“Friendship is constant in all other things,
Save in the office and affairs of love;
Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues.
Let ev’ry eye negotiate for itself,
And trust no agent.”
Vane Charteris closed abruptly the book she was reading. She had
commenced the quotation scarcely heeding what she read, but the sense
dawned upon her as she reached the end. She colored faintly and looked
up hurriedly, then gave a sigh of relief. Soothed by the musical
monotony of her voice, Stuart had fallen into a doze, and the last
words had had no meaning for him.
Vane opened her fan and sat back; her eyes were fixed on the lovely
picture before her, but her thoughts were a tumult of anger, vexation
and jealousy. To find her plans upset, her hope of power pass from her
in the very moment of its birth, was a bitter mortification. Her short
dream of ambition was broken, and for what? A mere country girl, whose
eyes had bewitched Stuart, and whose charm had beguiled the passing
hour. A feeling of self-annoyance succeeded the vexation. Vane bit her
lip and tapped the ground with her foot. What had she done? Promised to
befriend and assist the very woman who had pushed her aside. She was a
fool, the proud girl told herself, not to have laughed Stuart’s tale
of love to scorn. A few cold words might, perchance, have checked the
ardor of his flame. Now it was too late; she had given her promise, and
she must meet this woman. A deeper flush spread over Vane’s cheeks.
She shut her fan quickly, and looked curiously at her sleeping cousin.
A thought had suddenly come into her mind. After all, she had not
been so foolish, for was she not to meet Margery alone, with no other
influence to work against hers? Could she not so manage as to rouse,
say, if not the demon of jealousy, at least the spirit of pride? The
girl had pride, Vane was compelled to admit--she had not forgotten
Margery’s dignity that day in the courtyard, nor the graceful _hauteur_
and ease with which she had moved away. Wordy warfare was not unknown
to Miss Charteris, and it would be strange, indeed, if she could not
plant some poisoned arrows in this presumptuous country girl’s breast.
Stuart could not write a line--that was fortunate; he would not be able
to leave the castle for three or four days at the least--that also was
fortunate. Vane felt her spirits rise again, and her hatred, fanned by
piqued vanity and jealousy, grew stronger and stronger.
Some vague thought of trouble seemed to come at that moment to Stuart,
for, on turning her head, she met his open eyes fixed with an anxious
look on her.
“You have had a delightful sleep,” she said, rising, and moving toward
him. “I am so glad!”
Stuart passed his left hand over his brow.
“How rude you must think me, Vane!” he murmured. “Your voice sent me to
sleep; but I have not slumbered peacefully. My arm is a most annoying
member.”
“I feared you were suffering,” Vane answered, gently. “Stuart, why not
go back to your room again? I am sure it will be wiser.”
“I don’t feel a Hercules, certainly,” confessed Stuart. “Who could
think that four days would pull a fellow down so low?” He rose slowly
from his chair, then added, suddenly. “But my mother! Vane! I must see
her to-day.”
“I am going to propose something,” Vane said, slowly, as she drew his
hand through her arm. “Let me speak to Aunt Constance. Believe me, I
shall do it far better than you. You would probably be hurt at what
she says, and then you would both be angry. Now, if I speak, Stuart,
I, being an impartial person, shall be more calm and collected. I
will plead your cause well, and--don’t think me vain--I think I shall
succeed as I wish.”
Vane drew a quick breath. Stuart did not see the transitory gleam of
triumph that flashed from her eyes.
“I am your friend; you will trust me?” she added, gently.
“Trust you? Yes, Vane; but it seems cowardly, unmanly, not to plead for
myself.”
“Do you want to win your mother’s consent? Yes, of course you do?
Then be assured, Stuart, that in my hands you will be more certain of
it than if you act for yourself. See--here is your servant! Take my
advice, rest and be happy, and all will go well.”
“Vane,” began Stuart; but she stopped him.
“Do as I ask you,” she pleaded; and with a smile of grateful thanks,
Stuart retired to his room.
“All will go well--yes,” mused Vane, as she turned back to the
colonnade. “I see the end clearly now. I must enlist Aunt Constance
on my side, and the rest will follow in due course. Margery Daw, your
chance of reigning at Crosbie Castle grows smaller and smaller.”
She mounted the stairs to her room, stopping on the way to exchange a
few words and embraces with her mother, who was overjoyed to see her
darling child so well and happy.
Vane made a careful, simple toilet; she exchanged her long pink gown
for a dainty white cambrice, chose a large white hat and gloves of a
light tan shade, and, after bidding her maid place them in readiness,
descended to the hall just as her aunt arrived.
Mrs. Crosbie was dismissing her groom with the ponies when Vane
interrupted.
“Forgive me, auntie, dear,” she said, lightly, “but may I have the
carriage this afternoon? I have an errand to perform in the village.”
Mrs. Crosbie looked surprised for an instant; then she said, affably:
“Certainly, my dear. At what time shall Tims bring it round?”
“About five o’clock. Many thanks, Aunt Constance,” she added, prettily,
as Mrs. Crosbie gave the desired order.
Luncheon progressed slowly and rather silently. Lady Charteris chatted
away to the squire, and Mrs. Crosbie dilated in her proud, cold way
upon mission work. Sir Douglas ate and spoke little, while Vane
discussed the delicacies in silence.
Several times in the course of the meal she was struck by the strange
expression on Sir Douglas Gerant’s face; there was a glow of animation,
a look of eagerness that surprised her, and she decided mentally that
he was pondering some great problem, when she saw his brows darken and
his jaw set with determination. She herself had many momentous thoughts
troubling her; but her manner was placidly serene. She was awaiting her
opportunity to speak alone with Mrs. Crosbie, and thought to effect her
purpose immediately after luncheon.
In this, however, she was foiled; her aunt was claimed by the
housekeeper on account of domestic affairs, and it was past four
o’clock before she was liberated.
At last Vane saw her chance. She had seated herself in the colonnade,
which was a favorite lounge for the whole house in summer-time, and
from here she could see all who came and went. To outward appearance
she was absorbed in her book; but in reality she was keenly alive to
everything passing around, listening for the first tones of her aunt’s
voice, and wondering during the moments of her watch what was causing
the struggle in Sir Douglas Gerant’s breast as he walked to and fro
beneath the shade of the trees in the distance.
Vane did not look up as she saw her aunt approach; but she gave Mrs.
Crosbie a smile when she addressed her.
“So I hear, Vane, that you have been nursing Stuart, and with good
results. I have just met Andrews, and he tells me his master has slept
nearly all the afternoon; he will soon recover, now, I hope.”
“I hope so, indeed,” said Vane, softly.
She pushed forward a chair as she spoke; then, as her aunt sank into
it, she said, quietly:
“Aunt Constance, I want to speak to you. I said before luncheon that I
had an errand to perform in the village, but I did not say what that
errand was. I will tell you now.”
“Do you think I look curious, Vane?” laughed Mrs. Crosbie, her handsome
features wearing an air of satisfaction and pleasure as her gaze rested
on her niece.
“I am going to see Margery Daw,” Vane said, slowly, letting her eyes
wander across the sunlit lawn, but not before she saw a look of
surprise dawn on her aunt’s face.
“See Margery Daw!” repeated Mrs. Crosbie. “Why, Vane?”
“Because Stuart has asked me to go.”
“Stuart!” breathed his mother, half rising from her chair. “What do you
mean, Vane?”
“I mean, aunt, that Stuart loves Margery Daw, and says he will make her
his wife.”
For a time there was no reply from Mrs. Crosbie, and Vane, turning, saw
a heavy frown on her handsome face.
“You are jesting, of course, Vane?” she said, at last.
“Indeed, Aunt Constance, I am not,” returned Miss Charteris, quietly.
“My news surprises you?”
“Surprises!” repeated Mrs. Crosbie. “I fail to understand you at all.”
Vane rose and knelt beside her aunt.
“Auntie, dear,” she said, gently, “you must not be hard on poor Stuart.
Recollect, he has eyes, and this girl is beautiful. I have seen her,
and love is----”
“Has he asked you to plead for him?” interrupted Mrs. Crosbie, coldly.
“No; he told me his secret this morning, urged by I know not what,”
and Vane let her eyes wander away again. “Perhaps,” she went on, after
a brief pause, “some idea of the warm interest I must ever have in him
prompted him; but that I cannot tell. He spoke openly to me, and asked
me to be her friend as I was his.”
A sneer curled Mrs. Crosbie’s lip.
“He evidently thought union was strength,” she remarked, dryly.
“Aunt Constance, I will not hear your anger against Stuart,” Vane said,
quickly. “I--I am his friend, and----” Her head drooped and her cheeks
flushed. Then she went on, hurriedly: “It is not his fault--of that I
am sure; you must blame Margery Daw, if you blame any one.”
“Does he expect me to receive her?” asked Mrs. Crosbie, quietly.
“I think so. But listen to me, Aunt Constance. I have not crossed
Stuart, I have not refused his request, for I feared, in his weak
state, to vex him; but he has left everything in my hands, and I
will----” She stopped, and their eyes met.
“What?” asked Mrs. Crosbie, almost sharply.
“Save him from this if I can.”
The words were uttered very quietly, and Mrs. Crosbie drew a quick
breath of relief.
“Vane,” she said, “forgive me; I was wrong to doubt you, even for a
moment.”
“I know what it is,” Vane went on, hurriedly--“a glamour, a romance.
Stuart has been here alone--he has been bewitched. But I know, too,
what a bitter awakening it would be when the glamour was gone, the veil
of poetry and romance torn down; and, for his sake, I will do it. Aunt
Constance, do not think me bold--do not think me unwomanly. I cannot
help myself; I would do anything for Stuart--for--for I--love him!”
Vane sank back and buried her face in her hands. Mrs. Crosbie put her
arms around her niece and drew her to her shoulder.
“Unwomanly, Vane?” she said, gently. “I honor you. This is as it should
be.”
“Ah, you will keep my secret, Aunt Constance? He must not know--I
would not let him know for untold gold. If we succeeded in satisfying
this girl’s ambition or avarice--money generally heals such wounds as
hers--we must remember he will be troubled perhaps for a time. I would
not let him think my heart hungered for him; my pride would suffer--it
would kill me.”
“He shall not know, I promise,” Mrs. Crosbie responded, stroking Vane’s
soft hair. “But what shall we do--how break this off? It has taken me
at a disadvantage; the very thought seems so monstrous, I cannot yet
believe it.”
“I want you to humor Stuart,” Vane said. “Let him think that you may
consent eventually; be proud and cold, but not unkind. The blow must
come from her.”
“How?” inquired Mrs. Crosbie, for once roused from her calm demeanor.
“She must be convinced of the uselessness of her scheme. I am going to
her now, sent as Stuart’s messenger. I think I shall pave the way, at
any rate.”
Mrs. Crosbie clasped her niece’s hand for an instant, and then turned
aside.
“It is very bitter to me, Vane, to have to stoop to deceit; but it is
a deep wound to my pride, that Stuart, my son, should so far forget
his dignity as to think of such a girl for his wife. You are prompted
by the best and noblest feelings, Vane; but I cannot bring myself to
submit to this degradation even for a minute. Stuart must know the
truth--must know how I judge him in this.”
Vane rose hurriedly from her seat.
“I know you are right, Aunt Constance,” she responded, quietly, though
she was inwardly disturbed by Mrs. Crosbie’s words; “but consider.
Stuart is impulsive, as strong-willed as yourself; if you cross him
in this, who knows but that he may do something rash--perhaps marry
the girl without delay, and be separated from you forever? Is it not
wiser to act cautiously, to be careful and politic? I do not advocate
too much warmth on your part; meet Stuart coldly, but at the same time
throw no obstacle in the way. Believe me, dear Auntie, you will be
relieved of all anxiety if you do this.”
“But what do you propose?” asked Mrs. Crosbie, resuming her seat, and
Vane saw that her advice had taken root.
“We must let the separation come from her,” she answered, quickly. “It
will not do to send the girl away--that would be but a stimulus to
Stuart’s determination. No; he must be disillusioned; and that will not
be a difficult matter, I should imagine.”
Mrs. Crosbie was silent for a few moments; she was irritated and
displeased more than Stuart imagined she would be at the news of his
attachment. To her it seemed incredible that a Crosbie should stoop to
humiliate himself in this way. Vane’s words fell with good effect upon
her ears. Had her niece not been at hand to smooth matters with gentle
tact, she would not have been able to restrain her anger. Something of
the wisdom of the girl’s advice came home to her as she mused. She saw
that Vane was urged by jealousy and pride to break off this terrible
connection, but she was quite wrong in her conclusions as to the source
of that jealousy. She judged it to be solely the outcome of love for
her son, and the thought came as soothing balm at such a moment. Once
let them dispatch that girl, and the marriage she had planned would
take place.
Vane watched her aunt intently.
“You will consent?” she said, softly, breaking the silence.
“Yes,” Mrs. Crosbie answered, abruptly.
Vane made no immediate reply, but her heart thrilled with satisfaction.
Now she must conjure up all her power to defeat Margery Daw. Plan after
plan followed each other through her mind, but she could arrive at none
better than trampling on this village rival’s dignity and wounding her
pride with darts, the sting of which would linger longest. Before she
began the fray, however, she must see Stuart, breathe in his ear that
she had succeeded with his mother, and thus allay any suspicion he
might entertain in the future that it was through her instrumentality
that his love-dream had been broken.
“Yes,” said Mrs. Crosbie, again, “I will act as you suggest. I see
plainly the wisdom of such a course. Were I to display the anger I
feel, the consequences might be worse than the present state of
things. At all hazards we must separate him from this girl!”
Vane bent, and kissed her aunt.
“I am glad you see the matter as I do. Aunt Constance, I feel I am
right. Stuart must be saved from this; and, if we work well, we shall
do it. Now I must start for the village. Remember, you will not let
your anger be seen.”
“It will be difficult, perhaps,” returned Mrs. Crosbie; “but there is
too much at stake, and I will control myself.”
Vane moved away slowly, leaving the mother plunged in bitter thought,
and mounted the stairs to her room. She put on her pretty hat, smiling
triumphantly at her own image in the mirror, and, drawing on her
gloves, passed along the corridor till she reached Stuart’s door.
She knocked softly, and whispered to the servant:
“Is your master awake?”
“Yes, miss.”
“Ask him to come to the door for one minute, if he can.”
Vane fastened the last button of her glove, and then stood waiting, a
picture of grace and beauty, as Stuart moved slowly into the doorway.
“I am going now,” she said, gently; “but, before I start, I wanted to
let you know that I have succeeded with Aunt Constance. She----”
“She agrees?” interrupted Stuart, resting against the door for support.
“Yes; but,” continued Vane, “you must not be surprised if she is cold
and hard. Of course, she was totally unprepared for my news. I expect
she will come and see you directly. Now, will you trust me again,
Stuart?”
“Trust!” he echoed, putting out his hand. “I have no words to thank you
with, Vane. Margery and I owe all our happiness to you.”
“I thought I would tell you; and now I must go,” Miss Charteris said,
hurriedly. “You look pale, Stuart.”
“My head aches confoundedly! I beg your pardon, Vane, but I am not used
to pain, and I grow impatient. Tell Margery---- But I leave it all to
you. Thank you again and again.”
Vane descended the stairs rapidly, and she felt as she seated herself
in the smart pony-carriage that she had fought half her battle, and
that, with a little care and discrimination, the victory would be
easily and gracefully won.