No. By the author of Helen’s Babies.
163--A Splendid Egotist. By Mrs. J. H. Walworth
162--A Man of the Name of John. By Florence King.
161--Miss Fairfax of Virginia. By the author of Dr. Jack.
160--His Way and Her Will. By Frances Aymar Mathews.
159--A Fair Maid of Marblehead. By Kate Tannatt Woods.
158--Stella, the Star. By Wenona Gilman.
157--Who Wins? By May Agnes Fleming
156--A Soldier Lover. By Edward S. Brooks.
155--Nameless Dell. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
154--Husband and Foe. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
153--Her Son’s Wife. By Hazel Wood.
152--A Mute Confessor. By Will N. Harben.
151--The Heiress of Glen Gower. By May Agnes Fleming.
150--Sunset Pass. By General Charles King.
149--The Man She Loved. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands
148--Will She Win? By Emma Garrison Jones.
147--Under Egyptian Skies. By the author of Dr. Jack.
146--Magdalen’s Vow. By May Agnes Fleming.
145--Country Lanes and City Pavements. By Maurice M. Minton.
144--Dorothy’s Jewels. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
143--A Charity Girl. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
142--Her Rescue from the Turks. By the author of Dr. Jack.
141--Lady Evelyn. By May Agnes Fleming.
140--That Girl of Johnson’s. By Jean Kate Ludlum.
139--Little Lady Charles. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
138--A Fatal Wooing. By Laura Jean Libbey.
137--A Wedded Widow. By T. W. Hanshew.
136--The Unseen Bridegroom. By May Agnes Fleming.
135--Cast Up by the Tide. By Dora Delmar.
134--Squire John. By the author of Dr. Jack.
133--Max. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
132--Whose Was the Crime? By Gertrude Warden.
131--Nerine’s Second Choice. By Adelaide Stirling.
130--A Bitter Bondage. By Bertha M. Clay.
129--In Sight of St Paul’s. By Sutton Vane.
128--The Scent of the Roses. By Dora Delmar.
127--Nobody’s Daughter. By Clara Augusta.
126--The Girl from Hong Kong. By the author of Dr. Jack.
125--Devil’s Island. By A. D. Hall.
124--Prettiest of All. By Julia Edwards.
123--Northern Lights. By A. D. Hall.
122--Grazia’s Mistake. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon
121--Cecile’s Marriage. By Lucy Randall Comfort.
120--The White Squadron. By T. C. Harbaugh.
119--An Ideal Love. By Bertha M. Clay
118--Saved From the Sea. By Richard Duffy.
117--She Loved Him. By Charles Garvice.
116--The Daughter of the Regiment. By Mary A. Denison.
115--A Fair Revolutionist. By the author of Dr. Jack.
114--Half a Truth. By Dora Delmar.
113--A Crushed Lily. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
112--The Cattle King. By A. D. Hall.
111--Faithful Shirley. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
110--Whose Wife Is She? By Annie Lisle.
109--A Heart’s Bitterness. By Bertha M. Clay.
108--A Son of Mars. By the author of Dr. Jack.
107--Carla; or, Married at Sight. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
106--Lilian, My Lilian. By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller
105--When London Sleeps. By Chas. Darrell.
104--A Proud Dishonor. By Genie Holzmeyer.
103--The Span of Life. By Sutton Vane.
102--Fair But Faithless. By Bertha M. Clay
101--A Goddess of Africa. By the author of Dr. Jack.
100--Alice Blake. By Francis S. Smith.
99--Audrey’s Recompense. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
98--Claire. By Charles Garvice.
97--The War Reporter. By Warren Edwards.
96--The Little Minister. By J. M. Barrie.
95--’Twixt Love and Hate. By Bertha M. Clay.
94--Darkest Russia. By H. Grattan Donnelly.
93--A Queen of Treachery. By T. W. Henshew.
92--Humanity. By Sutton Vane.
91--Sweet Violet. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
90--For Fair Virginia. By Russ Whytal.
89--A Gentleman From Gascony. By Bicknell Dudley.
88--Virgie’s Inheritance. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
87--Shenandoah. By J. Perkins Tracy.
86--A Widowed Bride. By Lucy Randall Comfort.
85--Lorrie; or, Hollow Gold. By Charles Garvice.
84--Between Two Hearts. By Bertha M. Clay.
83--The Locksmith of Lyons. By Prof. Wm. Henry Peck.
82--Captain Impudence. By Edwin Milton Royle.
81--Wedded For an Hour. By Emma Garrison Jones.
80--The Fair Maid of Fez. By the author of Dr. Jack.
79--Marjorie Deane. By Bertha M. Clay.
78--The Yankee Champion. By Sylvanus Cobb, Jr.
77--Tina. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
76--Mavourneen. From the celebrated play.
75--Under Fire. By T. P. James.
74--The Cotton King. By Sutton Vane.
73--The Marquis. By Charles Garvice.
72--Willful Winnie. By Harriet Sherburne.
71--The Spider’s Web. By the author of Dr. Jack.
70--In Love’s Crucible. By Bertha M. Clay.
69--His Perfect Trust. By a popular author.
68--The Little Cuban Rebel. By Edna Winfield.
67--Gismonda. By Victorien Sardou.
66--Witch Hazel. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
65--Won By the Sword. By J. Perkins Tracy.
64--Dora Tenney. By Mrs. Alex McVeigh Miller.
63--Lawyer Bell From Boston. By Robert Lee Tyler.
62--Stella Stirling. By Julia Edwards.
61--La Tosca. By Victorien Sardou.
60--The County Fair. By Neil Burgess.
59--Gladys Greye. By Bertha M. Clay.
58--Major Matterson of Kentucky. By the author of Dr. Jack.
57--Rosamond. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
56--The Dispatch Bearer. By Warren Edwards.
55--Thrice Wedded. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
54--Cleopatra. By Victorien Sardou.
53--The Old Homestead. By Denman Thompson.
52--Woman Against Woman. By Effie Adelaide Rowlands.
51--The Price He Paid. By E. Werner.
50--Her Ransom. By Charles Garvice.
49--None But the Brave. By Robert Lee Tyler.
48--Another Man’s Wife. By Bertha M. Clay.
47--The Colonel By Brevet. By the author of Dr. Jack.
46--Off With the Old Love. By Mrs. M. V. Victor.
45--A Yale Man. By Robert Lee Tyler.
44--That Dowdy. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
43--Little Coquette Bonnie. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
42--Another Woman’s Husband. By Bertha M. Clay.
41--Her Heart’s Desire. By Charles Garvice.
40--Monsieur Bob. By the author of Dr. Jack.
39--The Colonel’s Wife. By Warren Edwards.
38--The Nabob of Singapore. By the author of Dr. Jack.
37--The Heart of Virginia. By J. Perkins Tracy.
36--Fedora. By Victorien Sardou.
35--The Great Mogul. By the author of Dr. Jack.
34--Pretty Geraldine. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
33--Mrs. Bob. By the author of Dr. Jack.
32--The Blockade Runner. By J. Perkins Tracy.
31--A Siren’s Love. By Robert Lee Tyler.
30--Baron Sam. By the author of Dr. Jack.
29--Theodora. By Victorien Sardou.
28--Miss Caprice. By the author of Dr. Jack.
27--Estelle’s Millionaire Lover. By Julia Edwards.
26--Captain Tom. By the author of Dr. Jack.
25--Little Southern Beauty. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
24--A Wasted Love. By Charles Garvice.
23--Miss Pauline of New York. By the author of Dr. Jack.
22--Elaine. By Charles Garvice.
21--A Heart’s Idol. By Bertha M. Clay.
20--The Senator’s Bride. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
19--Mr. Lake of Chicago. By Harry DuBois Milman.
18--Dr. Jack’s Wife. By the author of Dr. Jack.
17--Leslie’s Loyalty. By Charles Garvice.
16--The Fatal Card. By Haddon Chambers and B. C. Stephenson.
15--Dr. Jack. By St. George Rathborne.
14--Violet Lisle. By Bertha M. Clay.
13--The Little Widow. By Julia Edwards.
12--Edrie’s Legacy. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
11--The Gypsy’s Daughter. By Bertha M. Clay.
10--Little Sunshine. By Francis S. Smith.
9--The Virginia Heiress. By May Agnes Fleming.
8--Beautiful But Poor. By Julia Edwards.
7--Two Keys. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
6--The Midnight Marriage. By A. M. Douglas.
5--The Senator’s Favorite. By Mrs. Alex. McVeigh Miller.
4--For a Woman’s Honor. By Bertha M Clay.
3--He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not. By Julia Edwards.
2--Ruby’s Reward. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
1--Queen Bess. By Mrs. Georgie Sheldon.
A LITTLE SOUTHERN BEAUTY;
OR,
TORTURED HEARTS.
By Mrs. ALEX. McVEIGH MILLER,
Author of
_“The Senator’s Favorite,” “Little Coquette Bonnie,” “The Senator’s
Bride,” “Brunette and Blonde,” “Rosamond,” Etc., Etc._
[Illustration]
NEW YORK:
STREET & SMITH, PUBLISHERS,
29 Rose Street.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1893,
BY STREET & SMITH,
In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C.
A Little Southern Beauty.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I. THE BIRTH-NIGHT BALL.
CHAPTER II. “IT WAS BUT A DREAM.”
CHAPTER III. CHARLTON ANTICIPATES A SIEGE.
CHAPTER IV. “YOU ARE NOT MY HERO--NEVER CAN BE.”
CHAPTER V. THE SISTERS.
CHAPTER VI. VIVIAN “IS SORRY.”
CHAPTER VII. A WICKED DEED.
CHAPTER VIII. THE LADY’S SECRET.
CHAPTER IX. MAX VERNE AT HOME.
CHAPTER X. “IT IS ALL RIGHT.”
CHAPTER XI. “MAN MAKES HARD LAWS.”
CHAPTER XII. “IT WAS ONLY A BOY’S FANCY.”
CHAPTER XIII. TOKENS FROM THE RIVER.
CHAPTER XIV. NEWS FOR VIVIAN.
CHAPTER XV. “THE HAND WITHOUT THE HEART.”
CHAPTER XVI. LA MESSE DE REQUIEM
CHAPTER XVII. A TERRIBLE MISTAKE.
CHAPTER XVIII. THE BEGINNING OF THE END.
CHAPTER XIX. AT DIANA’S WEDDING.
CHAPTER XX. “PEOPLE ALWAYS REPENT WHEN IT IS TOO LATE.”
CHAPTER XXI. THE SLEIGH-RIDE.
CHAPTER XXII. DARK HOURS.
CHAPTER XXIII. IN THE SPACE OF THREE YEARS.
CHAPTER XXIV. TWELVE MONTHS LATER.
CHAPTER XXV. A VILLAIN’S WORK.
CHAPTER XXVI. REMORSE.
CHAPTER XXVII. “FROM GRAVE TO GAY; FROM LIVELY TO SEVERE.”
CHAPTER XXVIII. “THIS HOUR, IN WHICH I SEE MY REVENGE AT HAND, IS THE
SWEETEST OF MY LIFE.”
CHAPTER XXIX. A WIDOWED BRIDE.
CHAPTER XXX. DIANA’S ADVICE.
CHAPTER XXXI. ACQUITTED OF ALL BLAME.
CHAPTER XXXII. “LET ME HELP YOU.”
CHAPTER XXXIII. “I DID NOT UNDERSTAND, OR I SHOULD HAVE LOVED YOU MORE.”
CHAPTER XXXIV. THE DARK BEYOND.
CHAPTER XXXV. TIME’S REVENGE.
CHAPTER XXXVI. “LOVE IS LOVE FOREVERMORE.”
CHAPTER XXXVII. ONLY ONE LITTLE PROMISE.
CHAPTER XXXVIII. “ACROSS DEATH’S DIM HILLS.”
CHAPTER XXXIX. FINIS.
CHAPTER I.
THE BIRTH-NIGHT BALL.
“The festal board is crowned with flowers,
The red wine floweth free,
And gayly speed the midnight hours
On wings of revelry.
Here youth and love enraptured hang
On beauty’s sparkling glance,
While sweetest strains that ever rang
Keep time unto the dance.”--MRS. MILLER.
“Look at my dress, Madame Orne! Isn’t it sweet?”
The slender figure, standing alone at the open window in quiet
contemplation of the beauty of the moonlit Virginia landscape, turned
with a pensive smile and looked at the vision of youth and beauty that
stood courtesying gayly before her--a dazzling mist of white tulle and
silk, pearls, and pink rosebuds that framed the beauty of a young girl,
a slender maiden, dark and lovely, with lips like crimson flowers, and
proud, dark eyes that flashed with happy radiance.
Before the quiet governess could speak the girl continued joyously:
“The boys are here at last! The train was late, of course--always is
when it ought to be on time!--so they will have to make their toilets
in a fearful hurry! Brother is looking just splendid, dear old fellow!”
“Viva, I wish you wouldn’t say ‘dear old fellow.’ It sounds coarse
from a young girl’s lips. And it isn’t correct to apply the adjective
fearful to trifles, as you did just now. What would your newly fledged
graduates think of such slang?”
“Think?” a smile rippling over the piquant scarlet lips. “Only that I
learned it from them! When Max Verne spent a month with us last summer,
they talked nothing else. Of course, being their intimate companion,
I was duly initiated into their choice vocabulary of expressions, and
heard about ‘fearful bores,’ ‘fearful weather,’ and ‘good old fellows,’
and ‘dear old fellows’ and such trifles, every hour in the day. So may
it please you to pronounce my pardon, madam?”
She bent with saucy grace, and Madame Orne lifted her delicate white
hand and lightly caressed the little dark, curly head as she answered
fondly:
“I will blame the boys, not my little Vivian, this time; but remember,
love, you are eighteen to-day--quite a grown-up young lady--and you
must hereafter set examples for the boys to imitate, not follow their
rude lead.”
“Examples for them!” A puzzled look crossed Vivian Leigh’s bright face.
“How the boys would laugh to hear you! They are older and wiser than I
am. My brother is five-and-twenty, Earle Essex is the same, and Max
Verne is three-and-twenty--all grave and reverend seigniors, you see.”
“They are not too old to learn of you, my child, many things that might
profit heedless youth.”
“What things, my grave mentor? Tell me, please?” laughed the joyous
girl.
“Not now--you are too gay--to-morrow.”
“‘To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow,’” quoted a musical masculine
voice, and Vivian’s brother, entering in faultless evening dress, bowed
to the governess.
“Madam, I am most happy to meet you again, and would be charmed
to learn the import of that promise of which I only caught the
fag-end--‘to-morrow.’”
“Old Curiosity Shop!” laughed Vivian, in an audible aside.
“It was only the threat of a private lecture to my pupil,” Madame Orne
answered, a little wearily, and half-turned to the window again, as
though dismissing the conversation.
“Come, Vivian, isn’t it time to go down?” asked Charlton, taking her
hand.
“Yes, indeed, for I want you to see the tables before our guests
come. The caterer has really outdone himself. And such flowers, such
confections, such wines, champagnes, verzenay, veuve cliquot, port,
sherry--a perfect bouquet of colors!”
He was leading her to the door as she spoke, but she turned suddenly
and floated back to the window where the tall, slight, graceful figure
still kept its pensive pose.
“Madam,” she murmured, touching a fold of the soft, sweeping black
robe, “will you not come down? And won’t you--just this once--lay aside
this gloomy mourning?”
“I shall come down and see you dance by and by, dear.” The tone was sad
and languid. “I will wear black lace and white flowers to please you.”
“She is so strange,” Charlton said thoughtfully, as they went
arm-in-arm down the stairs.
“But I love her dearly!” cried his sister, then forgot Madame Orne all
at once and beamed radiantly, for at the bottom of the stairway two
gentlemen were waiting her ladyship’s descent. She gave each a hand in
welcome, and spoke to both at once in joyous greeting, but her face
turned unconsciously to one, the younger of the pair, and his eyes met
hers in eager pleasure.
“It seems awfully jolly to meet you again, Viva,” observed this latter
youth, who bore the blushing honors of his Alma Mater thick upon him.
“Thank you,” she murmured demurely, with dimpling cheeks and an amused
wonder as to what her dignified governess would have thought of the
young graduate’s “awfully jolly” pleasure.
She did not see the dark frown that clouded Earle Essex’s pale face as
Max Verne drew her arm in his and led her into the long drawing-room
where the balmy summer breeze came floating in through the lace-draped
windows fragrant with the breath of June, and where all was light and
splendor. She did not see it, and if she had she would not have dreamed
that she called it forth. Who could frown upon her, this fair favorite
of fortune, so young, so lovely, so rich and happy! Happy, so happy,
for she loved and was loved in return. The heart that was dearest to
her on earth was throbbing quick and fast against the beautiful, warm,
white arm that rested so confidingly in his. Life to them both was a
dream of gladness, the future a distant Paradise.
As they walk up and down the long room she observes with pretty dignity:
“I congratulate you on getting through college with such honors.
Brother says you were the valedictorian.”
“Yes, I had that honor,” he answered simply, then asked:
“Are you through with lessons yet, Viva?”
“Through with lessons, but not with lectures.” She glances up to see
if he is laughing at her, but only meets a gravely attentive look, so
adds: “My education is finished, but papa retains Madame Orne to form
my mind and manners.”
“As though either could be improved,” he rejoins gayly, then striking
an attitude, quotes, half earnestly, half lightly, but in deep, sweet,
musical intonations, Shakespeare’s lines:
“To gild refined gold, to paint the lily;
To throw a perfume on the violet;
To smooth the ice, or add another hue
Unto the rainbow, or with taper light
To seek the beauteous eye of Heaven to garnish,
Were wasteful and ridiculous excess.”
“Stage-struck,” she comments laughingly.
“Am I?” he asks, looking down at her with a glance that makes her
upraised dark eyes fall. “Am I, Viva? I might be, could I play Romeo to
your Juliet!”
“I have no fancy for the sighing Juliet,” she answers, with a shrug
of her white shoulders; “I shudder at hopeless loves, at poisons, and
daggers, and death. I love to be happy.”
A pause.
He is looking down at her with a strangely earnest face, studying her
with an intent gravity that makes his handsome young face seem older
and more manly.
He has the face of a thinker, this Max Verne--a broad, full, white
brow, strongly marked in the perceptive and intellectual organs,
and in the regions of courage and self-reliance as well. Sweetness
and firmness combined look at you from the beautiful blue gray eyes
that go with the clear, fair complexion and silky, slightly curling,
light-brown hair. The Grecian nose, the curved red lips, the strong,
tall, symmetrical form, so indicative of a well balanced temperament,
all show passion and power--intense, passionate power, lying dormant
now in his sunny, hopeful youth as the stormy sea lies calm beneath
the sunlight of a summer sky.
Looking at Vivian Leigh, the young man sees a sensitive, passionate,
impulsive face, the fair low brow marked with ideality, and
mirthfulness as well, the full dark eye beaming with truth and
tenderness, while the pretty, piquant nose, the delicate contour of the
oval face, the thin scarlet line of her lips, the sweet dimpled chin,
all are distinct with exquisite susceptibilities, full of purity and
nobility, and breathing in every line deep capacity for either joy or
sorrow. He sighs unconsciously as her lips part in a dazzling smile.
“Viva, it would take much to make you happy all your life,” he
exclaims; then, half to himself: “He would be a brave man who took the
precious trust of your happiness into his keeping.”
“Indeed you mistake,” she cries eagerly, though a blush creeps up to
the edge of the silken curls on her brow. “Why, Max, it takes very
little to content me. Nothing ever saddens me, or clouds my cheerful
spirit. I am always happy.”
“So are the birds and the butterflies, Viva, because like you, they
are always in the sunshine, and flitting, round the flowers. But the
butterflies perish in the wintry blast, the blithest birds ofttimes
lift broken wings when storms have passed above them.”
“Broken wings!” A shadow dims the brightness of the lifted face. “I
tell you, Max, I would rather die than live like that. There is my
governess, for instance, so grave, so cold, so sad in her black dress.
A widow! What desolation, what heart-weariness must be her fate!”
“But how gravely we are talking,” he exclaims, growing remorseful at
the sight of her thoughtful face. “Forgive me, Viva, I never meant to
sadden you. Ah, you shall always be happy, little one, if----”
There is a sudden stir and bustle outside, and Viva loses Max’s last
words as her brother hastily summons her to receive her guests by her
father’s side--an eminent judge, and a handsome man besides, of whom
his children are very proud.
The ball-room is soon filled with dancers, and Vivian is the cynosure
of all eyes, the darling of all hearts. Her hand is constantly sought
in the dance but every one can see that she favors Max Verne above all
her other lovers. Madame Orne, from her seat at the window, sees it
all--the love and hope that make the young collegian’s face so radiant,
the soft response in the brightness of Vivian’s eyes--sees, too, the
jealous pain in Earle Essex’s strange, moody dark eyes. He watches
every movement of the graceful form, whirling, gliding, coquetting in
the airy measure, and when a happy fate makes him her partner, his
heart thrills with ecstacy.
Lovely, joyous Vivian does not dream of the passion of love her beauty
and sweetness have awakened in Earle’s ardent breast.
She likes him very much, thinks him dark, picturesque, and rather
more dignified than Charlton or Max, but it somehow disconcerts her to
meet the full gaze of his gloomy, dark eyes, and to feel the strong,
clinging pressure of his hand when he touches hers; and it troubles her
somewhat to feel that odd unaccountable fascination in his presence
when he comes to her side; an unwilling fascination, like one being
charmed by a serpent.
That strange charm, mixed with repugnance, possesses her when Earle
Essex leads her from the dances in to supper. She had fully intended
to go with Max Verne, but she is powerless against the cool effrontery
with which her partner takes possession of her. Biting her lip in
silent vexation, she tries not to see the disappointment in her lover’s
face as he hurries toward her, then abruptly turns aside at sight of
the assured air of her companion.
How slowly the time goes. Vivian is secretly vexed and unhappy over
the little _contretemps_, although she smiles so brightly upon all,
and exerts herself to do honor to the occasion, taking wine recklessly
several times in response to birthday toasts. And then the weight on
her spirits seems to lighten, the daring stimulus of the ruby wine
burns in her blood and flashes in her eyes. All her animation, with a
spice of daring added, returns in a glowing tide.
At that moment Earle Essex bends over her and smiling into her glorious
dark eyes, whispers in tones of surprise:
“I think Max Verne, in spite of his queer notions, might honor the
occasion by taking at least one sip of wine on your birthday.”
She glances down the long table. Max is there on the right, only a few
couples dividing them, and at his plate stands the untouched glass of
wine the servant had filled at the first toast. She looks back at Mr.
Essex, and says apologetically:
“Max never drinks, you know.”
“Yes, I know that; but one so apparently devoted might peril his weak
brains by at least one glass in your honor. Surely he wears his fetters
but lightly.”
“You shall see!” cries the girl, with a little triumphant laugh and a
dangerous sparkle in her eye. The taunt has roused her as he meant it
should.
She has no conception, this innocent young girl, of the evil that lurks
in the glass of wine at her elbow. She knows little or nothing about
drunkenness, want, and misery. She has been used to seeing liquors on
her father’s board, and gentlemen drinking them, all her young life.
It always seemed odd and discourteous for Max to decline them, but she
never thought much of it until that veiled taunt sent the warm blood
tingling indignantly through her veins.
Obeying a sudden, passionate impulse, she turns to a servant, saying
imperiously:
“Bring me two glasses of champagne.”
The plotter beside her looks on with a satisfied smile. He has done
his work for the present, and is silent, watching the lovely angry girl
by his side.
The wine is brought, and Vivian, taking a glass in either hand, turns
her gaze upon Max Verne. The intervening couples have thinned out now,
and when she speaks his name Max turns and faces her, a smile upon his
boyish face--such a smile, with youth’s high heart of hope beaming in
it, as never again lights his brave young face into beauty.
Viva is saying in soft, sweet, almost pleading accents, these simple
words:
“Max you have forgotten to wish me a happy return of this day. Will you
not pledge me now?”
“In water, if you please,” he answers rising, and taking a step toward
her, while many curious eyes turn on them. But the smile lingers in
spite of the warm flush that creeps up to his temples. He believes that
she is only in jest.
“No, in rosy wine,” persists the girl, advancing to meet her lover, and
extending the glass toward him. “Take it,” she says, imperiously, “take
it, Max.”
One moment, under the witchery of her beauty and his love, he wavers,
and at the pretty imperious tones lifts his hand until his fingers
almost clasp the glass, then a shudder shakes him from head to foot; he
starts backward, and murmurs, huskily:
“I cannot!”
But in that moment’s indecision Vivian’s hand has relaxed its hold upon
the glass, and falling between them it crashes on the floor, splashing
the pure white folds of her dress with crimson stains like blood drops.
She starts to spring aside, makes a misstep, and the thin, white satin
dancing slipper comes down on a sharp splinter of the broken crystal.
It pierces the thin sole, blood spurts from the wound, and, moaning
with pain, Vivian sinks to the floor.
A dozen people spring to her assistance, but Max forestalls them all,
and lifts the slight form in his arms.
“Let me pass! She is fainting!”
But life returns at hearing those familiar tones, and with angry
violence Vivian writhes herself out of the arms that hold her so
tenderly, sobbing with bitter resentment:
“Don’t touch me, coward! It is all your fault! I hate you, hate you!”
Then she falls exhausted in her brother’s arms, and he carries her
away to her room. Madame Orne follows, and Earle Essex remains to
congratulate himself on the evil he has wrought Max Verne, while Max
Verne goes out into the starry night and bares his throbbing brow to
the cool breeze while Vivian’s bitter reproaches burn like dagger
points in his heart.
* * * * *
Alone with the governess, the wounded foot bandaged, the maid
dismissed. Vivian cries pettishly:
“My beautiful ball-dress is quite ruined by the wine stains.”
“Yes, nothing will remove the stains,” answered Madame Orne, then
she tossed the ruin from her. “What does that matter?” she cried
impatiently. “You have done worse little Viva, than spoil your pretty
gown to-night. You have tried to stain a human soul with the sinful
love of wine.”
“Sinful! Oh, madame, you use strong terms. I love wine, and my father
and brother love wine. As I understand, it is only sinful when one gets
drunk.”
“Vivian, if you saw a man standing on the verge of a precipice and knew
that one touch would topple him over, would you be willing for this
little hand to push him down?”
“My hand! No, never! But why do you talk so, Madame Orne? You have
wandered from the subject.”
“Not at all. Let me tell you, child, that when you held out your glass
of wine to Max Verne to-night you were trying to push him into a vortex
of sin and dissipation that must have proved his ruin. He dare not
taste one drop of liquor. If he did he could never control himself. He
has a strong inherited love for it.”
“How do you know this?”
“He told me so himself last summer when he visited here. It was only
his firmness and brave disregard of ridicule that kept him true to
himself last night. Vivian, you were wholly in the wrong.”
“I do not think so,” she answered proudly. “I cannot respect a man who
confesses himself too weak to take one sip of wine, while I, a weak
girl, can drink several glasses without any bad effects. No, madam, I
do not believe in so poor an excuse. It was sheer obstinacy, a desire
to be different from others. He has humbled me before all my friends,
and I never will forgive him!”
“Vivian!” reproachfully.
“Never! Never!” she repeats in bitter scorn.
“You are angry now, Viva. You will think better of this to-morrow, and
honor the true manhood you now decry. Good-night, dear,” and pressing
a light kiss on the girl’s white brow, the governess went out, leaving
the willful girl to her own thoughts.
They were not pleasant ones. Long after her most intimate girl friends
had peeped in with a hundred expressions of pity and regret, made their
adieus and gone--long after father and brother have tapped on the door
and bidden her good-night--long after the early summer dawn peeps in at
her window, Vivian tosses sleeplessly upon her pillow, consumed by pain
and anger, unconscious regret, and furious indignation against Earle
Essex and Max Verne both. She falls asleep at last, just as the golden
sun is rising--rising upon a world heretofore undiscovered by her--the
strange new world of sorrow.