It was a proud moment for Lady Earle when she led the two young girls
through the long line of servants assembled to receive them. They were
both silent from sheer wonder. They had left Florence at so early an
age that they had not the faintest remembrance of the pretty villa on
the banks of the Arno. All their ideas were centered in the Elms--they
had never seen any other home.
Lady Earle watched the different effect produced upon them by the
glimpse of Earlescourt. Lillian grew pale; she trembled, and her
wondering eyes filled with tears. Beatrice, on the contrary, seemed
instantly to take in the spirit of the place. Her face flushed; a
proud light came into her glorious eyes; her haughty head was carried
more regally than ever. There was no timidity, no shyly expressed
wonder, no sensitive shrinking from new and unaccustomed splendor.
They were deeply impressed with the magnificence of their new home.
For many long days Lady Earle employed herself in showing the numerous
treasures of art and vertu the house contained. The picture gallery
pleased Beatrice most; she gloried in the portraits of the grand old
ancestors, "each with a story to his name." One morning she stood
before Lady Helena's portrait, admiring the striking likeness.
Suddenly turning to the stately lady by her side, she said: "All the
Ladies Earle are here; where is my own mamma? Her face is sweet and
fair as any of these. Why is there no portrait of her?"
"There will be one some day," said Lady Helena. "When your father
returns all these things will be seen to."
"We have no brother," continued Beatrice. "Every baron here seems to
have been succeeded by his son--who will succeed my father?"
"His next of kin," replied Lady Earle, sadly--"Lionel Dacre; he is a
third cousin of Lord Earle. He will have both title and estate."
She signed deeply; it was a real trouble to Lady Helena that she should
never see her son's son, never love and nurse, never bless the heir of
Earlescourt.
Lillian delighted most in the magnificent gardens, the thickly wild
wooded park, where every dell was filled with flowers and ferns, every
knoll crowned with noble trees. The lake, with white lilies sleeping
on its tranquil bosom and weeping willows touching its clear surface,
pleased her most of all. As they stood on its banks, Beatrice, looking
into the transparent depths, shuddered, and turned quickly away.
"I am tired of water," she said; "nothing wearied me so much at
Knutsford as the wide, restless sea. I must have been born with a
natural antipathy to water."
Many days passed before they were familiar with Earlescourt. Every day
brought its new wonders.
A pretty suite of rooms had been prepared for each sister; they were in
the western wing, and communicated with each other. The Italian nurse
who had come with them from Florence had preferred remaining with Dora.
Lady Earle had engaged two fashionable ladies' maids, had also ordered
for each a wardrobe suitable to the daughters of Lord Earle.
Mrs. Vyvian had two rooms near her charges. Knowing that some months
might elapse before Ronald returned, Lady Helena settled upon a course
of action. The young girls were to be kept in seclusion, and not to be
introduced to the gay world, seeing only a few old friends of the
family; they were to continue to study for a few hours every morning,
to drive or walk with Lady Earle after luncheon, to join her at the
seven o'clock dinner, and to pass the evening in the drawing room.
It was a new and delightful life. Beatrice reveled in the luxury and
grandeur that surrounded her. She amused Lady Earle by her vivacious
description of the quiet home at the Elms.
"I feel at home here," she said, "and I never did there. At times I
wake up, half dreading to hear the rustling of the tall elm trees, and
old Mrs. Thorne's voice asking about the cows. Poor mamma! I can not
understand her taste."
When they became more accustomed to the new life, the strange
incongruity in their family struck them both. On one side a grand old
race, intermarried with some of the noblest families in England--a
stately house, title, wealth, rank, and position; on the other a simple
farmer and his homely wife, the plain old homestead, and complete
isolation from all they considered society.
How could it be? How came it that their father was lord of Earlescourt
and their mother the daughter of a plain country farmer? For the first
time it struck them both that there was some mystery in the life of
their parents. Both grew more shy of speaking of the Elms, feeling
with the keen instinct peculiar to youth that there was something
unnatural in their position.
Visitors came occasionally to Earlescourt. Sir Harry and Lady Laurence
of Holtham often called; Lady Charteris came from Greenoke, and all
warmly admired the lovely daughters of Lord Earle.
Beatrice, with her brilliant beauty, her magnificent voice, and gay,
graceful manner, was certainly the favorite. Sir Harry declared she
was the finest rider in the county.
There was an unusual stir of preparation once when Lady Earle told them
that the daughter of her devoted friend, Lady Charteris, was coming to
spend a few days at Earlescourt. Then, for the first time, they saw
the beautiful and stately lady whose fate was so strangely interwoven
with theirs.
Valentine Charteris was no longer "the queen of the county." Prince di
Bergezi had won the beautiful English woman. He had followed her to
Greenoke and repeated his question. There was neither coquetry nor
affectation in Valentine--she had thought the matter over, and decided
that she was never likely to meet with any one else she liked and
respected so much as her Italian lover. He had the virtues, without
the faults, of the children of the South; a lavishly generous, princely
disposition; well-cultivated artistic tastes; good principles and a
chivalrous sense of honor. Perhaps the thing that touched her most was
his great love for her. In many respects he resembled Ronald Earle
more nearly than any one else she had ever met.
To the intense delight of both parents, Miss Charteris accepted him.
For her sake the prince consented to spend every alternate year in
England.
Three times had the whole country side welcomed the stately Italian and
his beautiful wife. This was their fourth visit to England, and, when
the princess heard from Lady Charteris that Ronald's two daughters,
whom she remembered as little babes, were at Earlescourt, nothing would
satisfy her but a visit there.
The young girls looked in admiring wonder at the lady. They had never
seen any one so dazzling or so bright. The calm, grand, Grecian face
had gained in beauty; the magnificent head, with its wealth of golden
hair, the tall, stately figure, charmed them. And when Valentine took
them in her arms and kissed them her thoughts went back to the white,
wild face in the garden and the dark eyes that had flamed in hot anger
upon her.
"I knew your mother years ago," she said; "has she never mentioned my
name? I used to nurse you both in the little villa at Florence. I was
one of your father's oldest friends."
No, they had never heard her name; and Beatrice wondered that her
mother could have known and forgotten one so beautiful as the princess.
The week she remained passed like a long, bright dream. Beatrice almost
worshiped Valentine; this was what she had dreamed of long ago; this
was one of the ideal ladies living in the bright, gay world she was
learning to understand.
When the prince and princess left Earlescourt they made Lady Helena
promise that Beatrice and Lillian should visit them at Florence. They
spoke of the fair and coquettish Countess Rosali, still a reigning
belle, and said how warmly she would welcome them for their father's
sake.
"You talk so much of Italy," said Valentine to Beatrice. "It is just
the land for the romance you love. You shall see blue skies and sunny
seas, vines, and myrtles, and orange trees in bloom; you shall see such
luxuriance and beauty that you will never wish to return to this cold,
dreary England."
It was thus arranged that, when Lord Earle returned, the visit should
be paid. The evening after their guests' departure seemed long and
triste.
"I will write to mamma," said Beatrice; "it is strange she never told
us anything of her friend. I must tell her all about the visit."
Not daring to ask the girls to keep any secret from Dora, Lady Earle
was obliged to let the letter go. The passionate, lonely heart brooded
over every word. Beatrice dwelt with loving admiration on the calm,
grand beauty of the princess, her sweet and gracious manner, her kindly
recollection of Dora, and her urgent invitation to them. Dora read it
through calmly, each word stabbing her with cruel pain. The old,
fierce jealousy rose in her heart, crushing every gentle thought. She
tore the letter, so full of Valentine, into a thousand shreds.
"She drew my husband from me," she cried, "with the miserable beauty of
her fair face, and now she will win my children."
Then across the fierce tempest of jealous anger came one thought like a
ray of light. Valentine was married; she had married the wealthy,
powerful prince who had been Ronald's patron; so that, after all, even
if she had lured Ronald from her, he had not cared for her, or she had
soon ceased to care for him.
Beatrice thought it still more strange when her mother's reply to that
long, enthusiastic letter came. Dora said simply that she had never
named the Princess di Borgesi because she was a person whom she did not
care to remember.
Fifteen months passed, and at length came a letter from Lord Earle,
saying that he hoped to reach England before Christmas, and in any case
would be with them by Christmas day. It was a short letter, written in
the hurry of traveling; the words that touched his children most, were
"I am glad you have the girls at Earlescourt; I am anxious to see what
they are like. Make them happy, mother; let hem have all they want;
and, if it be possible, after my long neglect, teach them to love me."
The letter contained no mention of their mother; no allusion was made
to her. The girls marked the weeks go by in some little trepidation.
What if, after all, this father, whom they did not remember, should not
like them: Beatrice did not think such a thing very probable, but
Lillian passed many an hour in nervous, fanciful alarm.
It was strange how completely all the old life had died away. Both had
felt a kind of affection for the homely farmer and his wife--they sent
many presents to them--but Beatrice would curl her proud lip in scorn
when she read aloud that "Mr. And Mrs. Thorne desired their humble duty
to Lady Earle."
Lady Earle felt no anxiety about her son's return; looking at his
daughters, she saw no fault in them. Beautiful, accomplished, and
graceful, what more could he desire? She inwardly thanked Providence
that neither of them bore the least resemblance to the Thornes.
Beatrice looked like one of the Ladies Earle just stepped out from a
picture; Lillian, in her fair, dove-like loveliness, was quite as
charming. What would Lady Earle--so truthful, so honorable--have
thought or said had she known that their bright favorite with the Earle
face had plighted her troth, unknown to any one, to the captain of a
trading vessel, who was to claim her in two years for his wife?
Lady Earl had formed her own plans for Beatrice; she hoped the time
would come when she would be Lady Earle of Earlescourt. Nothing could
be more delightful, nothing easier, provided Beatrice would marry the
young heir, Lionel Dacre.
One morning, as the sisters sat in Lillian's room, Lady Earle entered
with an unusual expression of emotion on her fair, high-bred face. She
held an open letter in her hand.
"My dear children," she said, "you must each look your very best this
evening. I have a note here--your father will be home tonight."
The calm, proud voice faltered then, and the stately mistress of
Earlescourt wept at the thought of her son's return as she had never
wept since he left her.