I would not leave the manor house until I had seen Sir John. Agatha did
not go back to the drawing-room with me.
"What will mamma think?" she said, in utter dismay. "See how late it is;
and the dew has fallen."
"I will tell her why I detained you, Agatha. You are sure that I shall
not wake up tomorrow and find all this is a dream?"
"I do not think so," she replied; and then she would not stop for
another word, and I went in to meet Lady Thesiger alone.
She was surprised when I told her. No matter what Coralie said about
maneuvering, if ever I saw real, genuine surprise in any woman's face,
it was in Lady Thesiger's this evening.
"You have asked Agatha to marry you!" she repeated, looking half
bewildered; "and pray, Sir Edgar, what did the child say?"
"She promised to marry me," I replied, more boldly; "that is, of course,
if Sir John and you, Lady Thesiger, have no objection."
"I am afraid that you have not taken that much into consideration. Asked
the child to marry you! Why, Sir Edgar, how long have you been in love
with her?"
"From the very first moment I ever saw her."
"Why," cried her ladyship, "Sir John told me you were in love, and had
promised to confide in him."
Remembering what I had said to him, I explained to her that in speaking
as I had done I referred entirely to Agatha.
"It is so utterly unexpected," she said, "that you must pardon my
strange reception of your intelligence."
She sat quite silent for some minutes, then continued:
"It seems so strange for you to fall in love with Agatha. The dearest
wish of Sir Barnard's heart was to have her for a daughter-in-law."
A fierce spasm of jealousy almost robbed me of my breath.
"Did she--did she--"
Then I could get no further.
"No, Agatha did not like Miles, if that is what you mean?"
"Did Miles love her?"
"I cannot tell--there was something very mysterious about him. He looked
to me like one who had a secret on his mind. I have often wondered what
it could be. He was not a happy man of late years."
"You have not told me yet, Lady Thesiger, if I have your good wishes."
She held out her hand with a gracious, kindly smile.
"Shall I tell you the truth--no flattery, but just the simple truth? I
would rather Agatha married you than any other man in the nation. She
has not only my full consent, but I am pleased, proud and happy."
"And Sir John, shall I have his consent?"
"There is little doubt of it. I hear him now--he has just arrived, I
suppose. You shall see him at once."
I rode away from Harden Manor that night a happy man. Sir John, like
Lady Thesiger, gave his full, free, unhesitating consent. We had a long,
confidential conversation. He told me how his affairs stood. He was a
wealthy man, but his expenses were great. He told me frankly that he
should not be able to give Agatha a large portion at her marriage, nor
could he leave her anything considerable at his death. Harden Manor,
with its rich revenues, was all entailed on his son.
"So that I am glad, Sir Edgar," he said, "she is likely to marry a rich
man. She has been brought up in all luxury, and would never be able to
bear privation. I shall feel satisfied of her future now."
Alas! so did I. I rode home through the sweet, gathering gloom and the
starlight, one of the happiest men in England. I had won my love. She
loved me whom I loved best.
There seemed to be nothing wanting then. Two short years ago I was poor,
my daily life one of monotonous toil, without the least hope of relief.
Now the silvery moon fell upon the woods and silvered the roof of the
grand old mansion, and all this fair land over which I was riding was
mine.
Coralie was waiting for me. She affected to be just crossing the hall,
but I knew that she had been waiting there to have the first word with
me. She looked eagerly into my face.
"How long you have been away, Sir Edgar! Surely the starlight agrees
with you. I have coffee ready for you in the drawing-room--you have
dined, I suppose?"
"Yes, I dined at Harden Manor. I have been there all day."
A dark cloud came for a moment over her radiant face.
"All day," she repeated. "Ah, poor Miles! If he rode over in the morning
they were always sure to make him stay to the evening, if they could."
"If Miles found the place as pleasant as I do, the length of his visits
would not surprise me," I said, laughingly. "I will run up to see Clare
first and then try your coffee, Coralie."
I longed to tell my good news to my sister.
"Clare," I said, kneeling by her side, "look at me. Do you know, can you
guess, what news I have to tell you?"
She raised her eyes to mine; she laid her dear hand on my brow.
"I can guess," she said, quietly. "You have told Agatha you love her,
and have asked her to be your wife. Is that it?"
"Yes. She has promised, Clare. She loves me--she whom I have always
looked up to as some queen so far above me."
"Any good woman would love you, Edgar," said my sister. She hesitated,
then asked slowly: "Have you said anything to Coralie?"
"Certainly not. Why should I?"
A delicate color flushed my sister's face.
"To tell you the truth," she replied, "I have fancied of late that
Coralie likes you. Nay, I need not mince matters; I am quite sure she
loves you."
"She loves us both, because we are all in the world she has to love; but
not in the way you mean, Clare."
But Clare shook her head doubtfully.
"I hope I may be mistaken; but, Edgar, I have a nervous feeling about
it, difficult to describe and hard to bear, as though evil would come to
you through her. I cannot tell you how the thought haunts and perplexes
me."
I laughed, little dreaming then how it would be.
"Sheer nervous fancy, Clare. Take it at the very worst, that Coralie
does like me, perhaps, a little too well, and is both piqued and angry
at my engagement, in the name of common sense, I ask you, what possible
harm can she do to me?"
"None that I can see; yet the dread lies heavy upon me, brother."
"You will forget it all, darling, when you hear the chimes of wedding
bells. Ah, Clare, if you could get better I should not have a wish left
ungratified."
Then, still smiling at Clare's nervous fancy, I went to the
drawing-room. Coralie was there awaiting me. The picture, in all its
details, rises before me as vividly as though I had only seen it
yesterday.
Although the day had been warm, the evening was chilly, and a small fire
burned brightly in the grate; the lamps were lighted, and gleamed like
huge, soft, warm, pearls; the air of the room was heavy with sweet and
subtle perfume. I have seen no woman who could arrange flowers like
Coralie. The way in which she gathered them and placed each fragrant
flower so that it could be most perfectly seen was wonderful. Great
masses of crimson against white, amber and blue. She had the instinctive
elegance of a true Parisienne.
It struck me as I entered that I had never seen so many lovely flowers;
the vases and the stands were all full. Coralie herself sat in a large
velvet fauteuil, the rich color of which formed a magnificent background
to her bright face and golden-brown hair. She was dressed with unusual
elegance; a robe of soft, black crape fell in graceful folds around her.
I never shall understand ladies' dresses, but this was made so that the
beautiful, white neck and arms were bare.
I remember, too, that she had great sprays of heliotrope in the bodice
of her dress and in her hair. She looked more lovely, more seductive,
than any words of mine could describe, if I wrote for six months.
On the table by her side was a tray set with delicate china and silver,
over which the firelight played cheerily. It was a picture of luxurious
home comfort. She looked up as I entered with a grave, sweet smile.
"Your coffee is ready, Sir Edgar."
There was my favorite chair drawn up to the table. As I sat down I said
aloud:
"This is comfortable."
Her smile brightened and deepened.
"You are like Miles, Sir Edgar. No matter where he went, he always said
coming home was the most pleasant part of the day."
Then, with her white, jeweled hand, she poured out my coffee, and
certainly the aromatic fragrance was very pleasant.
"You must be like Miles in something else," she said. "He always
declared that I made better coffee than anyone else--better than he
tasted in all his travels. Do you not think the same?" And she looked at
me as anxiously as though the making of coffee to please me were the
chief aim of life.
"Was Sir John at home?" she asked, after a few minutes.
Then I had to describe my day, to give her a history of the coming fair,
in which she affected great interest.
"I should like to go very much," she said. "I have read in fashionable
novels of fancy fairs, but I have never seen one. Are you going, Sir
Edgar?"
"Lady Thesiger has asked my assistance, and I have promised it. We shall
make up a party. If you wish to go, Coralie, you shall."
She thanked me, and when I had finished my coffee, rang the bell and
ordered it to be cleared away.
"I am going to sing to you," she said. "I know you are tired. Throw your
head back, shut your eyes and listen. Do not speak, because I am going
to weave a charm for you."
I declare before Heaven that when I remember the magic of that charm my
heart beats even now with fear!
Are you keenly sensitive to music, reader? If so, you will understand.
I could neither sing nor play, but I loved music with a perfect passion.
There was not a nerve or pulse in my body, not a thrill in my heart,
that did not answer it. Listening to beautiful music, sweet, soothing
and sad, this world fell from me. I was in an ideal life, with vague,
glorious fancies floating round me, beautiful, lofty dreams filling my
whole soul.
In this higher world Coralie's music wrapped me; then I came to myself
with a sudden start, for there was Coralie half kneeling by my side,
covering my hand with kisses and tears.