A RASH PROMISE.
Laurie started, like one stunned, after the retreating Juno-like form
of his cousin, then recovering himself with a bitter, sarcastic laugh,
thrust the ring back into his vest pocket.
“I must not lose it. She will be wanting it back to-morrow,” he
muttered.
For twice before to-day Lelia had broken their betrothal, then repented
in haste and called him back again.
But this time she had been more cruel than ever before--she had uttered
words that pierced his heart.
“I love another!”
He wondered if it were true, or only said to wound his pride.
He knew he would not have to look far for a rival; he had guessed
at the secret admiration of the gay, handsome Warren Beihl for his
betrothed. He had even seen that Lelia rather encouraged his advances.
In flirting, she always allowed herself more latitude than she did
Laurie, like Flora McFlimsey:
“For this is a sort of engagement, you see,
That is binding on you, but not binding on me!”
Yes, if her boast that she loved another was true, it could be no one
else but Warren Beihl.
Well, he was a good match, well-born, well-bred, wealthy, even for
Lelia. If she chose to throw over her cousin for this new lover, let
her have her way. He would make no protest, though it broke his heart.
But he resolved that he would not remain at The Crags and give her the
triumph of flaunting her happiness in his face. He would go away, and
at once, from the scene of his broken betrothal.
He went up to his room, flung his things together into his trunk,
helter-skelter, then rushed down for the farewell to his aunt.
She was nowhere to be found, and passing Mrs. Goodwill in the hall, she
told him Miss Willoughby was in Gipsy’s room.
“She is setting up to-day, and so Miss Willoughby is keeping her
company,” she said.
“I will go up there,” he said, rushing up the steps two at a time,
with an odd sort of elation that he was doing something Lelia would
not approve; but that, fortunately, she was not for the moment his
commander-in-chief.
After all, the taste of liberty is sweet now and then to the harried
slave.
The door and window of the simple little room stood open for air, and
the mantel and table held vases of roses and lilies, diffusing their
delicate perfume. Gipsy, in the easy chair, in a loose white wrapper,
looked a very interesting invalid, indeed, as she listened smilingly to
Miss Willoughby.
At his step on the threshold, both started in amazement, and in a
fleeting moment Gipsy was transformed from a lily to a rose, so deep
the blush that colored her exquisite face.
“Do not say I am intruding--I will not be turned out until I say
good-by,” he said bruskly, taking a chair in front of them with easy
grace, and continuing:
“Miss Darke, I am glad to see you up again. I hope my aunt has conveyed
to you some of the expressions of gratitude I entrusted to her charge.”
“Oh, yes, yes, Mr. Willoughby--and I am happy to have been of service
to you--and Miss Ritchie,” faltered the blushing girl, her radiant
glance taking in every detail of his manly beauty with secret,
tremulous delight.
“But, Laurie,” interpolated his aunt tremulously, “why have you come
from the picnic so soon? Where is Lelia?”
“Lelia was not feeling very well, Aunt Cyrilla, so--we--came home and
left the others to finish out the day. The--the--fact is, I am called
away unexpectedly for a time. I have packed my things, told Crawford to
get the trap ready to take me to the train, and have just a short time
in which to make my adieux. Lelia will tell you why I had to go.”
Under his affectation of carelessness, he was pale to the lips, his
eyes burned with a somber fire, and his white hands were cold as ice.
While he talked he kept looking at Gipsy in the easy chair among the
pillows, her lovely face framed by loose, curling tresses, ebony-black
and soft as silk.
He had never dared gaze at her so long before, and as he looked he
seemed to see her again as in the past--the pathetic little midget
with big, appealing dark eyes full of love and longing that met no
return.
His heart swelled as many times before with subtle pity akin to
tenderness.
Lucinda appeared at the door, beckoning her mistress outside, and the
next moment they two were alone.
Laurie Willoughby went over to Gipsy, and, stooping suddenly, took her
trembling little hand in his, saying, as he pressed it:
“Believe me, I am very, very grateful. Always look on me as your
true friend, Gipsy, and if I can ever serve you, command me. For the
present, I am going far away, and this is our good-by, so please accept
as a souvenir of regard this ring, and wear it always for my sake.”
Was he mad? Had trouble turned his brain? He was slipping on her finger
the splendid engagement-ring Lelia had just returned to him, the ring
he was almost certain she would want back to-morrow.
But with that subtle gleam in his eyes, he pressed the small, tremulous
white hand, adding:
“I have put the ring on your hand with a wish, Gipsy. You know the old
fashion, don’t you?”
“Oh, yes, sir--it must never be removed till the wish is told, or the
charm will be broken,” she faltered, trembling like a leaf in the
agitation of his presence and at the pressure of his hand.
“That is right. I have made a wish for you, and I will tell it you,
Gipsy, when we meet again. That may be sooner or later, but, in the
meantime, do not remove the ring, lest the charm be broken.”
“I will not,” she murmured, pledging herself blindly to a rash promise.
Laurie Willoughby smiled kindly on her, and pressed the hand with the
ring very closely in his own.
“God bless you and keep you, little girl--good-by!” and with his going
all the sunshine seemed to fade from the room, and her eyes grew dim
with tears.
“He is going away. Oh, how I--how every one will miss him! How sweet it
was to give me this pretty ring. It is like the one Miss Ritchie wears,
and quite too fine for me, I am afraid. But I shall wear it because
he said I must. Oh, I wonder what it was he wished for me! Something
beautiful, I hope, and I shall be impatient till he comes again and
tells me the wish,” and hearing Laurie and his aunt going down the
stairs together, she raised her fragile hand to her face, and kissed
the sparkling diamond with eager lips.
Her eyes glowed like stars, her cheeks burned; she had never felt
so strangely, deliriously happy her whole life long, poor, loving,
innocent Gipsy!