Hugh Fernely took the letter from Lillian's hands, and read it with a
muttered imprecation of disappointment. The moon, which had been
struggling for the last hour with a mass of clouds, shone out faintly;
by its light Lillian saw a tall man with a dark, handsome face browned
with the sun of warm climes, dark eyes that had in them a wistful
sadness, and firm lips. He did not look like the gentlemen she was
accustomed to. He was polite and respectful. When he heard her name,
he took off his hat, and stood uncovered during the interview.
"Wait!" he cried. "Ah, must I wait yet longer? Tell your sister I
have waited until my yearning wish to see her is wearing my life away."
"She is really ill," returned Lillian. "I am alarmed for her. Do not
be angry with me if I say she is ill through anxiety and fear."
"Has she sent you to excuse her?" he asked, gloomily. "It is of no
use. Your sister is my promised wife, Miss Lillian, and see her I
will."
"You must wait at least until she is willing," said Lillian, and her
calm, dignified manner influenced him even more than her words, as she
looked earnestly into Hugh Fernely's face.
It was not a bad face, she thought; there was no cruelty or meanness
there. She read love so fierce and violent in it that it startled her.
He did not look like one who would wantonly and willfully make her
sister wretched for life. Hope grew in her heart as she gazed. She
resolved to plead with him for Beatrice, to ask him to forget a
childish, foolish promise--a childish error.
"My sister is very unhappy," she said, bravely; "so unhappy that I do
not think she can bear much more; it will kill her or drive her mad."
"It is killing me," he interrupted.
"You do not look cruel, Mr. Fernely," continued Lillian. "Your face is
good and true--I would trust you. Release my sister. She was but a
foolish, impetuous child when she made you that promise. If she keeps
it, all her life will be wretched. Be generous and release her."
"Did she bid you ask me?" he interrogated.
"No," she replied; "but do you know what the keeping of the promise
will cost her? Lord Earle will never forgive her. She will have to
leave home, sister, friends--all she loves and values most. Judge
whether she could ever care for you, if you brought this upon her."
"I can not help it," he said gloomily. "She promised to be my wife,
Miss Lillian--Heaven knows I am speaking truthfully--and I have lived
on her words. You do not know what the strong love of a true man is.
I love her so that if she chose to place her little foot upon me, and
trample the life out of me, I would not say her nay. I must see
her--the hungry, yearning love that fills my heart must be satisfied."
Great tears shone in his eyes, and deep sobs shook his strong frame.
"I will not harm her," he said, "but I must see her. Once, and once
only, her beautiful face lay on my breast--that beautiful, proud face!
No mother ever yearned to see her child again more than I long to see
her. Let her come to me, Miss Lillian; let me kneel at her feet as I
did before,--If she sends me from her, there will be pity in death; but
she can not. There is not a woman in the world who could send such
love as mine away! You can not understand," he continued. "It is more
than two years since I left her; night and day her face has been before
me. I have lived upon my love; it is my life--my everything. I could
no more drive it from my breast than I could tear my heart from my body
and still live on."
"Even if my sister cared for you," said Lillian, gently--for his
passionate words touched her--"you must know that Lord Earle would
never allow her to keep such a promise as she made."
"She knew nothing of Lord Earle when it was made," he replied, "nor did
I. She was a beautiful child, pining away like a bright bird shut up
in a cage. I promised her freedom and liberty; she promised me her
love. Where was Lord Earle then? She was safe with me. I loved her.
I was kinder to her than her own father; I took care of her--he did
not."
"It is all changed now," said Lillian.
"But I can not change," he answered. "If fortune had made me a king,
should I have loved your sister less! Is a man's heart a plaything?
Can I call back my love? It has caused me woe enough."
Lillian knew not what to say in the presence of this mighty love; her
gentle efforts at mediation were bootless. She pitied him she pitied
Beatrice.
"I am sure you can be generous," she said, after a short silence.
"Great, true, noble love is never selfish. My sister can never be
happy with you; then release her. If you force her, or rather try to
force her, to keep this rash promise, think how she will dislike you.
If you are generous, and release her, think how she will esteem you."
"Does she not love me?" he asked; and his voice was hoarse with pain.
"No," replied Lillian, gently; "it is better for you to know the truth.
She does not love you--she never will."
"I do not believe it," he cried. "I will never believe it from any
lips but her own! Not love me! Great Heaven! Do you know you are
speaking of the woman who promised to be my wife? If she tells me so,
I will believe her."
"She will tell you," said Lillian, "and you must not blame her. Come
again when she is well."
"No," returned Hugh Fernely; "I have waited long enough. I am here to
see her, and I swear I will not leave until she has spoken to me."
He drew a pencil case from his pocket, and wrote a few lines on the
envelope which Beatrice had sent.
"Give that to your sister," he said, softly; "and, Miss Lillian, I
thank you for coming to me. You have been very kind and gentle. You
have a fair, true face. Never break a man's heart for pastime, or
because the long sunny hours hang heavy upon your hands."
"I wish I could say something to comfort you," she said. He held out
his hand and she could not refuse hers.
"Goodbye, Miss Lillian! Heaven bless you for your sympathy."
"Goodbye," she returned, looking at the dark, passionate face she was
never more to see.
The moon was hidden behind a dense mass of thick clouds. Hugh Fernely
walked quickly down the path. Lillian, taking the folded paper,
hastened across the gardens. But neither of them saw a tall, erect
figure, or a pale, stricken face; neither of them heard Lionel Dacre
utter a low cry as the shawl fell from Lillian's golden head.
He had tried over the trio, but it did not please him; he did not want
music--he wanted Lillian. Beatrice played badly, too, as though she
did not know what she was doing. Plainly enough Lord Airlie wanted him
out of the way.
"Where are you going?" asked Beatrice, as he placed the music on the
piano.
"To look for a good cigar," he replied. "Neither Airlie nor you need
pretend to be polite, Bee, and say you hope I will not leave you." He
quitted the drawing room, and went to his own room, where a box of
cigars awaited him. He selected one, and went out into the garden to
enjoy it. Was it chance that led him to the path by the shrubbery?
The wind swayed the tall branches, but there came a lull, and then he
heard a murmur of voices. Looking over the hedge, he saw the tall
figure of a man, and the slight figure of a young girl shrouded in a
black shawl.
"A maid and her sweetheart," said Lionel to himself. "Now that is not
precisely the kind of thing Lord Earle would like; still, it is no
business of mine."
But the man's voice struck him--it was full of the dignity of true
passion. He wondered who he was. He saw the young girl place her hand
in his for a moment, and then hasten rapidly away.
He thought himself stricken mad when the black shawl fall and showed in
the faint moonlight the fair face and golden hair of Lillian Earle.
* * * * *
When Lillian re-entered the drawing room, the pretty ormulu clock was
chiming half past nine. The chess and card tables were just as she had
left them. Beatrice and Lord Airlie were still at the piano. Lionel
was nowhere to be seen. She went up to Beatrice and smilingly asked
Lord Airlie if he could spare her sister for five minutes.
"Ten, if you wish it," he replied, "but no longer;" and the two sisters
walked through the long drawing room into the little boudoir.
"Quick, Lillian," cried Beatrice, "have you seen him? What does he
say?"
"I have seen him," she replied; "there is no time now to tell all he
said. He sent this note," and Lillian gave the folded paper into her
sister's hand, and then clasped both hands in her own.
"Let me tell you, Beatrice darling, before you read it," she said,
"that I tried to soften his heart; and I think, if you will see him
yourself, and ask for your freedom, you will not ask in vain."
A light that was dazzling as sunshine came into the beautiful face.
"Oh, Lily," she cried, "can it be true? Do not mock me with false
hopes; my life seems to tremble in the balance."
"He is not cruel," said Lillian. "I am sorry for him. If you see him I
feel sure he will release you. See what he says."
Beatrice opened the letter; it contained but a few penciled lines. She
did not give them to Lillian to read.
"Beatrice," wrote Hugh Fernely, "you must tell me with your own lips
that you do not love me. You must tell me yourself that every sweet
hope you gave me was a false lie. I will not leave Earlescourt again
without seeing you. On Thursday night, at ten o'clock, I will be at
the same place--meet me, and tell me if you want your freedom. Hugh."
"I shall win!" she cried. "Lily, hold my hands--they tremble with
happiness. See, I can not hold the paper. He will release me, and I
shall not lose my love--my love, who is all the world to me. How must
I thank you? This is Tuesday; how shall I live until Thursday? I feel
as though a load, a burden, the weight of which no words can tell, were
taken from me. Lily, I shall be Lord Airlie's wife, and you will have
saved me."
"Beatrice," said Lord Earle, as the sisters, in returning, passed by
the chess table, "our game is finished, will you give us a song?"
Never had the magnificent voice rung out so joyously, never had the
beautiful face looked so bright. She sang something that was like an
air of triumph--no under current of sadness marred its passionate
sweetness. Lord Airlie bent over her chair enraptured.
"You sing like one inspired, Beatrice," he said.
"I was thinking of you," she replied; and he saw by the dreamy, rapt
expression of her face that she meant what she had said.
Presently Lord Airlie was summoned to Lady Helena's assistance in some
little argument over cards, and Beatrice, while her fingers strayed
mechanically over the keys, arrived at her decision. She would see
Hugh. She could not avert that; and she must meet him as bravely as
she could. After all, as Lillian had said, he was not cruel, and he
did love her. The proud lip curled in scornful triumph as she thought
how dearly he loved her. She would appeal to his love, and beseech him
to release her.
She would beseech him with such urgency that he could not refuse. Who
ever refused her? Could she not move men's hearts as the wind moves
the leaves? He would be angry at first, perhaps fierce and passionate,
but in the end she would prevail. As she sat there, dreamy, tender
melodies stealing, as it were, from her fingers, she went in fancy
through the whole scene. She knew how silent the sleeping woods would
be--how dark and still the night. She could imagine Hugh's face,
browned by the sun and travel. Poor Hugh! In the overflow of her
happiness she felt more kindly toward him.
She wished him well. He might marry some nice girl in his own station
of life, and be a prosperous, happy man, and she would be a good friend
to him if he would let her. No one would ever know her secret.
Lillian would keep it faithfully, and down the fair vista of years she
saw herself Lord Airlie's beloved wife, the error of her youth repaired
and forgotten.
The picture was so pleasant that it was no wonder her songs grew more
triumphant. Those who listened to the music that night never forgot it.