Beatrice never recollected how the ball ended; to her it was one long
trance of happiness. She heard the music, the murmur of voices, as
though in a dream. There were times when everything seemed brighter
than usual--that was when Lord Airlie stood by her side. Her heart was
filled with unutterable joy.
It was strange, but in that hour of happiness she never even thought of
Hugh Fernely; the remembrance of him never once crossed her mind.
Nothing marred the fullness of her content.
She stood by Lord Earle's side as guest after guest came up to say
adieu. She saw Lord Airlie waiting for her father.
"Lord Earle will be engaged for some time, I fear," he said; "I must
see him tonight. Beatrice, promise me you will not go to rest until
your father has given us his consent."
She could not oppose him. When girls like Beatrice Earle once learn to
love, there is something remarkable in the complete abandonment of
their will. She would fain have told him, with gay, teasing words,
that he had won concession enough for one night; as it was, she simply
promised to do as he wished.
Lord Earle received the parting compliments of his guests, wondering at
the same time why Lord Airlie kept near him and seemed unwilling to
lose sight of him. The happy moment arrived when the last carriage
rolled away, and the family at Earlescourt were left alone. Lady Earle
asked the two young girls to go into her room for half an hour to "talk
over the ball." Lionel, sorry the evening was over, retired to his
room; then Hubert Airlie went to Lord Earle and asked if he might speak
with him for ten minutes.
"Will it not do tomorrow?" inquired Ronald, smiling, as he held up his
watch. "See, it is past three o'clock."
"No," replied Lord Airlie; "I could not pass another night in suspense."
"Come with me, then," said the master of Earlescourt, as he led the way
to the library, where the lamps were still alight.
"Now, what is it?" he asked, good-humoredly, turning to the excited,
anxious lover.
"Perhaps I ought to study my words," said Lord Airlie; "but I can not.
Lord Earle, I love your daughter Beatrice. Will you give her to me to
be my wife?"
"Sooner than to any one else in the world," replied Ronald. "Is she
willing?"
"I think so," was the answer, Lord Airlie's heart thrilling with
happiness as he remembered her words.
"Let us see," said Lord Earle. He rang the bell, and sent for his
daughter.
Lord Airlie never forgot the beautiful, blushing face half turned from
him as Beatrice entered the room.
"Beatrice," said her father, clasping her in his arms, "is this true?
Am I to give you to Lord Airlie?"
"If you please, papa," she whispered.
"I do please," he cried. "Hubert, I give you a treasure beyond all
price. You may judge of my daughter's love from her own word. I know
it has never been given to any one but you. You are my daughter's
first lover, and her first love. You may take her to your heart, well
satisfied that she has never cared for any one else. It is true,
Beatrice, is it not?"
"Yes," she said, faltering for a moment as, for the first time, she
remembered Hugh.
"Tomorrow," continued Lord Earle, "we will talk of the future; we are
all tired tonight. You will sleep in peace, Airlie, I suppose?"
"If I sleep at all," he replied.
"Well, you understand clearly that, had the choice rested with me I
should have selected you from all others to take charge of my
Beatrice," said Lord Earle. "Do not wait to thank me. I have a faint
idea of how much a grateful lover has to say. Good night."
* * * * *
"What is it, Beatrice?" asked Lillian, as the two sisters stood alone
in the bright little dressing room.
"I can hardly tell you in sober words," she replied. "Lord Airlie has
asked me to be his wife--his wife; and oh, Lily, I love him so dearly!"
Pride and dignity all broke down; the beautiful face was laid upon
Lillian's shoulder, and Beatrice wept happy tears.
"I love him so, Lily," she went on; "but I never thought he cared for
me. What have I ever done that I should be so happy?"
The moonbeams never fell upon a sweeter picture than these fair young
sisters; Lillian's pure, spirituelle face bent over Beatrice.
"I love him, Lily," she continued, "for himself. He is a king among
men. Who is so brave, so generous, so noble? If he were a beggar, I
should care just as much for him."
Lillian listened and sympathized until the bright, dark eyes seemed to
grow weary; then she bade her sister goodnight, and went to her own
room.
Beatrice Earle was alone at last--alone with her happiness and love.
It seemed impossible that her heart and brain could ever grow calm or
quiet again. It was all in vain she tried to sleep. Lord Airlie's
face, his voice, his words haunted her.
She rose, and put on a pretty pink dressing gown. The fresh air, she
thought, would make her sleep, so she opened the long window gently,
and looked out.
The night was still and clear; the moon hung over the dark trees;
floods of silvery light bathed the far-off lake, the sleeping flowers,
and the green grass. There was a gentle stir amid the branches; the
leaves rustled in the wind; the blue, silent heavens above bright and
calm. The solemn beauty of the starlit sky and the hushed murmur
appealed to her. Into the proud, passionate heart there came some
better, nobler thoughts. Ah, in the future that lay so brilliant and
beautiful before her she would strive to be good, she would be true and
steadfast, she would think more of what Lily loved and spoke about at
times. Then her thoughts went back to her lover, and that happy half
hour in the rose garden. From her window she could see it--the moon
shone full upon it. The moonlight was a fair type of her life that was
to be, bright, clear, unshadowed. Even as the thought shaped itself in
her mind, a shadow fell among the trees. She looked, and saw the figure
of a tall man walking down the path that divided the little garden from
the shrubbery. He stood still there, gazing long and earnestly at the
windows of the house, and then went out into the park, and disappeared.
She was not startled. A passing wonder as to who it might be struck
her. Perhaps it was one of the gamekeepers or gardeners, but she did
not think much about it. A shadow in the moonlight did not frighten
her.
Soon the cool, fresh air did its work; the bright, dark eyes grew tired
in real earnest, and at length Beatrice retired to rest.
The sun was shining brightly when she awoke. By her side lay a
fragrant bouquet of flowers, the dew-drops still glistening upon them,
and in their midst a little note which said:
"Beatrice, will you come into the garden for a few minutes before
breakfast, just to tell me all that happened last night was not a
dream?"
She rose quickly. Over her pretty morning-dress she threw a light
shawl, and went down to meet Lord Airlie.
"It was no dream," she said, simply, holding out her hand in greeting
to him.
"Dear Beatrice, how very good of you!" replied Lord Airlie; adding
presently: "we have twenty minutes before the breakfast bell will ring;
let us make the best of them."
The morning was fresh, fair, and calm, a soft haze hanging round the
trees.
"Beatrice," said Lord Airlie, "you see the sun shining there in the
high heavens. Three weeks ago I should have thought it easier for that
same sun to fall than for me to win you. I can scarcely believe that
my highest ideal of woman is realized. It was always my ambition to
marry some young girl who had never loved any one before me. You never
have. No man ever held your hand as I hold it now, no man ever kissed
your face as I kissed it last night."
As he spoke, a burning flush covered her face. She remembered Hugh
Fernely. He loved her better for the blush, thinking how pure and
guileless she was.
"I fear I shall be a very jealous lover," he continued. "I shall envy
everything those beautiful eyes rest upon. Will you ride with me this
morning? I want to talk to you about Lynnton--my home, you know. You
will be Lady Airlie of Lynnton, and no king will be so proud as I
shall."
The breakfast bell rang at last. When Beatrice entered the room, Lady
Earle went up to her.
"Your papa has told me the news," she said. "Heaven bless you, and
make you happy, dear child!"
Lionel Dacre guessed the state of affairs, and said but little. The
chief topic of conversation was the ball, interspersed by many
conjectures on the part of Lord Earle as to why the post-bag was so
late.
It did not arrive until breakfast was ended. Lord Earle distributed
the letters; there were three for Lord Airlie, one to Lady Earle from
Dora, two for Lionel, none for Lillian. Lord Earle held in his hand a
large common blue envelope.
"Miss Beatrice Earle," he said; "from Brookfield. What large writing!
The name was evidently intended to be seen."
Beatrice took the letter carelessly from him; the handwriting was quite
unknown to her; she knew no one in Brookfield, which was the nearest
post-town--it was probably some circular, some petition for charity,
she thought. Lord Airlie crossed the room to speak to her, and she
placed the letter carelessly in the pocket of her dress, and in a few
minutes forgot all about it.
Lord Airlie was waiting; the horses had been ordered for an early hour.
Beatrice ran upstairs to put on her riding habit, and never gave a
thought to the letter.
It was a pleasant ride; in the after-days she looked back upon it as
one of the brightest hours she had ever known. Lord Airlie told her
all about Lynnton, his beautiful home--a grand old castle, where every
room had a legend, every tree almost a tradition.
For he intended to work wonders; a new and magnificent wing should be
built, and on one room therein art, skill, and money should be lavished
without stint.
"Her boudoir" he said, "should be fit for a queen and for a fairy."
So they rode through the pleasant, sunlit air. A sudden thought struck
Beatrice.
"I wonder," she said, "what mamma will think? You must go to see her,
Hubert. She dreaded love and marriage so much. Poor mamma!"
She asked herself, with wondering love, what could have happened that
her mother should dread what she found so pleasant? Lord Airlie
entered warmly into all her plans and wishes. Near the grand suite of
rooms that were to be prepared for his beautiful young wife, Lord
Airlie spoke of rooms for Dora, if she would consent to live with them.
"I must write and tell mamma today," said Beatrice. "I should not like
her to hear it from any one but myself."
"Perhaps you will allow me to inclose a note," suggested Lord Airlie,
"asking her to tolerate me."
"I do not think that will be very difficult," laughingly replied his
companion.
Their ride was a long one. On their return Beatrice was slightly
tired, and went straight to her own room. She wrote a long letter to
Dora, who must have smiled at her description of Lord Airlie. He was
everything that was true, noble, chivalrous, and grand. The world did
not hold such another. When the letter was finished it was time to
dress for dinner.
"Which dress will you wear, miss?" asked the attentive maid.
"The prettiest I have," said the young girl, her bright face glowing
with the words she had just written.
What dress could be pretty enough for him? One was found at last that
pleased her--a rich, white crepe. But she would wear no
jewels--nothing but crimson roses. One lay in the thick coils of her
dark hair, another nestled against her white neck, others looped up the
flowing skirt.
Beatrice's toilet satisfied her--this, too, with her lover's fastidious
taste to please. She stood before the large mirror, and a pleased
smile overspread her face as she saw herself reflected therein.
Suddenly she remembered the letter. The morning-dress still hung upon
a chair. She took the envelope from the pocket.
"Shall you want me again, Miss Earle?" asked her maid.
"No," replied Beatrice, breaking the seal; "I am ready now."
The girl quitted the room, and Beatrice, standing before the mirror,
drew out a long, closely written letter, turning presently, in
amazement, to the signature, wondering who could be the writer.