MOLLIE'S PRINCE.
"And, while now she wonders blindly,
Nor the meaning can divine,
Proudly turns he round and kindly:
'All of this is thine and mine.'"
_The Lord of Burleigh._
"It is all arranged about the picnic," exclaimed Mollie, in a joyous
voice, as she entered their bedroom, where Waveney was busy packing her
own and Mollie's things. It was the last day before their return to
town. Moritz had come down unexpectedly the previous evening, and had
paid his usual morning visit; he had gone back to the hotel to write his
letters, and had promised to join them on the Parade later on.
"What picnic?" observed Waveney, absently. She was at that moment
regarding with great satisfaction the new spring dresses that had just
come from the dressmaker's. They had been bought with her own money; and
the pretty hats, and smart boots and gloves, had all been provided from
her quarter's salary, and, although Mollie had at first refused to
allow Waveney to spend her money on her, she was soon persuaded that any
shabbiness on the part of his young _fiancée_ would be distressing to
Mr. Ingram's feelings. "You know he likes people to be nicely dressed,"
Waveney had remarked, rather severely, "so please don't be foolish,
Mollie. Surely"--in a pathetic voice--"you won't begrudge me this last
chance of buying clothes for my sweetheart?" And what could Mollie do
after that, except hug her silently, in token of yielding?
"What picnic?" returned Mollie, indignantly. "Why, our long-promised
visit to Brentwood Hall, of course, to see dear old King Canute in the
picture. Moritz says he has arranged everything with Miss Althea. I am
to have a day's rest at the Red House, and on Thursday we are to go."
"But Miss Althea is always engaged on Thursday," objected Waveney. "She
has her Porch House evening."
"Oh yes, I know," retorted Mollie--she was fairly glowing with
excitement and happiness--"but Miss Althea says she doesn't mind being
absent for once. We are to drive down to Waterloo, and Moritz will meet
us there, and it is only an hour's journey by train. Moritz says that
his sister has promised to join us at luncheon. I was just a wee bit
frightened when he said that; but he assured me that she would not be
the least formidable. She is very tall, Waveney, and very plain--at
least, strangers think her so; and she always calls herself ugly, but he
was sure I should soon love her. 'Gwen is the dearest girl in the
world,' he went on, 'and Jack just worships her. Jack Compton is her
husband, you know.' Oh Wave, I do hope she will like me."
"Of course she will like you," returned Waveney, with comfortable
decision. "I would not give a fig for Mrs. Gwen if she had the bad taste
not to admire my Mollie. Well, I hope it will be a fine day for Moritz's
picnic, and then we can wear our new dresses. But, Mollie dear, are we
really to have luncheon at Brentwood Hall? I thought Moritz said his
friend was away, and that only servants were there?"
"Yes, but he says he and Lord Ralston are such close friends that he has
_carte blanche_ to do as he likes. He is Viscount Ralston, and he is
very rich. Moritz says he has over thirty thousand a year. He seems to
have very grand friends," went on Molly, rather thoughtfully. "I am
afraid they will look down on me, a poor little lame Cinderella."
But Waveney scouted this idea with energy. Mollie was well born and well
educated; no one could look down on her. Moritz would not have to blush
for her, even if his friends were dukes as well as viscounts. Mollie
must hold her own, and not be too humble on the subject of her own
merits. It was quite evident that Moritz thought her the dearest and
sweetest thing in the world, and she ought to be satisfied with that.
And then Mollie cheered up and forgot her fears, and they packed happily
until it was time to go out. When the eventful day arrived, Mollie woke
Waveney at an unconscionably early hour, to inform her that the weather
was simply perfect, and that they might wear their new dresses without
fear of a shower.
It was one of those typical May days, when Nature puts on her daintiest
and fairest apparel, when the fresh young green of the foliage seems to
feast and rest the eyes.
The air was sweet with lilac and may; and the tender blue of the sky was
unstained by a single cloud. When Mollie came downstairs, in her pretty
grey dress, with a little spray of pink may at her throat, Althea
thought that she matched the day itself.
"Mollie has quite recovered her looks," she said to Doreen; "the dear
child is a great beauty, and Gwen will be charmed with her." And,
indeed, as they drove through there were many admiring glances cast at
the pretty, blushing face.
Moritz was at the station to meet them. He had a white flower in his
buttonhole, and looked jubilant and excited. Perhaps he was a trifle
fussy in his attentions. Mollie must take his arm, he said; the station
was so crowded, and there were a lot of rough people about.
Poor Mollie felt a little nervous and conscious. It was difficult to
adapt her slow, lurching walk to Monsieur Blackie's quick, springy
tread. Moritz might be as tender over her infirmity as a mother over
some cripple child; but Mollie, who was only human, could have wept over
her own awkwardness. Perhaps her limping gait had never given her more
acute pain than now, when Ingram was trying so carefully and
labouriously to adapt his step to hers.
Mollie's cheeks were burning by the time they reached their compartment;
but when Moritz sat down beside her with a fond look and word, she
forgot her uneasiness, and was her own happy self again.
The journey was a short one. When they reached Brentwood, Moritz
hurried his party through the little country station before the
stationmaster had an opportunity of accosting him.
An open barouche with a fine pair of bays was awaiting them. When
Waveney admired them, Moritz remarked rather complacently that Ralston
was a good judge of horse-flesh. And then he asked Mollie how she would
like to drive herself in a low pony-carriage with a pair of
cream-coloured ponies. And Mollie, thinking that he was joking, clapped
her hands gleefully.
"How delicious that would be!" she returned. "But it is very naughty of
you to tantalise me in this fashion. Oh, what a dear old village!" she
went on. "And, Moritz, the people seem to know you." For Moritz was
lifting his hat every instant in response to some greeting.
"Oh, they are always civil to people who are staying at the Hall,"
returned Ingram, evasively. But at that moment he met Althea's amused
glance. "Very well done, my lord," she said, under her breath; and then
she shook her head at him.
They were just turning in at some open gates, and before them was a
shady avenue. At the end, some more gates, of finely wrought Flemish
work, admitted them to the sunny gardens and terrace; while before them
stood the grand old Hall, with its grey walls and quaint gables and
oriel windows embowered in ivy and creepers.
"It is a lovely old place," murmured Althea; but Mollie and Waveney were
speechless with admiration. To their eyes it looked like an enchanted
palace, surrounded by shimmering green lawns. The great door was wide
open, as though to receive them; but there was no sign of human life.
When the carriage had driven away, Moritz took Mollie's hand and led her
across the wide hall, with its pillars, and grand oak carvings, its
mighty fireplace, and walls covered with curious weapons, with here and
there a stag's antlers, or the head of a grinning leopard.
They only paused for a moment to admire the great stone staircase, that
was broad enough for a dozen men to walk abreast. One of the Ralstons,
in a mad frolic, had once ridden his gallant grey up to the very top of
the staircase.
"I am going to show you everything," observed Ingram, as they walked
down the softly carpeted corridor. "We call this the Zoo," he continued,
"for if you look at the pictures, Mollie, you will see they are mostly
of animals. There are some good proof engravings of Landseer, and the
sculpture is rather fine; but the most beautiful groups are in the
picture-gallery, upstairs. The fifth Viscount Ralston was a connoisseur
of art, and spent a good deal of his income in pictures and sculpture.
It was he who brought the Flemish gates from Belgium; they are
considered very fine, and are always pointed out to visitors."
Mollie began to feel a little breathless; she wanted to linger in every
room, but Moritz, who had his work cut out for him, hurried her on.
They went through the big dining-room, which was large enough for a
banqueting-hall, and into a smaller one, where the table was already
laid for luncheon; and then into the library and morning-room. When
Mollie asked, with _naive_ curiosity, if there were no drawing-room,
Moritz laughed and told her to wait.
"These are Ralston's private quarters," he said, ushering her into a
cosy sitting-room, fitted up for a gentleman's use. But when Mollie
would have investigated, with girlish curiosity, the mass of papers on
the writing table, he quietly took her arm, and marched her into the
billiard-room adjoining. "Ralston would not like us to look at his
papers," he said, gravely. "He is an untidy fellow, and his
writing-table is always in confusion."
"Is Lord Ralston married?" asked Mollie, presently, as they went slowly
up the stone staircase. Althea, who overheard her, was obliged to pause;
she was shaking with suppressed mirth; but Waveney was far too busily
engaged in admiring a painted window to notice her merriment. Ingram was
quite equal to the occasion.
"He is not married yet, dear," he returned, quickly, "but he does not
expect to be a bachelor much longer. Shall I show you the rooms that he
has chosen for his future wife, or shall we go to the picture-gallery?"
But Mollie's excitement was too great for fatigue, and she at once
decided to see Lady Ralston's rooms.
To Mollie's inexperienced eyes they were grand enough for the Queen. She
was almost indignant when Moritz explained that the _boudoir_ and
dressing-room were to be refurnished. It was shameful extravagance, she
repeated, more than once; what did it matter if the furniture was a
little old fashioned? Mollie was quite eloquent on the subject, as she
stood in the wide bay window of the _boudoir_. It was a charming
window. Mollie looked straight down the avenue to the great bronze
gates. The rooks were cawing in the elms; some tame pheasants were
pluming themselves on the lawn below; and a wicked-looking jackdaw was
strutting up and down the terrace. The beds were full of spring flowers.
"Oh, how perfect it all is!" sighed Mollie; and then she said, in quite
a decided tone, "I do think it will be wicked for Lord Ralston to
refurnish this room."
"There, Gwen, do you hear that?" exclaimed Moritz. And Mollie turned
hastily round. A tall young lady was standing in the doorway watching
her. She was quite young, but Mollie thought she had never seen any one
so tall; and certainly it was her opinion, that first moment, that Mrs.
John Compton was the plainest person she had ever seen.
Mollie, who was a great admirer of beauty, felt a sort of shock at the
sight of Gwen's frank ugliness; her small greenish-blue eyes crinkling
up with amusement, the bluntness of her features, and her wide mouth,
gave Mollie a pang. She had yet to find out her redeeming points,--her
beautiful figure, the rich brown hair, and pleasantly modulated voice.
"Moritz, is this my dear new sister?" asked Gwen, with a smile so bright
and warm that it quite transfigured her plain face. And then, with frank
kindness, she put her arms round Mollie and kissed her. "Mollie, you
must be very good to me," she went on. And now there were tears in her
eyes. "Moritz is my only brother, and we have been everything to each
other. Have we not, old boy?" And Gwen pinched his ear playfully, and
then greeted Waveney and her cousin Althea in the warmest fashion.
There was a little hubbub of talking and laughter, and then Moritz drew
Mollie's arm through his and led her away.
Probably Gwen had had her orders, for, instead of following them, she
made room for Waveney on the wide window-seat.
"There is something Moritz wishes me to tell you," she said, quietly,
"and that he is telling your sister now."
However important Moritz's communication might be, it had to be deferred
until Mollie had exhausted her whole vocabulary of admiring terms at the
sight of the noble gallery.
It was a drawing-room and ball-room as well as a picture-gallery. Three
great fireplaces, with their cosy environment of luxurious lounges and
easy-chairs, gave warmth to the whole room. And on the other side were
windows with deep recesses, every one forming separate cosy nooks. In
one was a low tea-table and a circle of easy-chairs. Another was fitted
with an inlaid writing-table and cabinet. A third contained only a low
velvet divan. It was in this last recess that Moritz at last contrived
to detain Molly.
"Dear Mollie," he said, gently but firmly, "there will be plenty of time
to look at the pictures and sculpture after luncheon; but I want you to
listen to me a moment. I have to ask your forgiveness for a little
deception." Moritz's face was so grave that Mollie regarded him with
astonishment.
"My forgiveness! Are you joking, Moritz?"
"No, darling, I am quite serious. I have brought you here under false
pretences. But I will tell you all about it by-and-by. Dearest, this is
your future home. It is here that you and I are to spend our lives
together. Moritz Ingram and Viscount Ralston are one and the same
person."
Mollie's face grew white. The little hand he held trembled with emotion.
"Oh, no, not really?" she gasped.
"Yes, really, my sweet one. But I cannot have you look so pale and
frightened." Then, as Mollie glanced shyly at him, he caught her
suddenly to his breast. "My little blessing," he whispered. "You loved
your old friend, Monsieur Blackie; but you will not tell me now, I hope,
that Ralston is to be less dear to you."
"No, no!" stammered Mollie; "but I cannot understand. Oh, Moritz, why
did you do it?"
"I will tell you, dear," he returned, quietly. "You know, at one time,
Gwen and I were very poor. We lived in a pokey little house that we
called 'The Tin Shanty.' You shall see it some day, and I think you will
own that Ten, Cleveland Terrace, is a mansion compared with it. We were
almost at the end of our tether when the death of a cousin made me
Viscount Ralston and master of Brentwood Hall and thirty thousand a
year."
"Oh, Moritz!" and Mollie shivered and hid her face.
"I was a lucky fellow, was I not, dear? and I was truly thankful for my
good things. I was always very sociable, and fond of the society of my
fellow-creatures, and when Gwen married I led rather a gay life. But
after a time I got disgusted. Mothers with marriageable daughters made a
dead set at me. Before the season was over I could have had my pick of
half a dozen beauties. Viscount Ralston, with his thirty thousand a
year, was considered a desirable _parti_. Mollie, dear, it fairly
sickened me. You know I was an Idealist, and I never could make up my
mind to move in the ordinary groove, like other people, and I registered
a mental vow that, unless I was loved for myself, I would never marry.
When I first met my little Samaritan I had no wish to disclose my title;
but it was a mere freak at first to remain incognito, until--until I saw
you, my darling. Oh, Mollie, do you remember that day, and how I heard
you singing, and discovered Cinderella sitting on the hearth? Shall I
tell you a secret, dear? When I left the house that day I said to
myself, 'I will move heaven and earth to win that girl for my wife.'"
"Oh, Moritz, did you really?"
"Yes, love, and then and there I decided to be Mr. Ingram. I had no
difficulty in preserving my incognito. I bound over my cousins to
secrecy. It was only your illness that complicated matters. I found,
then, that it was necessary to take your father and Noel into
confidence; but you and Waveney were to be kept in ignorance. Gwen is
telling her at this present moment. But now, Mollie, I have finished my
confession, and I only want to hear from your lips that Monsieur Blackie
is forgiven."
"There is nothing to forgive," she faltered. "I think I am glad that I
did not know. But oh, Moritz, there is one thing that makes me sorry."
And now there was a painful flush on Mollie's cheek. "You know what I
mean. I wish for your sake that I was not lame."
"My poor little darling," he returned, compassionately. "But I think I
love you all the more for your helplessness. Thank Heaven, my wife will
never have occasion to tire herself. The cream-coloured ponies are in
the stable, Mollie, and when we are married I mean to give you
riding-lessons."
And then, for very joy and gratitude, Mollie burst into a flood of happy
tears.
"Oh, it is too much, too much," she sobbed. "I do not deserve such
happiness. Moritz, you must teach me everything. I want to be worthy of
this lovely home and you." And then shyly, but with exquisite, grace she
lifted the kind hand to her lips.