A RIFT IN THE LUTE.
“She is the loveliest girl in all England,” the papers said, when
the engagement of Sir Harold Annesley and Lady Elaine Seabright
was announced. “And Sir Harold is the lion of the season. Both are
extremely wealthy, and it is in every way a most suitable match.”
The wooing and winning had been short and decisive. It was love at
first sight on both sides, and the Earl of Seabright was gratified that
his beautiful but capricious daughter was at last conquered.
He was an easy-going nobleman of the old school, intensely proud of his
ancient line, but indolent to a selfish degree where the best interests
of his only child were concerned.
He wished to see her well married, but did not care whom to so long as
there was no blemish on his prospective son-in-law’s name. The man’s
private character was nothing to him if he could boast of wealth and an
ancient pedigree.
“I congratulate you, my boy,” he said, genially, to Sir Harold. “My
willful beauty has been endless trouble to me. All the men at her feet,
you know, and if you had not come upon the scene so opportunely, she
would have struck her colors to Viscount Rivington, I verily believe.
Poor fellow! It will be no end of an upset for him.”
Sir Harold frowned.
“I do not think that Elaine ever dreamed of such a thing,” he said.
“Well, well,” laughed the earl; “if you are satisfied, what does it
matter? One word, my boy; deal gently with her. She is very young,
and has never yet been thwarted. ‘Happy’s the wooing that’s not long
a-doing,’ you know, but these sudden engagements are apt to be as
quickly broken.”
Sir Harold could not forget the words of the earl for some days. The
impression left from them was far from pleasant. He was giving all
to the woman he loved--the past, the present, and the future--and he
expected an undivided return.
So rapid had been the wooing that the plans of Margaret Nugent and
Viscount Rivington had not been permitted formation. It was as
impossible to keep these two apart as to keep the needle from the
magnet.
An early marriage had been suggested by the impatient lover, and Elaine
was not averse to anything which would please Sir Harold. She worshiped
him as a being far above her, though at times his jealous fears pained
her bitterly.
This takes the reader back to the opening words of our story.
Sir Harold was an almost daily visitor at Seabright Hall. His own
estate was but ten miles distant, and, mounted upon his favorite horse,
his had become a familiar figure to the rustics of Seabright.
It was a warm July day, and the few visitors at the Hall were
sunning themselves on the lawn, and listening to my lord’s sporting
reminiscences, while the lovers had wandered to a bower festooned with
roses and fragrant clematis.
“But you have not answered my question, Elaine,” Sir Harold went on,
and there was an earnestness in his tones that surprised her.
She turned her eyes toward him--lustrous eyes, like pansies wet with
dew, saying, “Harold, I believe that you are jealous, and I dislike
jealous people.”
“Then I am to understand that you dislike me?” he smiled; but there was
an undercurrent of sadness in his voice.
“Oh, my darling! how foolish you are! Why will you tease me so?”
Lady Elaine clung to him in a passion of love, and yet he was far from
being satisfied.
“I believe that I am of a jealous nature,” he said. “It is one of the
misfortunes of my race.”
“I am glad that you call it a misfortune,” the girl observed, her lips
trembling, “and I sincerely trust that you will never be jealous of me,
Harold. Where there is jealousy there cannot be true love. You must
trust me all in all, or not at all!”
He was silent for a few minutes, and gnawed his mustache impatiently.
“My darling,” he said, at last, “I have laid bare my life to you. My
notions of love and marriage may seem peculiar, but the thought that
the woman I love had ever willingly accepted the attentions of another
man would be torture to me. I have never had a sweetheart before, I
have never pressed my lips to those of a girl, or written one line of
nonsense to any woman living. I give you all--unreservedly--my first
and my last love.”
She waited for him to continue, her heart burning resentfully.
“I know that I am accounted the luckiest and most enviable mortal
on earth because I have stepped in and taken the prize that so many
sighed for in vain; but, Elaine, my darling, now that we are engaged,
it maddens me to see such men as Viscount Rivington forever dancing
attendance upon you.”
“Harold,” she said, calmly, “what am I to do?”
“You must show by your manners that--that----”
“I cannot be rude to my father’s friend,” she replied, decidedly. “You
are asking too much, Sir Harold. You insult me.”
He had seized her hand in a moment, and was showering kisses upon it.
“No, no, Elaine, a thousand times no! It is only my great love for you
that makes me so exacting. You will forgive me, darling, when I tell
you that I have heard from several people that you were all but engaged
to Viscount Rivington, when I arrived in England, but two short months
since. I want you to deny this, and I shall be eternally satisfied.”
Lady Elaine had turned as pale as death.
“I do deny it, Sir Harold, unequivocally.”
She looked at him fearlessly, and his heart smote him.
“My dear love,” he whispered, remorsefully, “I am satisfied. I will
never doubt you again. This has been a bitter torture to me. Your
father hinted at it long ago, and--and----”
“Well?”
Her tones were cold and hard.
“You told me that it was not true.”
“And you have listened to other falsehoods--to other childish
tittle-tattle. Oh, Harold! what will my future life be if I wed a
jealous man?”
“It shall never occur again, my darling. Do not punish me more, I
beseech you!” cried Sir Harold.
“Why do you not question the viscount?” she demanded, scornfully.
Then she bowed her head and sobbed bitterly.
Sir Harold returned home that evening with a heavy heart. For the first
time since their engagement he and Elaine had not exchanged a kiss at
parting.
She had persistently remained in her own apartments, and at a late hour
he had ridden away to Annesley Park, his heart torn with conflicting
doubts and fears.
And Viscount Henry Rivington saw through it all and smiled.