"IT IS THE RING."
Nita was walking alone in the grounds at twilight. The purple shades of
the gloaming were shot through by the opaline light of a new moon
swinging like a silver sickle in a rosy-lilac sky, and a wind from the
sea--cool, salty, and delicious--stirred the flowers, shaking out
fragrance upon the languid, love-breathing air of June.
The beautiful white-robed girl, as she walked up and down the flowery
paths, cast now and then glances of yearning tenderness toward one
window of the house, through whose lace-curtains gleamed a dim, soft
light. She knew that Dorian Mountcastle was waiting there, heart-sick
and restless, and pining for her presence.
A little while ago Lizette had brought her a note that set all her
pulses beating with blended rapture and despair:
"MY DEAR MISS FARNHAM: How can you be so cruel to a sick and lonely
man? It is a week since I have seen you. Mrs. Hill keeps making
excuses that you are not well, but how can I believe it when I have
seen you from my window every day walking, riding, and even
boating, rowing yourself with the most consummate grace and skill?
Azalea also tells me you are very well. She is devoted to me, the
dear girl, but it is you I want.
"Do you know that I am so much better the doctor let me sit up
several hours to-day, and that I shall soon be well enough to go
away? I am glad, for I have already trespassed too long on your
hospitality, and, of course, you will wish me gone, else you would
let me see you when I am so miserable over your displeasure. How
cruelly you punish me for that sweet stolen kiss, whose memory
thrills my every hour with silent rapture. Ah, Nita, I love you
madly! Will you accept the life you saved so bravely that night and
make me happy?
"You remember that sweet old song 'Juanita'? It keeps singing
itself over and over in my thronging thoughts:
"'Nita, Juanita, let me linger by thy side;
Nita, Juanita, be my own fair bride!'
"Ah, Nita, did not our souls rush together at our first meeting? I
remember with intoxicating rapture how we looked into each other's
eyes--looked and loved. Oh, my dearest, do not be cold to me. You
are no heartless coquette, I know. Forego all further punishment.
Come to me, dear, and set my heart at rest.
DORIAN."
The letter was in Nita's bosom. The sweetness and the thorn were in her
heart. She wrung her slender hands together, as if in pain, then they
fell apart, and a stifled cry came from her lips.
The keen little tongue of the emerald serpent had pierced her rosy palm
and the blood started. But the wound in the young girl's heart was
deeper far.
Everything around Nita--the moon, the flowers, the sea, breathed of
love. What wonder that the same pulse throbbed at her heart! She leaned
on the railing of a little fountain throwing diamond sprays into the
air, and murmured plaintively:
"If this had come to me only two weeks ago it would have opened the
gates of heaven to me. To love--to be loved--that is the best of life.
But I have lived to be almost eighteen, and never had this crowning
joy--never until now, when it comes, alas, too late. Ah, would it be so
very wrong to love him just a little while? I have just one year of
life, for I have sworn to die ere the moment comes of giving myself to
Miser Farnham's arms. One year--only year in this beautiful world! Oh,
it is cruel, cruel! And life has been so hard to me; who could blame me
for taking this joy that fate holds out to me, this draft of love whose
dregs will be so bitter?"
Hungry for love and happiness, the girl was faltering with a terrible
temptation. For a week she had held it at bay. To-night Love stood
sentinel at the door of her heart and proclaimed himself her master.
That night in the old garden when she had believed Dorian Mountcastle
dead, she had uttered prophetic words:
"If you had lived, you would have lured my heart from me."
Only time could prove whether it was for better or worse that he had
lived, and that they had looked and loved.
"I must go to him!" she cried suddenly, sweeping all irresolution aside.
She gathered a lily from the marble basin of the fountain, fastened it
in the bosom of her white gown, and turned toward the house. Coming into
the graveled walk at the foot of the steps, Nita almost ran into the
arms of a tall, middle-aged man, who lifted his hat with easy grace,
exclaiming:
"Beg pardon, Miss--Miss----"
"Farnham," the young girl said quietly, and stood waiting.
He bowed deeply, and resumed in his easy courteous manner:
"My name is Donald Kayne, Miss Farnham, and I am in search of a missing
friend of mine, Dorian Mountcastle. I set him ashore on this beach about
two weeks ago, and on returning only yesterday from our little yachting
excursion, I heard that he had not returned to New York, nor even been
heard of there. I became uneasy and came down to-day to hunt him up,
although now"--with an admiring glance--"his exile is no longer a
mystery to me. I learned at the hotel of my friend's accident, and that
he was your guest. I hastened without ceremony to call on him."
"You are most welcome," she answered, in a low, musical voice.
"Thank you; and is he better?"
"He will soon be well," she murmured--"you will come to him at once,
sir. He will be glad indeed to see his friend."
He followed her up the stately granite steps into a broad marble-paved
hall. Then Nita led him to Dorian Mountcastle.
The invalid was resting in an easy chair, and Mrs. Courtney and her
daughter were with him in spite of the only half-suppressed yawns with
which he slyly evidenced a decided preference for solitude.
He was waiting for Nita's answer to his letter. Would she come, his
proud, dark-eyed darling, would she forgive his audacity and grant his
prayer? And, meanwhile, Mrs. Courtney and Azalea were engaged in holding
her up to his scorn.
"The most singular young girl I ever met. She makes the duties of a
chaperon merely a sinecure," sneered Mrs. Courtney, and Azalea chimed in
with pretended sweet excuses:
"But, then, mama, dear, you must remember that the poor girl does not
really seem to have any knowledge of the usages of the best society. I
fancy her wealth must have come to her quite suddenly. She cannot play
the piano, Dorian, nor sing a note. She knows no language but English,
she is brusk, and----" But the sentence uttered in a clear, high-pitched
voice, was never ended.
The door that already stood slightly ajar, to admit the evening air, was
pushed open by a graceful hand, and Nita stood on the threshold with the
stranger. She had heard, for, looking straight at her dismayed rival,
she said archly:
"You are quite right, Miss Courtney, I was brought up in poverty until a
few weeks ago, when I came into my--inheritance."
Cool, fair, queenly, she bowed to Dorian, and said simply:
"Your friend, Mr. Kayne."
"Donald Kayne!" cried Dorian joyfully.
A confusion ensued in which Nita's daring speech was happily passed
over. The Courtneys were well acquainted with the newcomer. In their
palmy days they had been in his "set," and, although surprised to see
them here, he greeted them with the easy cordiality of a man of the
world.
A lively conversation ensued from which Nita seemed for a short while
necessarily left out. She withdrew to the only vacant seat, regretting
that she could not conveniently move the heavy arm-chair away from the
strong glare of light.
She leaned back, with languid grace, her eyes downcast, a hovering smile
on her scarlet lips, her exquisite arm escaping from the lace of the
loose sleeve, resting on the arm of the dark velvet chair, the taper,
extending fingers quivering with a slight nervous motion that made the
serpent-ring glitter so weirdly one would scarcely have been more
startled to hear a sibilant hiss escape from the open jaws.
Nita was unconscious that the stranger's eyes dwelt admiringly upon her
queenly beauty as she sat in the velvet arm-chair. She kept her lids
lowered persistently, not daring to meet Dorian's ardent gaze.
But, suddenly, she became aware that Mr. Kayne had left his seat and was
bending over her chair. His breath swept her cheek as he exclaimed
eagerly:
"A very unique ring, Miss Farnham. Will you permit me to examine it
closer?"
He took the white hand in his own and lifted it nearer to the light.
His fingers felt as cold as the skeleton ones, from which she had drawn
the uncanny ring in the miser's gold-vault, and they were trembling
strangely. Every one was watching him curiously, the pale, repressed
excitement of his countenance was so fascinating.
"Good heavens! it is the ring! Miss Farnham, how came you by it?" he
cried out in such a startled, eager voice that she quivered with deadly
fear, recalling in dismay the old miser's malicious words:
"People will recognize the ring--they will ask you questions that you
will not dare to answer."
"The ring--I--oh--you must have made a mistake," she faltered, almost
imploringly.
"Impossible! I know the jewel perfectly. I will prove it to you. Inside
the serpent-ring there is carved a name--'Pepita'--is it not true? You
know it. Come, Miss Farnham, you have solved the mystery of that woman's
fate, or you would not wear her ring. The truth, the truth, for God's
sake!"