The beautiful color surged hotly into Golden's cheeks at Ruby's artless
question. She turned her head away to hide the pain that made her sweet
lips quiver.
"Mary, do you ever intend to have a husband?" repeated the child.
"Hush, Ruby. You are too young to talk about husbands," answered Golden.
"Dear me, is my daughter contemplating marriage?" cried a gay, sweet
voice, and, looking up, they saw Mrs. Desmond in her traveling wraps,
dusty and weary, but looking very glad and eager at seeing her child
again.
Ruby sprang to her arms, and Golden looked on with sympathetic tears in
her eyes at the happy reunion of the mother and child. Mrs. Desmond did
not seem to see her until she had fairly smothered Ruby in kisses, when
she looked up and said, approvingly:
"How do you do, Mary? That is a very nice new dress--quite suitable to
you."
After a minute she said, suddenly, as if the thought had just occurred
to her:
"By the way, you have never yet received any of your wages from me.
Here are twenty dollars for two months. I am very glad you have taken
such good care of Ruby."
Golden thanked her and took the money, but the gold seemed to burn
the delicate palm. It was hard to be receiving a servant's wages from
Bertram Chesleigh's sister.
"Where is papa and Uncle Bert?" asked Ruby.
"Papa will be here directly. Bert is very tired--he has gone to his
room to rest. You must not go to him yet."
"And the young lady, mamma--she came?"
"Oh, yes."
"Is she pretty, mamma? Has she blue eyes, or black?"
"She is decidedly handsome, and her eyes are black."
"Do you like her, mamma?"
"Quite well, dear. She is very charming. I will tell you a secret.
Perhaps she will be your auntie some day."
"Is she going to marry Uncle Bert?" inquired Ruby, wide-eyed.
"Nothing is settled yet, dear. But it seems probable. Bert could not
find a more brilliant Mrs. Chesleigh."
"I do not wish for Uncle Bert to marry. I shall tell him so!" cried
Ruby.
"Fie, little selfishness, you will do no such thing! He ought to marry
and settle down at home. We should not then have to be running after
him in every out-of-the-way place where he chooses to fall sick. Here I
have been by his sick-bed all summer, ruining my health and missing the
whole season by the sea!"
"How gladly I would have exchanged places with you," moaned little
Golden, to herself.
"Mamma, did you like Glenalvan Hall?" inquired Ruby.
"Oh, very much, though it is little better than a ruin. It must have
been quite a grand place once. It is beautiful still in its decay. The
owners were ruined by the late war."
Oh, how anxiously beautiful Golden longed to hear one word from her old
grandfather and her black mammy. She listened with a beating heart to
the lady's words, but she never named the two that little Golden loved
so dearly, and after awhile she rose and said that Celine was waiting
for her, and she must go.
Little Ruby clung to her dress.
"Mayn't I go?" she pleaded, and Mrs. Desmond yielding a smiling assent,
they went away together, and left Golden alone in the room.
Alone, with her young heart full of strange, troubled joy. Bertram
Chesleigh was here, under the same roof with her.
She should see him, she should hear him once again. There was a bitter,
troubled pleasure in the thought.
She could not bear the tumult of oppressive thoughts that rushed over
her mind. To escape them she went in quest of Mrs. Markham, and paid
her the money she had borrowed from her a few days before.
Then she went back to the room to wait for little Ruby, but the child
was so preoccupied with her friends that she did not return to her room
during the day.
At twilight she came flitting in joyously as a little fairy.
"Oh, Mary, I have had such a charming day! And you must dress me now
in my white lace dress over the pink satin slip, and my white satin
slippers, and embroidered rose-silk stockings. I am going to stay up
for the ball to-night. Won't that be splendid?"
Golden looked a little anxiously at the moist, flushed face and
shining, dark eyes.
"Darling, let me persuade you to lie down on the sofa and rest awhile,"
she urged. "You have had such a busy, exciting day, that you need rest.
To-morrow you will have one of your bad headaches."
"Oh, no I am not tired one bit. And mamma and Miss Glenalvan are gone
to dress now. I must be ready when they call for me," urged Ruby.
"I suppose Miss Glenalvan is very pretty, is she not, Ruby?" said
Golden, as she combed and brushed the little girl's long, shining,
black ringlets.
"Oh, yes, she is very pretty--she has large, black eyes, and rosy
cheeks, and splendid hair, but she is not beautiful like you, Mary,"
was the prompt reply.
"You must not let Miss Glenalvan hear you say that," said Golden. "She
would be displeased."
"Hump!" said Ruby, carelessly, then she flew to another subject, while
Golden trembled nervously. "Uncle Bert is looking wretchedly ill. Ouch,
Mary, what _did_ make you jerk that curl so? His eyes are as big as
saucers. Are you almost done? You pull my hair dreadfully. I asked
him if he was going to marry Miss Glenalvan. He said that was a silly
question. Mary, what has come over you? You were never so rough with my
head before."
"There, it is finished now. I did not mean to hurt you; excuse me,
dear," faltered Golden, as she laid out the white lace dress and satin
slippers for the eager child.
"All right, I am not angry," said Ruby. "I told Uncle Bert what a kind
girl you were, and he was delighted to hear it. I wanted to tell him
you were pretty, too, but I didn't, as you didn't want him to know
_that_. But I can tell you one thing, Mary, if he ever sees you, he
will find out for himself."
"What! in this great cap and glasses?" cried Golden, alarmed.
"Yes, indeed; you can't hide your round cheeks, and your red mouth, and
your dimpled chin!" cried the child, in pretty triumph.
"I can keep out of Mr. Chesleigh's way, anyhow," Golden replied, as she
buttoned the pretty dress and clasped a slight gold chain around the
white neck of the child.
"Now you are quite finished," she said. "You look very sweet, and I
hope you will enjoy yourself very much."
"Thank you," said the little girl, impulsively kissing her; then she
added, a little pityingly: "It is a pity _you_ cannot be dressed in
white, and go to the ball, too, Mary. Do you never wish to?"
"Sometimes," admitted Golden, with her sweet frankness, and a soft,
little sigh.
Ruby studied her attentively a moment, her dark head perched daintily
like a bird's.
"I should like to see you in a ball-dress," she said. "It should be a
white lace over blue satin, and looped with violets. You should have
large, white pearls around your neck, and your hair hanging down and a
_bandeau_ of pearls to bind it. It is a great pity you are not rich,
Mary. People say that you are too pretty to be a servant."
Something like a sob rose in Golden's throat and was hardly repressed.
They had told her this so often.
She was beautiful, but it had only brought her sorrow. To her, as her
mother, had been given--
"The fatal gift of beauty which became
A funeral dower of present woes and past."
"I am very sorry I am so pretty, Ruby," she said, sorrowfully, and the
child answered, quickly:
"I would not be sorry if I were you, Mary. Some good man will fall in
love with your pretty face some day and marry you."
Golden made no reply to this well-meant solace, for the door opened to
admit Mrs. Desmond, followed by her young lady guest.
Golden retreated shyly to the furthest corner of the room. She was face
to face at last with her haughty cousin Elinor. She drooped her head a
moment sadly, while a flood of memories rushed over her, then bravely
lifted it again and looked at the young lady through her disfiguring
green glasses.
Elinor Glenalvan only glanced with careless indifference at the
prim-looking figure of the nurse, then her large, black eyes turned
away again, so that Golden had time to observe her with impunity.
The Glenalvans had exerted themselves to the utmost to secure an outfit
for Elinor. The result did credit to their efforts. The girl was
certainly dazzling.
She wore cream-colored _moire_, trimmed with rich Spanish lace and
cardinal satin. Great clusters of Jaqueminot roses burned on her bosom
and in her shining, raven hair.
The costly pearl necklace that John Glenalvan had taken from Golden was
clasped around her white throat.
A throb of resentment stirred the young girl's breast as she observed
it.
Mrs. Desmond wore white lace looped with diminutive and richly-colored
sunflowers. Her jewels were diamonds, and she was as usual brilliantly
beautiful and graceful. Golden caught her breath in awed admiration of
the two beautiful women.
"Are you ready, Ruby?" inquired Mrs. Desmond.
"Yes, mamma," said the child, blithely.
All three went out then, and Golden threw a dark shawl over her head
and went out upon the seashore.
It was a moonlight night, calm and still, with that slight chill in the
air that comes with September.
She sat down, a quiet, forlorn little figure on the lonely sands, and
watched the great foam-capped waves rolling in to her feet.
Something in the immensity and solemnity of the great ocean seemed to
calm the turbulence of the fevered young heart and whisper a gentle
"peace, be still," to the passions that racked her wronged and outraged
spirit.