Upon a beautiful moonlight night, under the trees in the garden of
Madame Bourges' boarding-school, near Versailles, quite secure from
observation stood Arthur Barrington and Louisa Aubray, engaged in
earnest conversation.
"Are you happy here, dearest Louisa?" he inquired, in accents of deepest
tenderness.
"Happy! Ah, no, Louisa is never happy," she answered, "but lonely and
unhappy--so unhappy and miserable!"
"But you are not lonely now that I am here, dear Louisa."
"No; but, when you are gone, it is so dreary--oh, so dreary!"
"You used to think that you would be so happy at school."
"Ah, yes! but I'm not. Madame is harsh, the teachers cruel, and the
girls so strange: they do not love me," she cried, in a burst of
passionate weeping; "nobody loves Louisa!"
"Oh, Louisa, dearest Louisa, do not say so!" he exclaimed passionately;
"do not say that nobody loves you, when I have come so far expressly to
see if you are happy. I love you, Louisa, with all the warmth of my
ardent nature, with undying affection. I want you to be mine--MINE! that
I may guard you from every ill but such as I can share."
"Oh! can you--will you--do this, Arthur? Will you, indeed, share all my
troubles and sorrows, nor deem them, when the first full joy of love is
past, unworthy of your attention--your cares, too great to admit of such
trifles, claiming your consideration? If you will, and also let me share
all your joys and griefs in perfect sympathy and love, then--then my
dream of happiness will be fulfilled; but if, in years to come," she
continued, with suppressed emotion, "you should change, and a harshness
or indifference take the place of sympathy and love, Oh I would wish to
die before that day!"
"Dearest Louisa, can you doubt me?"
"I will trust you, Arthur, but I have seen that which makes me almost
doubt the existence of love and happiness. I can picture to myself the
home of love and peace that I would have. Is it an impossibility; is it
but an ideal dream?"
"May it be a blessed reality, my darling Louisa!" he exclaimed, with
ardor, as he clasped her passionately in his arms. She made no
resistance, but, with her head resting upon his breast, she said, in a
tone of deep earnestness:
"If you loved me always, and were always kind, oh Arthur, I I could do
anything--suffer anything--for your sake, and care for naught beyond our
home. But, my nature is not one" she continued impetuously, "that can be
slighted, crushed, and treated with unkindness or indifference, and
endure it patiently. No!" she added, with suppressed passion, "a fierce
flame of resentment, bitterness, perchance even hatred, would spring up
and sweep all kindly feelings far away!"
"Oh, Louisa, Louisa!" interrupted Arthur in a tone of tender
remonstrance, "why do you speak in this dreadful manner--why do you
doubt my love and constancy?"
The impetuous mood was gone, and a trusting confidence succeeded it.
She fixed her eyes upon his face with an expression of unutterable
tenderness, as she answered, in a sweet, soft voice, "I love you,
Arthur; I cannot doubt you; you are all the world to me."
"Then you will leave here as soon as I can make arrangements for our
marriage."
"How gladly, how joyfully, I cannot tell!" she replied, smiling sweetly
through her tears. "Tell me again that you love me; I do so want some
one to love me! Is it true that you do, indeed, or is it only a
beautiful dream? I have lived so desolate and alone that I can scarcely
believe my happiness."
"You may believe it, Louisa, it is no dream; my love for you is no
passing fancy--it is true and sincere, and will last till life shall
end," he said, kissing her tenderly.
"Ha, ha!" laughed Lucy Mornington, as she came full upon the lovers,
"Now I have found you out, Miss Aubray; I wondered what was up. Oh,
if Madame could only see you, what a scene there would be!" she cried,
dancing about and laughing immoderately."
"How dare you come here?" exclaimed Louisa, her large eyes flashing
angrily, while her whole frame trembled with passion. "How dare you
follow and watch me, how dare you?" she repeated.
"Hush, Louisa!" said Arthur, soothingly, "Lucy is never ill-natured. You
have nothing to fear, for I am sure she would not be unkind; and we must
not mind her laughing, as I'm afraid that either of us would have done
the same if placed in the same unexpected position."
Louisa now clung to Lucy, weeping violently, and imploring her in the
most winning manner not to betray them to Madame.
"Don't be afraid, Louisa; Lucy and I were always good friends, and, now
I come to think of it, she will be a most valuable assistant. I am sure
we may trust her," and he looked inquiringly at Lucy.
"That, you may," answered Lucy; "but there is no earthly use in trying
to keep a secret from me, as that is utterly impossible; but whatever
you may have to say, you must defer to a more auspicious moment, for
Mademoiselle Mondelet has missed Louisa, and she is hunting everywhere
for her. So make yourself scarce, Mr. Arthur; we will enter the chapel
by a secret door that I discovered in some of my marauding expeditions,
and they will never imagine that we came from the garden. Come along,
Louisa."
"Adieu! Lucy, and many thanks for your warning, for I certainly don't
want Mademoiselle to find me here. Farewell, dearest Louisa; I will be
here at this time to-morrow evening," said Arthur, and then he quickly
disappeared.
Lucy and Louisa went into the chapel, and the former commenced playing
the organ, which she often did. So that when Mademoiselle came into the
chapel, by-and-bye, fuming about Louisa, Lucy replied, with the greatest
coolness, "Oh, we have been here ever so long."
Shortly after this, Isabel received the following epistle from Lucy:
DEAREST ISABEL,--I am at school again, instead of being in London
enjoying myself as I expected. I am cooped up in this abominable
place. I suppose Mamma thinks me too wild. Heigho! But, never
mind; Ada and Charles are going to remain three years in London,
so you see I still have a chance. Ah, me! I think I should die of
_ennui_ in this dismal place (which was once an abbey, or a
convent, or something of the sort, I believe,) but, fortunately
for me, an event has occurred which has just put new life in my
drooping spirits. We have // who in the name of wonder do you think
the parties were? Arthur Barrington and Louisa Aubray. Oh, what a
rage Lady Ashton will be in! Don't be shocked, my pet, when I tell
you that I went into the affair with all my heart and soul, and
was bridesmaid at the interesting ceremony. Oh, Isabel, Arthur is
so thoroughly nice that I almost envied Louisa her husband. We
managed everything so beautifully that they were married and off
upon their travels before Madame found out that there was anything
in the wind. And the best of the fun was that Arthur brought a
clergyman friend with him, and they were married in the school
chapel at four o'clock in the morning. Of course this sweet little
piece of fun is not known, and is never likely to be. I enjoyed
the whole thing immensely. Of course they don't know that I had
anything to do with the affair. Woe betide me if they did! If
Louisa had had a father and mother, I would not have had anything
to do with it; but, under present circumstances, I thought it was
the best thing she could do. So I helped them all I could--in fact
I contrived it all for them--when I once found out what they were
up to.
Yours, at present, in the most exuberant spirits,
LUCY MORNINGTON.
P.S.--The happy pair have gone to Switzerland or Italy.
"Here, Emily," said Isabel, when Emily came in, "I think this will amuse
you."
"I think Arthur and Louisa did very wrong," she resumed, when Emily had
finished reading.
"Ah, well, I have not much fancy for secret marriages, but in this case
it was unavoidable, if they were to marry at all," said Emily, laughing.
"But I thought that second cousins couldn't marry."
"They can't, I believe; but then Arthur and Louisa are no relation--for
though he always calls Lady Ashton 'Aunt,' she is not his aunt in
reality. Don't you know Lord Barrington's first wife was Lady Ashton's
sister, and Arthur's mother was the second wife; so you see they are no
relations," replied Emily. "Oh, what a rage Lady Ashton will be in!" she
resumed. Don't you know that Louisa's father was Arthur's tutor. There
was a dreadful quarrel between the two families about that marriage;
they wouldn't speak for years, and the old folks are barely civil to
each other when they meet even now. But she likes Arthur. What a good
thing it is that she is going to stay away so long. But I'm sorry about
Lucy; we shall miss her at Christmas."
"So we shall, but May and Peter will be here, and they are a host in
themselves."
"But May can't be compared to Lucy; I will have her come; I will tell
Harry so. She can come out with her papa and mamma, and go back in the
spring. And now, my dear, guess what I came to tell you."
"Rose told me your brother was to come to-day."
"What a sieve Rose is," exclaimed Emily. "But I have more than that to
tell. I have a letter from Harry; he is coming soon, and has passed his
examination already. What do you think of that?" and she looked so
triumphant and delighted.
"Why, Emily, how ever could you read my letter, and discuss the news it
contained, when you came on purpose to tell me? I declare, wonders never
will cease."
"The fact is that I was so astonished to hear about the elopement, that
I almost forgot about my own letter for the time."
"I suppose Harry will make a long stay now? that will be very nice."
"No, he says he can only stay a week, or perhaps a fortnight. He has
promised a friend to go to the Blue Mountains," pouted Emily; "I wish
his friend was at Jericho."
Isabel laughed. "Suppose in that case Harry had gone with him."
"Don't be provoking, Isabel. But, to turn the table, how is it you never
get any of those 'nice letters' now-a-days."
"Don't be provoking, Emily!" said Isabel, growing very hot.
"Ah, you see I always get the best of it," returned Emily, laughing.
"I must go and dress, for I have to make some calls with Mamma and
Grace."