LADY HERMIONE’S BIRTHDAY.
It seemed as though the sun loved her, for it had never shone so bright
or so warm as when it peeped into her chamber to wake my lady on her
birthday. The flowers loved her, for they bloomed fresher, sweeter,
more fragrantly that morning than they had ever done before. Surely the
sweet songbirds knew it, for the music that rose through the clear,
sweet summer air was never so jubilant and clear.
The sunshine and the song of the birds awoke her, and her maid was
already standing there, her arms filled with fragrant bouquets, roses
with dewdrops gleaming on them, rich crimson leaves, lilies, whose
white cups were moist and fair; but the loveliest bouquet there had
been sent by Sir Ronald.
Talk of a floral love letter; every flower had its story. If they could
but have raised their beautiful heads and told her how he loved her,
this story had never been written.
Then when she was alone in the midst of her flowers and saw the costly
gifts spread out on every side, her heart swelled with happiness. She
raised her sweet eyes to the smiling heavens.
“If you were to ask a gift from there,” she said, “I know what it would
be--it would be that my love might love me.”
For she knew now that the highest boon life could offer her, the
richest prize earth held for her, was Sir Ronald’s love.
The _fête_ was brilliant. Never had Leeholme Park been so gay. Lord
Lorriston spared neither expense nor trouble to do homage to this, his
beloved child.
With evening came the crowning glory of the entertainment--the charades
and the tableaux. The little theatre was most charmingly decorated.
The velvet hangings were drawn aside, and revealed a beautiful little
corridor, lighted by pearly lamps that were half hidden among green
trees; it led to the grounds, that were also illuminated, so as to
resemble fairyland.
“If any one finds the theatre warm, they can seek the refreshment of
cool air and moonlight,” said Lord Lorriston, when he planned this
little surprise.
The tableaux were a wonderful success; no one will ever forget the
bright, marvelous beauty of “Sunshine” or the starlike beauty of
“Evening.” The historical picture was greatly admired, but the star of
the evening was Anne Boleyn the night before her execution; a picture
that half-maddened Sir Ronald by its wondrous loveliness and sorrow.
There was to be dancing after the tableaux, and he went to Lady
Hermione with an anxious look on his face.
“Lord Lorriston says that it is the universal wish that the ladies who
have taken such a brilliant part in the tableaux should appear in the
several costumes they wore. Lady Hermione, you will not wear that black
dress?”
“I could not dance in it,” she said, with a smile.
His face cleared.
“I am so glad you will wear the queen’s dress. I am so grieved that I
ever asked you to imitate that picture.”
“Tell me why?” she asked.
“I could not. I should have to unravel the whole science of
metaphysics. It has given me a shock; I cannot tell why. To remove the
unpleasant impression, you will promise me to be a brilliant queen.”
“To forget that cruel Harry slew me?” she said. “Yes; I will forget it.
See, you have frightened me with your fears. My hands have grown cold.”
He seized them and almost crushed them in his passionate clasp. He bent
over them and longed with passionate longing to cover them with kisses,
but dared not.
“You will soon make me superstitious,” she said; “I shall not feel
myself again until I have my robes of state and diadem.”
There was never a more brilliant spectacle at Leeholme than the
ballroom that evening. There was queenly Cleopatra, with dusky brows;
Antony, in mailed armor; Kenelm Eyrle, as Sir Launcelot; Sir Ronald, as
King Harry; Clara Seville, as the Queen of Scots, and the magnificent
blonde, Miss Monteith, as Queen Guinivere. The belles of the evening
were Miss Severn, as Jane Seymour, and Lady Hermione, as Anne Boleyn.
“If I had been King Harry,” said Captain Gordon, “I should not have
known which of those two beautiful women I loved best; but I should
never have slain one to marry the other.”
“I would rather have been Anne than Jane,” said Queen Guinivere, to
whom he was speaking. “If Jane Seymour had any conscience it must have
been sorely wounded by Anne’s death--she should never have been really
happy afterward.”
Many a happy passage at arms took place between the fair rivals. It
was certainly most suggestive. The dead queens had not struggled more
for the sole possession of bluff Harry’s heart than these two did most
unconsciously for Sir Ronald’s love.
It was growing near the close of the evening when Sir Ronald danced
with Lady Hermione. The brilliant ballroom was very warm then, and she
laughed as she said:
“I should not like to be a queen always; the weight of my royal robes
is great.”
“You are always a queen, though not dressed _en reine_,” he replied.
“You look tired; let us go into the grounds--the cool, sweet air will
refresh you.”
Over her queenly costume and crowned head he drew a black lace
mantilla, in which she looked inexpressibly beautiful, and they went
through the corridor to the moonlit grounds, where many of Lord
Lorriston’s guests were enjoying the beauty of the night. Great,
fragrant roses sighed out their sweetness, and the lilies gleamed
palely. The song of a nightingale in the distant woods was heard
plainly, when there came a soft, languid lull in the music. The stars
came out like golden lamps in the darkling sky; and they stood, those
who loved each other so well, with the first faint pulse of love
thrilling each heart, too happy for words; for words, after all, do not
tell the heart’s sweetest and deepest thoughts.
Only once--when there was a faint stir in the wind, and the roses all
bowed their crimson heads, the white bells of the lilies trembled; then
he drew the lace mantle more closely round her--he bent down and looked
into her beautiful face.
“My queen,” he whispered, “see, even the flowers know their queen.”
And, as she smiled at the words, she looked so lovely and so loving,
that he forgot everything except the passionate longing to call her his
own. He bent down and kissed the pure, sweet lips that had never been
kissed before.