SERENA'S FIRST LOVE LETTER.
For the first time in her life Serena Lynne was triumphant with the
knowledge of a victory won. She had begun to despair; the prospect
of ever winning Keith Kenyon had been growing "small by degrees and
beautifully less," now flickering up in a wild spasmodic hope of
success, then sinking down below zero once more.
When she had discovered his evident--too evident--interest in Beatrix,
the woman's heart had swelled with bitter indignation and resentment,
and for a time it had seemed to Serena Lynne that there was no
alternative but to die and escape it all. The anguish was unendurable;
for with all the strength of her selfish nature she loved Keith Kenyon,
and the very thought of giving up all hope of winning him was more
bitter than death.
But at last she had succeeded--not in winning his love--but himself.
There was a vast difference; but Serena did not pause to reflect upon
that point. She had made up her mind to marry Keith Kenyon; the sooner
the marriage was over with, and he was hers until death should part
them, the better for her. She sought her mother after the momentous
interview with Keith, a look of excitement and delight upon her face,
her pale eyes flashing with rapture. Mrs. Lynne glanced up from the
work upon which she was engaged, and a look of inquiry flashed into her
eyes.
"Well, Serena, has anything remarkable occurred?" she asked tersely.
Serena threw herself down upon the faded sofa and clasped her thin
hands in an affected attitude.
"Mamma"--in a low, awe-stricken tone, as though she feared that some
one would overhear the wonderful news which she was just dying to
tell--"Keith Kenyon has asked me--has--has promised to--marry me!"
A look of incredulous surprise flashed into Mrs. Lynne's pale blue
eyes; the swift blood dyed her cheek a sullen crimson for a moment,
then faded slowly away, leaving her as sallow and uninteresting as
before.
"Serena!" she exclaimed in a tremulous voice, "don't be a goose! Don't
allow yourself to be misled by your own wishes, or to overestimate
trifles, polite fibs or foolish nothings, in which some men indulge,
and which mean less than nothing. What foolishness can Keith have
been saying to you that you should imagine that he wants to marry
you, Serena? Why, it is as plain _as anything_ that he is in love
with Beatrix. He will never propose to you, Serena--never in the
world--while Beatrix Dane lives, and if he finds out that she is still
single."
Serena tossed her head.
"All the same, he has done so!" she cried; "at least, he--I--led him
on, you know, mamma; it was the only way. And so he said at last,
'Well, Serena, if you are willing to accept me without any question of
love, I ask you to be my wife!' And you had better believe that I did
not wait long before I clinched the matter with a _yes_," she added,
coarsely. "So, mamma, you need not trouble your head any more in regard
to my future; I shall be all right when I am Mrs. Keith Kenyon and
in my handsome home in New Orleans. I will just _shine_ in Southern
society, and make these New Orleans women turn green with envy. To
think that he should pass by all the young ladies of the South, to find
a wife in old Massachusetts, will seem a strange thing to the Southern
people. I shall put on a great deal of style, and just overawe them. I
am as good as the best of them. Am I not Miss Lynne, only daughter of
the late illustrious and eminent physician, Doctor Frederick Lynne, of
Chester, Massachusetts? And as Mrs. Keith Kenyon, I imagine my position
in the fashionable world will be assured. Oh, mamma, I am perfectly
happy!"
Poor Serena! her happiness was very much like the house of which the
New Testament tells us, which was founded upon the sand. And when "the
rains descended and the floods came, it fell, and great was the fall
thereof."
Mrs. Lynne said very little upon the subject; there seemed a sort of
insecurity in this projected marriage, which rendered her uncertain in
regard to it. She shut her thin lips tightly together and went on with
her work, and no more was said for the present.
Then came the telegram for Keith which old Bernard Dane had sent
himself. He had come to the conclusion that Keith was not half as ill
as he had believed himself, and that if something was not done to
rouse him to a sense of his duty he might linger on in that northern
clime indefinitely. But perhaps the strangest point in this game of
cross-purposes was this: Mrs. Lynne and Serena never once dreamed
or suspected that Beatrix was under the same roof where Keith was
going--that the same house sheltered her which was home to him. They
had paid no heed to the address in the letter which had been found in
Doctor Lynne's dead hand; and the remittances for Beatrix had always
been forwarded from New Orleans by Mr. Dane's lawyer. And, owing to
Keith's illness ever since he had been under the roof of the Lynnes,
they had never known or inquired in regard to the old man who had
adopted him--not even his name or address. Even the telegrams which
reported Keith's condition were sent to the housekeeper, Mrs. Graves.
It was a strange complication, and out of this misunderstanding all the
future evil was fated to come.
Old Bernard Dane had begun to feel strangely uneasy in regard to
Keith's long absence; so at last the sham telegram was sent, and
brought about the desired result in Keith's sudden return. But the
long journey following so close upon his severe illness proved almost
too much for his strength, and the selfish old man was compelled to
acknowledge that he had made an imprudent move. For the day after his
arrival home Keith was unable to leave his bed, and for a week was
quite an invalid. But at the expiration of that time he was able to
come down-stairs, and began at once to look for an answer to his letter
to Serena, which he had written the night of his arrival home.
In the meantime, in the old brown house in the Massachusetts
wilderness, Serena Lynne had been publishing far and near the news of
her engagement--the great and glorious news of her engagement to the
rich young Southerner. All the neighbors for miles around were regaled
with accounts of his splendid home in New Orleans; of his vast wealth,
and high social position; the rich old uncle--she forgot to explain
that Keith was an adopted heir--who would bequeath his immense fortune
to Keith when he died; and, in short, Serena painted her own future
prospects in glowing colors, until the country girls with whom Serena
affiliated were half wild with envious jealousy, and wondered openly
among themselves what any man in his sober senses could see in that
ugly Serena Lynne to admire, and, more than all, to marry. And the
verdict was rendered unanimously that Keith Kenyon's lady acquaintances
must be few in number.
"I shall have a grand wedding, mamma," Serena announced confidently
at breakfast one morning--a breakfast served in slovenly fashion, and
partaken of by the two ladies attired in slatternly morning costumes.
"Of course, so soon after papa's death," went on the irrepressible
Serena, "I can not make a very grand display; but I mean to be married
in April, and I shall go as far with my wedding festivities as I dare
venture to, under the circumstances. I mean to have a wedding that
will eclipse any other that has ever been heard of here. All our
old acquaintances--in fact, everybody in the whole country of any
importance--shall be invited. We will have the church decorated with
flowers and ferns and spare no expense. I shall send to Boston for
my wedding-gown. Really, I could not wear anything from this little
place, you know, mamma; and besides, we owe old Grey such a fearful
bill. I will have white brocade, silk embroidered, with silver flowers;
and I must secure a wreath of real orange-flowers, out of compliment
to Keith. You know he comes from the land of orange-blossoms. We will
order a wedding-breakfast from Boston--and--and--"
"When do you expect to hear from Keith?" interposed Mrs. Lynne,
dryly. She had had a few hurried words with the young man before his
departure--just enough to rivet the chains securely.
Serena's sallow face flushed.
"I--I don't know; soon, though, I suppose. And by the way, mamma, there
is Mr. Rogers now--at the gate. I believe--actually believe--that he
has mail for us. Perhaps it is a letter from Keith!"
She pushed back her chair, and without waiting for a wrap, rushed
eagerly out into the cold, wintry air--out to the gate outside of which
kindly old Mr. Rogers had halted.
"Letters, Miss Serena? Yes, to be sure. One for your ma, and one for
you. That's from your sweetheart down in New Orleans, I see."
Serena tried her very best to call up a blush, but the sallow skin did
not warm, and only the frost-laden air bit the end of the long, sharp
nose until it was purple.
She seized the letters, and with a shower of voluble thanks hastened
back to the house like a mad creature--back to her seat at the
breakfast-table.
"One for you, ma," she announced, tossing a large yellow envelope into
her mother's lap, "and a letter for me--from Keith, of course."
Her chilly fingers hurriedly tore open the envelope. The letter was
not very long, but it seemed to Mrs. Lynne, watching her daughter with
ferret-like eyes, that it took Serena an endless time to decipher its
contents.
All at once, with a low groan, crumpling the letter fiercely in her
hand, Serena slipped from her chair and lay upon the floor in a dead
faint.