THE RIVAL BEAUTIES.
The neighborhood of Leeholme was essentially an aristocratic one; in
fact, Leeholme calls itself a patrician country, and prides itself on
its freedom of all manufacturing towns. It is essentially devoted to
agriculture, and has rich pasture lands, fertile meadows and luxuriant
gardens.
The Aldens of Aldenmere were, perhaps, the oldest family of any.
Aldenmere was a magnificent estate; the grounds were more extensive and
beautiful than any other in the country. Nature had done her utmost for
them; art had not been neglected. The name was derived from a large
sheet of water formed by the river Lee--a clear, broad, deep mere,
always cool, shaded by large trees, with water lilies lying on its
bosom. The great beauty of the place was the mere.
Holme Woods belonged to the estate; they bordered on the pretty,
picturesque village of Holme--the whole of which belonged to the
lords of Alden--quaint homesteads, fertile farms and broad meadows,
well-watered, surrounded the village. Not more than five miles away
was the stately and picturesque mansion of Mount Severn, built on the
summit of a green, sloping hill. Its late owner, Charles Severn, Esq.,
had been one of the most eminent statesmen who of late years had left
a mark upon the times. He had served his country well and faithfully;
he had left a name honored by all who knew it; he had done good in his
generation, and when he died all Europe lamented a truly great and
famous man.
He had left only one daughter, Clarice Severn, afterward Lady Alden,
whose tragical death filled the whole country with gloom. His widow,
Mrs. Severn, had been a lady of great energy and activity; but her
life had been a very arduous one. She had shared in all her husband’s
political enterprises. She had shared his pains and his joys. She had
labored with her whole soul; and now that he was dead she suffered from
the reaction. Her only wish and desire was for quiet and repose; the
whole life of her life was centered on her beautiful daughter.
Clarice Severn was but sixteen when her father died. His estate was
entailed, and at his widow’s death was to pass into possession of his
heir-at-law. But the gifted statesman had not neglected his only
child. He had saved a large fortune for her, and Clarice Severn was
known as a wealthy heiress.
She was also the belle and beauty _par excellence_ of the country. At
all balls and _fêtes_ she was queen. Her brilliant face, lighted by
smiles, her winning, haughty grace drawing all eyes, attracting all
attention. Wherever she was she reigned paramount. Other women, even if
more beautiful, paled into insignificance by her side.
She was very generous, giving with open, lavish hands. Proud in so
far as she had a very just appreciation of her own beauty, wealth
and importance. She was at times haughty to her equals, but to her
inferiors she was ever gentle and considerate, a quality which
afterward, when she came to reign at Aldenmere, made her beloved and
worshiped by all her servants.
She had faults, but the nature of the woman was essentially noble. What
those faults were and what they did for her will be seen during the
course of our story.
Mount Severn, even after the death of its accomplished master, was a
favorite place of resort. Mrs. Severn did not enjoy much of the quiet
she longed for. She would look at her daughter sometimes with a smile,
and say:
“It will always be the same until you are married, Clarice; then people
will visit you instead of me.”
So, little when she dreamed of the brilliant future awaiting that
beautiful and beloved child, did she dream of the tragedy that was to
cut that young life so terribly short.
Leeholme Park was the family seat of the Earl of Lorriston, a quiet,
easy, happy, prosperous gentleman, who had never known a trouble or
shadow of care in his whole life.
“People talk of trouble,” he was accustomed to say; “but I really think
half of it is their own making; of course there must be sickness and
death, but the world is a bright place in spite of that.”
He was married to the woman he loved; he had a son to succeed him; his
estates were large; his fortune vast; he had a young daughter, who made
the sunshine and light of his home. What had he to trouble him? He had
never known any kind of want, privation, care or trouble; he had never
suffered pain or heartache. No wonder he looked around on those nearest
and dearest, on his elegant home, his attached friends, and wondered
with a smile how people could think the world dull or life dreary. Yet
on this kindly, simple, happy man a terrible blow was to fall.
I do not know who could properly describe Lady Hermione Lorriston, the
real heroine of our story. It seems to me easier to paint the golden
dawn of a summer morning, the transparent beauty of a dewdrop, to put
to music the song of the wind or the carol of a bird, or the deep,
solemn anthem of the waves, as to describe a character that was full
of light and shade, tender as a loving woman, playful as a child,
spiritual, poetical, romantic, a perfect queen of the fairies, whose
soul was steeped in poetry as flowers are in dew.
By no means a perfect woman, though endowed with woman’s sweetest
virtues; she was inclined to be willful, with a delicious grace that no
one could resist. She liked to have her own way, and generally managed
it in the end. She delighted rather too much in this will of her own.
She owned to herself, with meek, pretty contrition, that she was often
inclined to be passionate, that she was impatient of control, too much
inclined to speak her mind with a certain freedom that was not always
prudent.
Yet the worst of Lady Hermione’s faults was that they compelled you to
love her, and even to love them, they were so full of charms. When she
was quite a little child Lord Lorriston was accustomed to say that the
prettiest sight in all the world was Hermione in a passion.
She was completely spoiled by her father, but, fortunately, Lady
Lorriston was gifted with some degree of common sense, and exerted a
wholesome control over the pet of the household.
The earl’s son and heir, Clement Dane Lorriston, was at college, and
Lady Hermione, having no sister of her own, was warmly attached to
Clarice Severn.
There were several other families--the Thrings of Thurston, the Gordons
of Leyton, and, as may be imagined, with so many young people, there
was no inconsiderable amount of love-making and marriage.
Sir Ronald Alden was, without exception, the most popular man in the
neighborhood. The late Lord of Aldenmere had never married; to save
himself all trouble he adopted his nephew, Ronald, and brought him up
as his heir; so that when his time came to reign he was among those
with whom he had lived all his life.
He was very handsome, this young lord of Alden. The Alden faces were
all very much the same; they had a certain weary, half-contemptuous
look; but when they softened with tenderness or brightened with smiles,
they were simply beautiful and irresistible.
They were of the high-bred, patrician type--the style of face that has
come down to us from the cavaliers and crusaders of old. The only way
in which Sir Ronald differed from his ancestors was that he had a mouth
like one of the old Greek gods--it would of itself have made a woman
almost divinely lovely--it made him irresistible. Very seldom does one
see anything like it in real life. A smile from it would have melted
the coldest heart--a harsh word have pierced the heart of one who loved
him.
He had something of the spirit that distinguished the crusaders; he was
brave even to recklessness--he never studied danger; he was proud,
stubborn, passionate. A family failing of the Aldens was a sudden
impulse of anger that often led them to words they repented of.
So that he was by no means perfect, this young lord of Alden; but it is
to be imagined that many people liked him all the better for that.