“ALL THE WORLD AND WE TWO, AND HEAVEN BE OUR STAY.”
Alston Mead had never fully recognized before all the rare beauty of
Leola, for until now it had been shadowed by her secret sorrow--the
thorn that was always piercing her heart.
When the girl looked up at him now her eyes were like stars, sudden
roses had bloomed on her cheeks, and her lips were trembling with
smiles of joy.
“Oh, it is like some sweet dream!” she cried, half fearfully, her white
hands clasped above her wildly throbbing heart.
“It is no dream, my darling; it is a blissful reality,” her father
cried. “Your lover has always been true and noble, and worthy of your
deepest devotion. For months he has been seeking for you everywhere,
and our fortunate rencontre this morning has filled his heart with joy.”
“Oh, papa! you have then seen Ray--Chester, I mean!” she began, in wild
agitation, but he interrupted her, smilingly:
“Call him Ray if you choose, dear--his name is Raphael Chester
Olyphant, you see. Yes, your true lover is in Paris to-day. He crossed
with your friends to seek for you. He will be here by-and-by to see
you, but I promised to tell you everything first, for he does not know
whether you will forgive him for deceiving you under the guise of the
poor artist.”
She cried, radiantly:
“I am glad of it now, for he knows I loved him for himself alone,
and he can never doubt my devotion. Oh, I can scarcely realize my
happiness! It seems like some beautiful dream.”
They were interrupted by the entrance of the Bennetts with Mrs. Gray,
and such happy greetings were never seen before.
Mrs. Bennett, grown matronly and stylish, hugged and kissed her dear
pupil until she was quite out of breath.
Mrs. Gray followed suit when she got a chance, and Giles Bennett
squeezed her little hand until her fingers ached.
Then every one told Leola she was lovelier than ever, and it was easy
for her to return the compliment, for prosperity and happiness had
worked a vast improvement in all three.
A great chattering ensued, all trying to talk at once; for, said Mrs.
Bennett, roguishly:
“We must talk as fast as we can, for some one else is coming presently,
and he warned us that when he appeared he wanted to have the field all
to himself.”
How Leola’s heart beat! how her cheeks burned! She stole a glance at
herself in the long, gilded mirror, wondering if he would think her as
pretty, in her costly silk gown and fine laces, as in the simple cotton
gown of the rustic maiden. The mirror assured her she was even more
charming now, for it is not to be disputed that “fine feathers make
fine birds.”
They told her all over again the story Jessie had related that morning,
adding some that she had preferred not to tell.
The Stirlings had done their best to lure Chester Olyphant back,
but all in vain; and losing their last dollar, the girl had found
employment as companion to a rich old woman going abroad, and the
mother eked out existence visiting around among friends of her better
days. Jessie had sent a last appeal to Chester the day before, and he
had answered it with silent scorn.
Suddenly their talk was interrupted by the entrance of a servant
carrying a card to Mr. Mead.
He glanced at it, and then passed it, with a smile, to his daughter.
The visitors took the hint, and rose precipitately.
“We must all try to meet again to-morrow,” Mrs. Bennett said, as they
all filed out, escorted by Mr. Mead, leaving a clear field for Leola’s
lover.
The happy girl sank back in her chair, feeling as if her heart would
burst with its wild throbbing.
People had died from shock of joy as well as of grief. Could she
survive it?
Her face went pale for a moment--pale as a snowdrift, and she closed
her lovely eyes with a gasp.
There was a quick step in the room, a hurried breath, and some one
knelt at her feet, and caught her two hands in a rapturous clasp that
sent the warm blood bounding through her heart again, crimsoning her
cheeks and lighting her eyes like stars as she opened them to meet
those dark-blue orbs that in the long ago had lured the girlish heart
from her breast, and taught her the most exquisite lesson of life, with
its blended joy and pain.
“And all the wondrous things of love
That sing so sweet in song
Were in the look that met in their eyes,
And the look was deep and long.”
For a long time that mute yet speaking gaze was enough without words,
but at last Chester rose and drew her to his heart.
“Sweetheart!” he cried, and their lips met after that long year of
silence and sorrow and pain--Jessie Stirling’s year of revenge for all
she had lost by her own unworthiness.
“I could die now!” Leola murmured, faintly, as she clung to his breast.
“No, you must live for me, my bonny bride!” he answered, and presently
they were seated, hand in hand, going over the past.
When she told him of her meeting with Jessie that morning, and of all
she had said, Chester turned coaxingly to his lovely sweetheart.
“So she will have me married in July, willy-nilly!” he said. “Well,
then, why disappoint her plans, my darling? We can be married just as
well as not in July, if you will only consent.”
“Why, July is only two weeks off, Ray!”
“Well, we can make it the last of July, you know, dear--it is so easy
to get a trousseau here in Paris, don’t you know? Say yes, Leola, do,”
he pleaded.
“We must ask papa first, you know,” she said.
“Papa will never stand in the way of our happiness,” he cried, eagerly.
“But, Ray, he will be so lonely.”
“No, dear, for he must come to Bonnie View and live with us, so he will
only gain a son instead of losing a daughter.”
Alston Mead was easily brought to take Chester’s view of the case, the
more easily because he had in his heart a secret he would never confide
to any.
In the last few years an incurable disease of the heart had fastened
upon him, and the most eminent physicians had told him he had not much
longer to live, even if he settled down to quiet days for the rest of
his life.
It had pained him to think of leaving beautiful Leola alone in the
world, heiress to his wealth, perhaps to become the prey of designing
fortune-hunters.
Now all that tangle would be straightened out by her speedy marriage.
He gave consent gladly to all that Chester Olyphant proposed, and he
said to himself:
“Now, whether I die in a few months or live long enough to name my
first grandchild, I shall pass away in peace, knowing that Leola’s
heart can rest safely in her husband’s love.”
So Chester had his way, to the delight of all, and the invitations went
out soon for the wedding at the grand cathedral, for Chester wanted all
the world to see his peerless bride.
Most especially did he wish Jessie Stirling to be present, so in the
invitation that went to her was a note from the happy groom-to-be:
“My Dear Miss Stirling: As you saved me the trouble of setting my
wedding day by naming it for July, Leola and I will insure your
reputation as a prophet by accepting the date.”
When Jessie read that note, with Chester Olyphant’s name signed to
it, she tore it to tatters in her fury, but that did not prevent her
from showing the elegant invitation to her employer, and saying,
hesitatingly:
“I was once engaged to young Olyphant myself, but his love grew cold
when my fortunes failed, and I willingly released him.”
Lady De Vere only smiled, for she had heard from one of Jessie’s former
friends the story of Jessie’s engagement, broken through her own fault
long before she was reduced to poverty, so she only thought: “That girl
is the most consummate liar I ever knew.”
A bitter curiosity carried Jessie to the wedding, but she wore a thick
veil, for she did not want to be recognized. When she wrote to her
mother afterward about it, she confessed that Chester and Leola made
the handsomest bridal couple she ever saw, but that in her humiliation
she had one comfort left--though she could not win him back, she had
succeeded in separating him from his sweetheart for one terrible year,
whose pain and anguish neither could ever forget.
[THE END.]
Transcriber’s Notes:
The Table of Contents was created by the transcriber and placed in the
public domain.
Punctuation has been made consistent.
Variations in spelling and hyphenation were retained as they appear in
the original publication, except that obvious typographical errors have
been corrected.