Lady Earle's boudoir was always considered one of the prettiest rooms
at Earlescourt. Few, but rare, pictures adorned its walls. The long
French windows opened on to the prettiest part of the gardens, where a
large fountain rippled merrily in the sunshine. Groups of flowers in
rare and costly vases perfumed the room.
Lord Earle had but drawn a pretty lounging chair to the window, and sat
there, looking happier than he had looked for months. Lady Earle went
on with her task of arranging some delicate leaves and blossoms ready
for sketching.
"Ronald," said his father, "I have been waiting here some time. Have
you been out?"
"I have been in the park with Miss Charteris," replied Ronald.
Lord Earle smiled again, evidently well pleased to hear that
intelligence.
"A pleasant and sensible method of spending your time," he continued;
"and, strange to say, it is on that very subject I wish to speak to
you. Your attentions to Miss Charteris--"
"My attentions!" cried Ronald. "You are mistaken. I have never paid
any."
"You need have no fear this time," said Lord Earle. "Your mother tells
me of the numerous comments made last evening on your long tete-a-tete
in the conservatory. I know some of your secrets. There can be no
doubt that Miss Charteris has a great regard for you. I sent for you
to say that, far from my again offering any opposition to your
marriage, the dearest wish of my heart will be gratified when I call
Valentine Charteris my daughter."
He paused for a reply, but none came. Ronald's face had grown
strangely pale.
"We never named our wish to you," continued Lord Earle, "but years ago
your mother and I hoped you would some day love Miss Charteris. She is
very beautiful; she is the truest, noblest, the best woman I know. I
am proud of your choice, Ronald--more proud than words can express."
Still Ronald made no reply, and Lady Earle looked up at him quickly.
"You need not fear for Valentine," she said. "I must not betray any
secrets; she likes you, Ronald; I will say no more. If you ask her to
be your wife, I do not think you will ask in vain."
"There is some great mistake," said Ronald, his pale lips quivering.
"Miss Charteris has no thought for me."
"She has no thought for any one else," rejoined Lady Earle, quickly.
"And I," continued Ronald, "never dreamed of making her my wife. I do
not love her. I can never marry Valentine Charteris."
The smiles died from Lord Earle's face, and his wife dropped the pretty
blossoms she was arranging.
"Then why have you paid the girl so much attention?" asked his father,
gravely. "Every one has remarked your manner; you never seemed happy
away from her."
"I wished to make her my friend," said Ronald; "I never thought of
anything else."
He stood aghast when he remembered why he had tried so hard to win her
friendship. What if Valentine misunderstood him?
"Others thought for you," said Lady Earle, dryly. "Of course, if I am
mistaken, there is no more to be said; I merely intended to say how
happy such a marriage would make me. If you do not love the young lady
the matter ends, I suppose."
"Can you not love her, Ronald?" asked his mother, gently. "She is so
fair and good, so well fitted to be the future mistress of Earlescourt.
Can you not love her?"
"Nothing was further from my thoughts," he replied.
"Surely," interrupted Lady Earle, "you have forgotten the idle, boyish
folly that angered your father some time since--that can not be your
reason?"
"Hush, mother," said Ronald, standing erect and dauntless; "I was
coming to tell you my secret when you met me. Father, I deceived and
disobeyed you. I followed Dora Thorne to Eastham, and married her
there."
A low cry came from Lady Earle's lips. Ronald saw his father's face
grow white--livid--with anger; but no word broke the awful silence that
fell upon them. Hours seemed to pass in the space of a few minutes.
"You married her," said Lord Earle, in a low, hoarse voice,
"remembering what I said?"
"I married her," replied Ronald, "hoping you would retract hard, cruel
words that you never meant. I could not help it, father; she has no
one but me; they would have forced her to marry some one she did not
like."
"Enough," interrupted Lord Earle. "Tell me when and where. Let me
understand whether the deed is irrevocable or not."
Calmly, but with trembling lips, Ronald gave him every particular.
"Yes, the marriage is legal enough," said the master of Earlescourt.
"You had to choose between duty, honor, home, position--and Dora
Thorne. You preferred Dora; you must leave the rest."
"Father, you will forgive me," cried Ronald. "I am your only son."
"Yes," said Lord Earle, drearily, "you are my only son. Heaven grant
no other child may pierce his father's heart as you have done mine!
Years ago, Ronald, my life was blighted--my hopes, wishes, ambitions,
and plans all melted; they lived again in you. I longed with wicked
impatience for the time when you should carry out my dreams, and add
fresh luster to a grand old name. I have lived in your life; and now,
for the sake of a simple, pretty, foolish girl, you have forsaken
me--you have deliberately trampled upon every hope that I had."
"Let me atone for it," cried Ronald. "I never thought of these things."
"You can not atone," said Lord Earle, gravely. "I can never trust you
again. From this time forth I have no son. My heir you must be when
the life you have darkened ends. My son is dead to me."
There was no anger in the stern, grave face turned toward the unhappy
young man.
"I never broke my word," he continued, "and never shall. You have
chosen your own path; take it. You preferred this Dora to me; go to
her. I told you if you persisted in your folly, I would never look
upon your face again, and I never will."
"Oh, Rupert!" cried Lady Earle; "be merciful. He is my only child. I
shall die if you send him from me."
"He preferred this Dora to you or to me," said Lord Earle. "I am sorry
for you, Helena--Heaven knows it wrings my heart--but I shall not break
my word! I will not reproach you," he continued, turning to his son,
"it would be a waste of time and words; you knew the alternative, and
are doubtless prepared for it."
"I must bear it, father; the deed was my own," said Ronald.
"We will end this scene," said Lord Earle, turning from his unhappy
wife, who was weeping passionately. "Look at your mother, Ronald; kiss
her for the last time and go from her; bear with you the memory of her
love and of her tenderness, and of how you have repaid them. Take your
last look at me. I have loved you--I have been proud of you, hopeful
for you; now I dismiss you from my presence, unworthy son of a noble
race. The same roof will never shelter us again. Make what
arrangements you will. You have some little fortune; it must maintain
you. I will never contribute one farthing to the support of my lodge
keeper's daughter. Go where you like--do as you like. You have chosen
your own path. Some day you must return to Earlescourt as its master.
I thank Heaven it will be when the degradation of my home and the
dishonor of my race can not touch me. Go now; I shall expect you to
have quitted the Hall before tomorrow morning."
"You can not mean it, father," cried Ronald. "Send me from you punish
me--I deserve it; but let me see you again!"
"Never in life," said Lord Earle, calmly. "Remember, when you see me
lying dead, that death itself was less bitter than the hour in which I
learned that you had deceived me."
"Mother," cried the unhappy youth, "plead for me!"
"It is useless," replied his father; "your choice has been made
deliberately. I am not cruel. If you write to me I shall return your
letters unopened. I shall refuse to see or hear from you, or to allow
you to come near Earlescourt; but you can write to your mother--I do
not forbid that. She can see you under any roof save mine. Now,
farewell; the sunshine, the hope, the happiness of my life go with you,
but I shall keep my word. See my solicitor, Mr. Burt, about your
money, and he will arrange everything in my place."
"Father," cried Ronald, with tears in his eyes, "say one kind word,
touch my hand once again!"
"No," said Lord Earle, turning from the outstretched hand; "that is not
the hand of an honorable man; I can not hold it in my own."
Then Ronald bent down to kiss his mother; her face was white and still;
she was not conscious of his tears or his passionate pleading. Lord
Earle raised her face. "Go," said he, calmly; "do not let your mother
find you here when she recovers."
He never forgot the pleading of those sorrowful eyes, the anguish of
the brave young face, as Ronald turned from him and left the room.
When Lady Earle awoke to consciousness of her misery, her son had left
her. No one would have called Lord Earle hard or stern who saw him
clasp his weeping wife in his arms, and console her by every kind and
tender word he could utter.
Lord Earle did not know that in his wife's heart there was a hope that
in time he would relent. It was hard to lose her brave boy for a few
months or even years; but he would return, his father must forgive him,
her sorrow would be but for a time. But Lord Earle, inflexible and
unflinching, knew that he should never in life see his son again.
No one knew what Lord Earle suffered; as Valentine Charteris said, he
was too proud for scenes. He dined with Lady Charteris and her
daughter, excusing his wife, and never naming his son. After dinner he
shut himself in his own room, and suffered his agony along.
* * * * *
Earlescourt was full of bustle and activity. The young heir was
leaving suddenly; boxes and trunks had to be packed. He did not say
where he was going; indeed those who helped him said afterward that his
face was fixed and pale, and that he moved about like one in a dream.
Everything was arranged for Ronald's departure by the night mail from
Greenfield, the nearest station to Earlescourt. He took with him
neither horses nor servants; even his valet, Morton, was left behind.
"My lady" was ill, and shut up in her room all day.
Valentine Charteris sat alone in the drawing room when Ronald came in
to bid her farewell. She was amazed at the unhappy termination of the
interview. She would have gone instantly to Lord Earle, but Ronald
told her it was useless--no prayers, no pleadings could change his
determination.
As Ronald stood here, looking into Valentine's beautiful face, he
remembered his mother's words, that she cared for him as she cared for
no other. Could it be possible that this magnificent girl, with her
serene, queenly dignity, loved him? She looked distressed by his
sorrow. When he spoke of his mother, and she saw the quivering lips he
vainly tried to still, tears filled her eyes.
"Where shall you go," she asked, "and what shall you do?"
"I shall go to my wife at once," he replied, "and take her abroad. Do
not look so pained and grieved for me, Miss Charteris I must do the
best I can. If my income will not support me, I must work; a few
months' study will make me a tolerable artist. Do not forget my mother,
Valentine, and bid me 'Godspeed.'"
Her heart yearned for him--so young, so simple, so brave. She longed
to tell him how much she admired him--how she wanted to help him, and
would be his friend while she lived. But Miss Charteris rarely yielded
to any emotion; she had laid her hand in his and said:
"Goodbye, Ronald--God bless you! Be brave; it is not one great deed
that makes a hero. The man who bears trouble well is the greatest hero
of all."
As he left his home in that quiet starlit night, Ronald little thought
that, while his mother lay weeping as though her heart would break, a
beautiful face, wet with bitter tears, watched him from one of the
upper windows, and his father, shut up alone, listened to every sound,
and heard the door closed behind his son as he would have heard his own
death knell.
The next day Lady Charteris and her daughter left Earlescourt. Lord
Earle gave no sign of the heavy blow which had struck him. He was their
attentive host while they remained; he escorted them to their carriage,
and parted from them with smiling words. Then he went back to the
house, where he was never more to hear the sound of the voice he loved
best on earth.
As the days and months passed, and the young heir did not return,
wonder and surprise reigned at Earlescourt. Lord Earle never mentioned
his son's name. People said he had gone abroad, and was living
somewhere in Italy. To Lord Earl it seemed that his life was ended; he
had no further plans, ambition died away; the grand purpose of his life
would never be fulfilled.
Lady Earle said nothing of the trouble that had fallen upon her. She
hoped against hope that the time would come when her husband would
pardon their only son. Valentine Charteris bore her disappointment
well. She never forgot the simple, chivalrous man who had clung to her
friendship and relied so vainly upon her influence.
Many lovers sighed round Valentine. One after another she dismissed
them. She was waiting until she saw some one like Ronald Earle--like
him in all things save the weakness which had so fatally shadowed his
life.