Two years passed away, and the travelers thought of returning. Lillian
had recovered health and strength, and, Lord Earle said, longed for
home.
One bright June day they were expected back. Lionel Dacre had driven
to the station. Lady Earle had laid aside her mourning dress, and sat
anxiously awaiting her son. She wished the homecoming were over, and
that they had all settled down to the new life.
Her wish was soon gratified. Once again she gazed upon the face of her
only and beloved son. He was little changed--somewhat sunburned, it
was true; but there was less of the old pride and sternness, a kindly
smile playing round his lips. There was, too, a shade of sadness that
plainly would never leave him; Lord Earle could never forget his lost
child.
Lady Helena looked anxiously at Dora, but there was no cause for fear.
The rosy, dimpled beauty of youth had passed away, but a staid dignity
had taken its place. She looked a graceful amiable woman, with eyes of
wondrous beauty thickly veiled by long lashes, and a wealth of rippling
black hair. Lady Helena thought her far more beautiful now than when
the coy smiles and dimples had been the chief charm. She admired, too,
the perfect and easy grace with which Dora fell at once into her proper
place as mistress of that vast establishment.
The pretty, musical voice was trained and softened; the delicate,
refined accent retained no trace of provincialism. Everything about
Dora pleased the eye and gratified the taste; the girlish figure had
grown matronly and dignified; the sweet face had in it a tinge of
sadness one may often see in the face of a mother who has lost a child.
Lady Helena, fastidious and critical, could find no fault with her
son's wife.
She welcomed her warmly, giving up to her, in her own graceful way, all
rule and authority. Helping her if in any way she required it, but
never interfering, she made Dora respected by the love and esteem she
always evinced for her.
But it was on Lillian's face that Lady Helena gazed most earnestly.
The pallor of sickness had given way to a rosy and exquisite bloom.
The fair, sweet face in its calm loveliness seemed to her perfect, the
violet eyes were full of light. Looking at her, Lady Helena believed
there were years of life in store for Ronald's only child.
There was much to talk about. Lord Earle told his mother how Hubert
Airlie had gone home to Lynnton, unable to endure the sight of
Earlescourt. He had never regained his spirits. In the long years to
come it was possible, added Ronald, that Lord Airlie might marry, for
the sake of his name; but if ever the heart of living man lay buried in
a woman's grave, his was with the loved, lost Beatrice.
Lionel Dacre knew he had done wisely and well to have the bed of the
lake filled up. In the morning he saw how each member of the family
shrank from going out into the grounds. He asked Lord Earle to
accompany him, and then the master of Earlescourt saw that the deep,
cruel water no longer shimmered amid the trees.
Lionel let him bring his wife and daughter to see what had been done;
and they turned to the author of it with grateful eyes, thanking him
for the kind thought which had spared their feelings. Green trees
flourished now on the spot where the water had glistened in the sun;
birds sang in their branches, green grass and ferns grew round their
roots.
Yet among the superstitious, strange stories were told. They said that
the wind, when it rustled among those trees, wailed with a cry like
that of one drowning, that the leaves shivered and trembled as they did
on no other branches; that the stirring of them resembled deep-drawn
sighs. They said flowers would never grow in the thick grass, and that
the antlered deer shunned the spot.
As much as possible the interior arrangements of Earlescourt had been
altered. Lillian had rooms prepared for her in the other wing; those
that had belonged to her hapless sister were left undisturbed. Lady
Dora kept the key; it was known when she had been visiting them; the
dark eyes bore traces of weeping.
Beatrice had not been forgotten and never would be. Her name was on
Lillian's lips a hundred times each day. They had been twin sisters,
and it always seemed to her that part of herself lay in the church yard
at the foot of the hill.
Gaspar Laurence had gone abroad--he could not endure the sight or name
of home. Lady Laurence hoped that time would heal a wound that nothing
else could touch. When, after some years, he did return, it was seen
that his sorrow would last for life. He never married--he never cared
for the name of any woman save that of Beatrice Earle.
* * * * *
A week after their return, Lillian Earle stood one evening watching
from the deep oriel window the sun's last rays upon the flowers.
Lionel joined her, and she knew from his face that he had come to ask
the question she had declined to answer before.
"I have done penance, Lillian," he said, "if ever man has. For two
years I have devoted time, care, and thought to those you love, for
your sake; for two years I have tried night and day to learn, for your
sake, to become a better man. Do not visit my fault too heavily upon
me. I am hasty and passionate--I doubted you who were true and pure;
but, Lillian, in the loneliness and sorrow of these two years I have
suffered bitterly for my sin. I know you are above all coquetry. Tell
me, Lillian, will you be my wife?"
She gave him the answer he longed to hear, and Lionel Dacre went
straight to Lord Earle. He was delighted--it was the very marriage
upon which he had set his heart years before. Lady Dora was delighted,
too; she smiled more brightly over it than she had smiled since the
early days of her married life. Lady Helena rejoiced when they told
her, although it was not unexpected news to her, for she had been
Lionel's confidante during Lillian's illness.
There was no reason why the marriage should be delayed; the June roses
were blooming then, and it was arranged that it should take place in
the month of August.
There were to be no grand festivities--no one had heart for them; the
wedding was to be quiet, attended only by a few friends; and Lord Earle
succeeded in obtaining a promise from Lionel which completely set his
heart at rest. It was that he would never seek another home--that he
and Lillian would consent to live at Earlescourt. Her father could not
endure the thought of parting with her.
"It will be your home, Lionel," he said, "in the course of after-years.
Make it so now. We shall be one family, and I think a happy one."
So it was arranged, much to everybody's delight. A few days before the
wedding took place, a letter came which seemed to puzzle Lord Earle
very much. He folded it without speaking, but, when breakfast was
over, he drew his wife's hand within his own.
"Dora," he said, "there will never be any secrets between us for the
future. I want you to read this letter--it is from Valentine Charteris
that was, Princess Borgezi that is. She is in England, at Greenoke,
and asks permission to come to Lillian's wedding; the answer must rest
with you, dear."
She took the letter from him and read it through; the noble heart of
the woman spoke in every line, yet in some vague way Dora dreaded to
look again upon the calm, grand beauty of Valentine's face.
"Have no fear, Dora, in saying just what you think," said her husband;
"I would not have our present happiness clouded for the world. One
word will suffice--if you do not quite like the thought, I will write
to her and ask her to defer the visit."
But Dora would not be outdone in magnanimity. With resolute force, she
cast from her every unworthy thought.
"Let her come, Ronald," she said, raising her clear, dark eyes to his.
"I shall be pleased to see her. I owe her some amends."
He was unfeignedly pleased, and so was every one else. Lady Helena
alone felt some little doubts as to Dora's capability of controlling
herself.
The Princess Borgezi was to come alone; she had not said at what hour
they might expect her.
Lady Dora had hardly understood why her thoughts went back so
constantly to her lost child. Beatrice had loved the beautiful,
gracious woman who was coming to visit them. It may have been that
which prompted her, on the day before Lillian's marriage, when the
house was alive with the bustle and turmoil of preparation, to go to
the silent, solitary rooms where her daughter's voice had once made
sweetest music.
She was there alone for some time; it was Lord Earle who found her, and
tried to still her bitter weeping.
"It is useless, Ronald," she cried; "I can not help asking why my
bright, beautiful darling should be lying there. It is only two years
since a wedding wreath was made for her."
Nothing would comfort her but a visit to her daughter's grave. It was a
long walk, but she preferred taking it alone. She said she should feel
better after it. They yielded to her wish. Before she had quitted the
house many minutes, the Princess Borgezi arrived.
There was no restraint in Ronald's greeting. He was heartily glad to
see her--glad to look once more on the lovely Grecian face that had
seemed to him, years ago, the only model for Queen Guinivere. They
talked for a few minutes; then Valentine, turning to him, said:
"Now let me see Lady Dora. My visit is really to her."
They told her whither she had gone; and Lady Helena whispered something
to her with brought tears to Valentine's eyes.
"Yes," she said; "I will follow her. I will ask her to kiss me over
her daughter's grave."
Some one went with her to point out the way, but Valentine entered the
church yard alone.
Through the thick green foliage she saw the shining of the white marble
cross, and the dark dress of Dora, who knelt by the grave.
She went up to her. Her footsteps, falling noiselessly on the soft
grass, were unheard by the weeping mother.
Valentine knelt by her side. Dora, looking up, saw the calm face
beaming down upon her, ineffable tenderness in the clear eyes. She felt
the clasp of Valentine's arms, and heard a sweet voice whisper:
"Dora, I have followed you here to ask you to try to love me, and to
pardon me for my share in your unhappy past. For the love of your
dead, who loved me, bury here all difference and dislike."
She could not refuse. For the first time, Lord Earle's wife laid her
head upon that noble woman's shoulder and wept away her sorrow, while
Valentine soothed her with loving words.
Over the grave of a child the two women were reconciled--all dislike,
jealousy, and envy died away forever. Peace and love took their place.
In the after-time there was something remarkable in Dora's reverential
love for Valentine. Lord Earle often said that in his turn he was
jealous of her. His wife had no higher ideal, no truer friend than the
Princess Borgezi.
The wedding day dawned at last; and for a time all trace of sadness was
hidden away. Lord Earle would have it so. He said that that which
should be the happiest day of Lillian's life must not be clouded. Such
sad thoughts of the lost Beatrice as came into the minds of those who
had loved her remained unspoken.
The summer sun never shone upon a more lovely bride, nor upon a fairer
scene than that wedding. The pretty country church was decorated with
flowers and crowded with spectators.
Side by side at the altar stood Lady Dora Earle and Valentine. People
said afterward they could not decide whom they admired most--Lady
Helena's stately magnificence, Dora's sweet, simple elegance, or the
Princess Borgezi's statuesque Grecian beauty.
Lord Earle had prepared a surprise for Dora. When the little wedding
party returned from the church, the first to greet them was Stephen
Thorne, now a white-headed old man, and his wife. The first to show
them all honor and respect were Lord Earle and his mother. Valentine
was charmed with their homely simplicity.
For months after they returned to Knutsford the old people talked of
"the lady with the beautiful face, who had been so kind and gracious to
them."
Lord Airlie did not attend the wedding, but he had urged Lionel to
spend his honeymoon at Lynnton Hall, and Lillian had willingly
consented.
So they drove away when the wedding breakfast was over. A hundred
wishes for their happiness following them, loving words ringing after
them. Relatives, friends, and servants had crowded round them; and
Lillian's courage gave way at last. She turned to Lionel, as though
praying him to shorten their time of parting.
"Heaven bless you, my darling!" whispered Dora to her child. "And mind,
never--come what may--never be jealous of your husband."
"Goodbye, Lionel," said Lord Earle, clasping the true, honest hand in
his; "and, if ever my little darling here tries you, be patient with
her."
The story of a life time was told in these two behests.