CHAPTER I.
"Jack-we-li-ner!"
A girlish head, "running over with curls," lifted itself from the long
orchard grass, and listened--the slender, arched black brows met over
the bright, dark eyes in a vexed frown.
The woman who was calling Jaquelina in that loud, shrill, uncultivated
voice stood in the doorway of a low, unpainted farm-house, prettily
situated on the gentle slope of a green hill at whose foot a silvery
little brook ran singing past.
Beyond it was a strip of fertile meadow. Then the ground took a sloping
rise again into the orchard now glowing white and red in the flush of
its spring-time blossoming.
Under the branches of a wide-spreading apple tree a girl lay at length
in the emerald grass and blossoming clover, her curly head bent over a
book.
The sunshine sifted down through the fragrant boughs on the soft
chestnut locks with a glint of gold in their brownness, and on the
arch, pretty face with its soft skin tanned to a clear brune by
exposure, and the pouting lips that were tinted with the vivid scarlet
of youth and bounding vitality.
"Jack-we-li-ner!" came the loud, elongated scream again.
Jaquelina Meredith sprang up so impatiently that her head struck
against a low-bending branch, and a shower of the fragrant
apple-blossoms fluttered down into the folds of her faded print dress.
A robin that had been singing in the tree broke off in his warble and
stared down at her in round-eyed surprise.
"What now, I wonder?" she said, as she took up her book and her
sun-bonnet, and wended her way to the house.
"Hurry up, will you now, Lina?" cried the woman in the doorway, as she
crossed the log over the little brook. "You must come in the house and
tend the baby while I hasten the dinner a bit. Your uncle wants to go
over to the Grange meeting directly."
Jaquelina went into the clean, neat sitting-room and took the cross,
heavy child into her slender young arms, and proceeded to walk up
and down the floor with it--the only method she knew of to still its
clamorous cries, for its mother had gone to the kitchen to hurry the
noonday meal for her farmer husband.
Her uncle and the hired man, who had just come in from the field, sat
at the window discussing the country news in general.
"The gang of horse-thieves seems to be getting into our neighborhood,"
said the plowman. "Squire Stanley's fine bay mare was taken from the
stable last night."
Farmer Meredith started and looked anxious.
"Is it possible?" he said. "Why, Stanley's isn't more than two miles
from here. Who knows but they may come here next? It would be a
terrible thing if they took my two horses now, and the plowing not half
done."
"Dreadful," said the man, "but it's a desperate gang--little they'd
care if the plowing be done or not. But they do say as how the thieves
don't meddle with poor men's beasts much. It's the rich farmers as has
fine horses and such that they go for. I suppose they don't find a
ready market for common plow-horses."
"Likely not," said Mr. Meredith. "Well, I wish the gang could be
smoked out of the country, or caught up with in their thieving. It's a
terrible scourge to the country--this gang."
"There's a large reward out for the ringleader," said the hired man. "I
saw the posters out on Smith's fence as I came along this morning. Two
hundred dollars for his apprehension."
Jaquelina, who had been listening, gave a startled cry.
"Two hundred dollars! Oh, my! I wish I could catch the wretch! Two
hundred dollars would give me a whole year at a good boarding-school!"
Farmer Meredith looked round in surprise. Something in the girl's
unconscious wistfulness struck him oddly.
"Boardin'-school," he said; "what put that foolish idea in your head,
Lina? Haven't you larnt enough readin' and writin' at the public school
four months in every winter?"
"No, indeed, Uncle Charlie;" and Lina shook her head so decisively that
the short, soft rings of hair danced coquettishly with the movement.
"It's very little I know, indeed, and if I only knew how to catch that
horse-thief I'd spend every cent of the reward in getting myself a good
education."
"You've more learning than is good for you now," said Mrs. Meredith,
sharply, as she re-entered the room and overheard the words. "Every
time I want you there you are out of the way, with your face poked into
a book. And me slaving my life away all the time. Is the baby asleep?
Put her into the cradle, then. Come, men--dinner's ready."
The sharp-faced, sharp-voiced mistress of the house bustled out.
Jaquelina put the heavy child out of her tired, aching arms into the
cradle, and sat down to rock it.
Her full red lips were quivering; her dark eyes were misty with tears
that her girlish pride would not suffer to fall.
"How hard and unkind Aunt Meredith is," she said to herself. "Ah! if
only papa and mamma had lived, how different my life would have been.
I wish I had died, too. Shall I go on forever like this, minding the
baby, washing the dishes, bringing the cows, serving as scape-goat for
Aunt Meredith's ill tempers, and considered a burden in spite of all I
can do to help? I wish when papa died he had left me to the alms-house
at once."
"Miss Jack-o'-lantern," said a voice at the window; and she looked
around with a start.
It was only a neighbor's cow-boy--a good-natured, ignorant negro lad,
who had converted her odd name of Jaquelina into "Jack-o'-lantern."
"Well," she said, "what do you want, Sambo? Why do you come to the
window and frighten me so?"
"I'm in a hurry, if you please, Miss Jack," said the lad. "Is your
uncle at home?"
"Yes--at dinner," said the girl.
"Master sent me over to see if Mr. Meredith and his man would jine
a party to hunt the horse-thieves to-night," said Sambo. "Squire
Stanley's headin' it; his stable was robbed last night."
Jaquelina went into the kitchen with her message, and Mr. Meredith came
out himself.
"Tell your master I'll be going over to the Grange meeting this
afternoon, and I'll stop by and make arrangements to join them in the
hunt," he said.
He finished his dinner and started.
The idea of the thief-hunt so inspired the plowman that he begged to
be excused from working the balance of the day, and went away full of
enthusiasm to join the gallant band of pursuers.
Jaquelina washed the dishes, and while Mrs. Meredith sat by the cradle
with her knitting, the girl took her book and sat down on the doorstep
to read.
Half an hour went by quietly. The hum of the bees and the warble of the
birds were all that broke the silence, save the low whisper of the wind
as it sighed among the trees.
Jaquelina enjoyed the silence thoroughly, every moment dreading to hear
the fretful wail of her aunt's baby, and to be summoned to tend it
again.
But lifting her head at last, as she turned a page, she saw a lady
crossing the narrow foot-bridge that spanned the brook.
"Aunt Meredith," she said, turning her head toward the sitting-room,
"there's company coming."
Mrs. Meredith whisked off her kitchen apron, slipped a white ruffled
one over her dark print dress, and appeared at the door just in time to
hear a musical voice saying, kindly:
"Good-afternoon, Lina--ah, good-afternoon, Mrs. Meredith."
CHAPTER II.
The new-comer was Violet Earle, a girl scarcely older than Jaquelina,
but taller, better dressed, and exquisitely lovely. She was fair as a
lily, with soft, languishing blue eyes, and golden curls falling in
beautiful luxuriance upon her graceful shoulders.
A cool, tasteful costume of blue and white lawn, with pale-blue ribbons
fluttering here and there, lent an artistic grace to her appearance
that made Jaquelina shrink into herself upon the doorstep, feeling
dowdy, miserable and commonplace by the contrast.
Jaquelina knew no one on earth whom she envied so much as this fair and
self-possessed young lady--the petted, only daughter of the wealthiest
man in the county.
"Good-afternoon, Miss Earle. Will you walk into the sitting-room?"
inquired Mrs. Meredith, a little flustered by the lovely young
visitor's appearance.
She led the way to the little sitting-room where the baby slumbered
peacefully still, and they sat down, Jaquelina with her slim finger
between the pages of her book.
"Lina, I have come to invite you to a party to-morrow night," Violet
said, graciously.
Jaquelina's brune face flushed, her scarlet lips trembled with pleasure.
"My brother and one of his classmates are come from college for a
visit, and mamma is going to give us a party. Will you come, Lina?"
Jaquelina glanced at Mrs. Meredith.
"Yes, if Aunt Meredith will permit me," she answered, frankly.
"Of course she will," Violet said, looking at the hostess, who frowned
slightly as she said, almost bruskly:
"Lina has nothing fit to wear to a party."
Lina's sensitive cheeks turned crimson, but Miss Earle only laughed.
"Everyone says _that_ when invited to a party," she observed lightly.
"It was what I said about myself, when mamma first named the party this
morning. But you see, after all, this will only be a kind of impromptu
party--a lawn party. We will have Chinese lanterns and colored lamps
hung in the trees, and refreshments served out of doors, and games, you
know."
"Yes," said Lina, and her cheeks glowed, and her eyes beamed. She
forgot the embarrassing sense of dowdiness that often overwhelmed her
in Miss Earle's elegant presence, and sat up straight, and forgot to
draw her shabby little slippers under her chair.
There was a great deal of dainty, untutored grace in the slim figure,
and Violet, who was inclined to patronize the shy orphan girl, decided
to herself that Lina Meredith would be rather a pretty girl if only
she were not so tanned, and if only her uncle and aunt would dress her
decently.
"I have invited several people," she went on, looking at Mrs. Meredith,
"and they all said they would be sure to come. Mamma said she thought
you would be very glad to have Lina come, as she sees so very little
pleasure."
Miss Violet's fine little shaft of malice told.
Mrs. Meredith's face turned red in a moment. She could not but be
aware that the neighbors gossiped over her treatment of her husband's
niece, and said that she kept her a dowdy and a drudge.
"Lina sees as much pleasure as she can afford to see," she retorted,
a little shortly. "She wasn't born with a silver spoon in her mouth,
like some people. She has to work for her living the same as I do.
As for the party, I'm obliged to your mother, I'm sure, for inviting
Jaquelina. I've not a word to say against her going, but she's nothing
but calico dresses."
Lina glanced at Miss Earle's pretty blue-and-white lawn, and the deep
color flushed into her face again. Even Violet looked disconcerted.
"Haven't you even a white?" she said, after a minute. "Almost any kind
of a white would look well at a lawn-party at night, you know. You can
wear natural flowers."
Jaquelina looked at her aunt with a sudden gleam in her eyes.
"Aunt Meredith, there's mamma's white dress in the chest up in the
garret--her wedding-one, you know," she said.
"Old-fashioned--and yellow as gold!" sniffed Mrs. Meredith
contemptuously.
"The very thing," cried Violet Earle. "Yellow-white is the rage, and
antique styles are very fashionable. Wear your mother's wedding-dress
by all means, Lina. And plenty of flowers, remember."
"It's ill-luck wearing the clothes of them that's dead and gone," said
Mrs. Meredith, half-fearfully.
"Oh! Aunt Meredith--could you think mamma would care for me wearing her
wedding-dress?" cried Jaquelina, reproachfully.
"Certainly not," said Violet Earle. "Could an angel in Heaven care for
an old dress she had left upon earth? What do cast-off garments matter
to one wearing the robe of righteousness? Wear it by all means Lina!"
She rose as she spoke and moved toward the door.
"Good-bye, Lina; good-bye, Mrs. Meredith. Lina, don't fail us! We have
only invited a certain number of girls and we count on everyone being
there."
CHAPTER III.
Miss Earle went away. Jaquelina brought the cows from the pasture,
and tended the baby while her aunt did the milking. It was a dull and
prosaic life enough for a young girl who was pretty, spirited and
imaginative.
No wonder her thoughts dwelt eagerly and longingly on the lawn-party to
which Violet Earle had invited her. The girl felt as if she were going
to have a peep into fairyland.
She thought Violet Earle was the dearest and kindest girl in the world.
She did not know how Violet had said, half-laughingly, half-carelessly,
when she went home:
"Mamma, I cannot see why you were so anxious to have that shy, awkward
Jaquelina Meredith come to our party. She has not a decent thing to
wear--her aunt said so. She will have to come in an old white dress
that belonged to her mother."
Violet's brother, the young collegian, laughed.
Gentle Mrs. Earle looked at them both a little reproachfully.
"My dears, I wish you would not laugh at little Lina's poverty," she
said. "The Merediths do not treat her right. But aside from her poverty
she ranks as high in the social scale as we do. Her father was an
artist of no mean ability. He would have made his mark if he had not
died young. I feel sorry for little Jaquelina."
"Was her mother a nice person, too, mamma?" Violet asked, interested.
"I did not know her mother very well," said Mrs. Earle. "She was
Jaquelina Ardell, a young French girl whom Claude Meredith married
while he was abroad. She did not live but a few months after they
returned here. When her little girl was born she died."
"And Mr. Meredith soon after," said the student; "I remember it myself.
I was a lad of five years at the time."
"Yes, he died of a fever," said Mrs. Earle, with a sigh, quickly
suppressed.
"Did he leave no money for his daughter?" inquired Violet.
"No--he spent the few thousands his farmer-father bequeathed him upon
his education and his art-studies abroad. So Lina is dependent upon her
uncle's charity."
"A cold charity it is too," said Violet, thinking of cold, hard Mrs.
Meredith.
"Charlie Meredith is not purposely unkind," Mrs. Earle said, quickly,
"but he is thoughtless and careless, and his wife rules him. Still,
for the sake of his feelings, I should not like to slight Claude's
daughter."
"I do hope she will make a respectable appearance so that no one will
be able to laugh at her," said Violet. "It was on my mind to offer to
lend her a party-dress, but I decided that she would not have accepted
it."
"I am glad you did not," her mother said promptly. "I think Lina is
proud in her way. She would have been hurt."
Violet and her brother thought their mamma was very kind and thoughtful
over Jaquelina Meredith.
No one had ever told them that Claude Meredith and their mother had
been lovers in their boy and girl days, and that an ambitious father
had come between them and persuaded the girl into a loveless union with
the wealthy Mr. Earle.
Jaquelina herself did not know what an interest the pretty, faded
woman took in her fate. As she walked up and down the low sitting-room
with her little cousin in her arms she remembered how tenderly Violet
had said "Mamma," and a vague yearning stood over her to feel herself
enfolded in the sweetness of a mother's love, which she, poor child,
was never to know.
At twilight Sambo came over from the neighboring farm with a message
for Mrs. Meredith. Her husband had joined the band of men who were
going to pursue the horse-thieves, and would not be home until morning.
If she and Jaquelina were afraid they were to take the child and go to
a neighbor's to spend the night.
Mrs. Meredith laughed at the idea of fear. So did Jaquelina. Both felt
perfectly safe in the quiet, peaceful little farm-house. They sent word
that they would remain at home.
At eight o'clock Mrs. Meredith, according to her usual custom, retired
to bed with her child. Jaquelina took a lamp and went to her own room,
but not to sleep. It was too early. The night hours were golden ones to
her.
Then she was free to read or study as she liked. True, her aunt
grumbled over the useless waste of a light, but her Uncle Charlie was
wont to interfere so decidedly on that point that the orphan girl had
her way.
But to-night the book was laid on the shelf of the little
garret-chamber, and the girl dragged out a little cedar chest from
under the high-posted bed.
She unlocked it and took out the dress she had told Violet she would
wear to the lawn-party--her mother's wedding-dress.
Jaquelina shook out the cedar-scented folds of the dress and spread it
out on the bed to look at. It was a fine, soft India muslin, trimmed
with a good deal of fine, pretty lace and bows of satin ribbon--all of
which had turned very yellow in the years while it lay folded in the
cedar chest.
It was made in a quaint, pretty style, too; but Jaquelina looked at
it doubtfully. She did not know enough of dry goods to know that the
garment was made of the finest materials, and was costly as well as
pretty.
She thought of Violet's crisp, fresh costumes, and the limp India
muslin suffered in her guileless mind by the contrast. She actually
brought out her Sunday calico, with its fine pink dots and two frills
on the skirt, and laid it beside the India muslin, anxiously comparing
them.
"The calico is the fresher-looking, certainly," she said, turning her
pretty head sidewise in bird-like fashion, and eyeing the dresses
thoughtfully, "but I am quite sure, from the way Violet looked, she
would not like for me to wear _that_. Mamma's dress is very pretty, if
only it were not so limp. I should not dare try to starch it, though. I
might make it look worse."
Then she took a little box from the chest and opened it. It contained
her dead mother's little store of jewelry.
There were two or three simple rings, a thin gold chain with a locket
that held her father's and mother's pictures.
She fastened the chain around her neck and slipped one of the
rings--the prettiest one--on her finger.
"I will wear these to the lawn-party," she said to herself. "The ring
is very nice--it has such a pretty, shining stone!"
It was a pretty ring, as she said, but Jaquelina, brought up so
ignorantly in the lonely farm-house, did not know that the shining
little stone was a real diamond.
Charlie Meredith and his hard wife did not know it either. They all
thought it was a bright, pretty bit of glass.
There was a motto cut deeply inside the ring over which Jaquelina had
often puzzled.
Sometimes she thought she would ask Violet Earle, who had been to
boarding-school, to translate it for her, then she desisted from shame
at her own ignorance.
It was in her mother's native tongue, but no one had taught the
artist's orphan child a line of French.
The question of the party-dress being settled, Jaquelina put away the
India muslin and the jewelry, and sat down by the window, leaning
her curly head on her slim, brown hand, while she gazed out into the
moon-lighted night with her dark, dreamy eyes.
Everything was very still and peaceful. The full moon sailed on in calm
majesty through the purple sky, the distant hills were clearly outlined
in the brightness, and nearer home a faint, white mist curled over the
brook, and the perfume of the lilacs and the roses in the garden below
were borne sweetly on the wandering breeze.
Yet after all there was something weird and mysterious in the blended
brightness and shadows of the moon-lighted landscape, and the sensitive
mind of Jaquelina felt it so.
She shuddered, and her thoughts flew to the outlaw band said to be
lurking in the neighborhood and riding off with all the finest horses
of the farmers.
She thought of the pursuing party. Her mind pictured vividly the
conflict that would ensue when the robbers and their pursuers met, and
the capture of the daring chief whom rumor represented as brave and
handsome as a demi-god.
"Whoever captures the chief will have _two hundred_ dollars for a
reward," the girl said to herself, wistfully. "Ah, if I only had two
hundred dollars I would go to boarding-school one whole year! I would
study so hard all the time that I would learn as much in twelve months
as any other girl would in twenty-four! Then I would not stay at the
farm any more. I would go away and earn my own living by teaching, or
perhaps I might paint pretty little pictures like papa did, and sell
them to rich people who have nothing to do but to be happy."
Two crystal drops welled up into the dark eyes and splashed down upon
her cheeks.
She brushed them off impatiently.
"Crying, am I, like a great baby?" she said sharply, to herself. "What
good will that do? Will crying get me two hundred dollars and send me
to school, and deliver me from the jurisdiction of Aunt Meredith and
her cross baby? Oh! that I might be a man for a few hours! I would
sally forth and capture the robber-chief, and win the reward!"
Her thoughts having turned in this direction, Jaquelina forgot the
lawn-party for awhile, and remained lost in thought, wishing over and
over that she might capture the outlaw chief and claim the coveted
reward that appeared so large in her longing eyes.
At last, wearied by the duties of the day, the tired head drooped
upon the window-sill, the long, black lashes lay upon the warm, pink
cheeks--Jaquelina slept and dreamed she had captured the dreaded outlaw
chief, and bound him securely with a garland of roses.
Laughing at her ludicrous dream, the young girl woke--someone was
shaking her roughly by the arm.
"Lina Meredith, for shame," said her aunt, towering above her, angular
and slim, in a striped calico night-dress. "Sleeping in the window at
midnight, and the lamp a-burnin' bright, too! Willful waste makes woful
want! But I'll not scold you this time. I'm glad you're up and dressed;
you must fetch the doctor from town."
Jaquelina rose, stretching her cramped limbs and yawning drearily, only
half awake. Mrs. Meredith grabbed a wet towel and deliberately mopped
her face with it.
"There, now! I've got you awake," she said, triumphantly. "Did you
hear what I said, Lina? You'll have to saddle Black Bess and fetch the
doctor from town. Baby's got the cramp--dreadful bad, too!"
Jaquelina, broad awake now, stared in dismay at Mrs. Meredith.
"Why, aunt," she cried, "how can I go for the doctor at midnight? The
town is at least a mile and a half from here."
"Only a mile through the woods," answered Mrs. Meredith, quickly.
The young girl shivered.
"Come, come, I never knew you afraid of anything," Mrs. Meredith began
quickly; "surely you'll do this much for me, Lina--if not for me, for
your poor little cousin Dollie, a-wheezin' her life away, and none to
bring a doctor."
But Jaquelina hesitated.
"Aunt Meredith," she said, "the road through the woods is very dark and
lonely, and, you may see for yourself, the moon is going down, and then
those dreadful outlaws may be lurking in the woods. Is Dollie so very
bad? Perhaps she would do until daylight."
"Come," said Mrs. Meredith, pulling the girl by the sleeve, "you shall
see."
Jaquelina followed her down stairs to the room where the fat baby lay
upon the bed wheezing terribly, while now and then a hoarse, whistling
cough echoed painfully through the room.
Jaquelina's heart, always tender to pain, was touched by the sight of
the infant's suffering.
"Oh, Lina, will you let the darling die?" cried the frightened mother,
whose hard heart could soften, at least, to her own child's suffering.
"Surely you'll bring the doctor to little Dollie?"
"Can't I go over to Brown's and send Sambo?" asked the girl, still
shrinking from the thought of the lonely midnight ride.
"No, no," wailed the mother, clasping the sick child frantically in her
arms, "I'll not trust that negro! I'll trust no one but you, Lina, to
go and come in a hurry; I can depend on you to do your best. Oh, for
God's sake, Lina, _do_ go for the doctor; no one will hurt you--there's
not a sign of danger. Your uncle and them other men have captured
the outlaws long before this time of night. Oh, Dollie! Dollie! my
darling--I do believe she's dying now!"
Jaquelina waited for no more urging. She ran out of the house with the
cry of the frightened, helpless mother still ringing in her ears, and
made her way to the stable.
Her uncle had ridden one of the horses. Black Bess, the remaining one,
stood patiently in the stall.
The mare was gentle, and quite accustomed to Jaquelina. She saddled her
with deft, skillful fingers, led her out, and vaulted lightly to her
back.
Then in the dim light of the waning moon, the girl rode out of the
stable-yard, and set forth at a swift gallop for the town a mile away.
There was something weird and strange in that midnight ride through the
lonely wood to Jaquelina.
Her heart beat fast as she guided the mare through the thick woods
where the tall pines stood around dark and grim like silent sentinels.
The moon had gone down, and she had only the faint light of the stars
to guide her on her perilous way.
Every moment she expected to be confronted by the outlaw band, of whom
she had heard such terrible stories.
A foreboding dread lent her fresh impetuosity. Black Bess was panting
and covered with perspiration, when her rider at length emerged safely
from the woods and found herself on the outskirts of the town.
A few minutes brought her to the physician's neat residence. Her loud
halloo soon brought him to the window. He promised to dress and come to
the baby's assistance immediately.
"If you will wait a few minutes, Miss Meredith, I will ride back with
you. The road at night is lonely and dangerous for a woman," the old
doctor said, courteously.
But having come over the road safely, Jaquelina's courage had risen.
"Aunt Meredith will, perhaps, need my assistance with the child," she
said, "so I had better ride on at once. I do not think there can be any
danger, but if you ride fast enough to overtake me, I shall be very
glad of your company."
She turned as she spoke and galloped away. A sudden storm was rising.
A cool wind blew into her face, and for a second the face of the
heavens was divided by a keen flash of lightning that glittered steely
blue, like a sword point, against the darkness.
Two or three drops of rain swirled down on the uncovered head and face.
"It was fortunate I did not wait," she thought, "I shall barely escape
the storm if I do my best."
She urged Black Bess to her highest speed.
The wind increased. It blew Jaquelina's short, soft curls into her
face, and across her eyes.
The strong, sweet breath of the pines mixed refreshingly with "the
scent of violets hidden in the green."
Jaquelina never forgot that hour. It came back to her in after
years--dark years, when memory was a nameless pain.
"The smell of violets hidden in the green,
Poured back into my fainting soul and frame
The times when I remember to have been
Joyful and free from blame."
* * * * *
She had reached the thickest part of the woods in safety when suddenly
Black Bess came to such a sudden stop that her rider came near being
thrown over her head.
In the next moment a vivid flash of lightning showed Jaquelina a tall,
masked outlaw clutching her bridle rein.
CHAPTER IV.
Before the lurid flash died away, Jaquelina saw a second masked figure
emerge from behind a tree with a bull's-eye lantern. She heard a voice
exclaim in profound surprise:
"By Jove, it's a woman!"
"Yes," cried the girl, bravely, "and if you are men you will suffer me
to pass. Only cowards would molest a woman!"
The second man flashed the light of the lantern into the pale, yet
spirited face.
"By Jove," he said again, "what a pretty girl! Well, miss, we suffer
neither man nor woman to pass without taking toll."
Jaquelina's heart sank. Would they take Black Bess, her uncle's
favorite?
These were the horse thieves, of course. She could not repress the
quiver in her voice as she asked faintly:
"What toll do you demand?"
"We usually take a horse, miss," said the last speaker, coolly, "but
seeing that you're such an uncommon pretty girl, we'll take the mare,
and you shall give us a kiss apiece, besides."
The man had reckoned without his host. The words were scarcely out of
his mouth before a shower of keen and stinging blows rained down upon
his head and face from the little riding-whip the girl carried in her
clenched hand.
"You infamous coward," she cried, indignantly, "take that, and that,
and that! For shame! To insult a helpless woman who is in your power!"
"Yes, you're in my power, and I'll make you pay dearly for those
blows," cried the ruffian, plucking her from the saddle like a feather,
and in an instant she was struggling on the ground beside him.
But the man who had held the mare's bridle-rein all the while now
interfered sternly.
"Come, come, Bowles, you're transgressing orders. The captain's order
is to allow no violence. But of course we'll take the mare."
"And the girl, too," said Bowles, shortly and sharply, still smarting
under the indignity of the stinging blows the brave girl had rained
upon him so furiously.
"We've no call to take the girl," said the other. "Orders are for
animals, not persons. Turn her loose, and let her walk home."
"No," said Bowles, with an oath, "I'll give her a scare, anyway. I'll
take her to the captain, and he shall say what punishment she merits.
I'll not let her go! My head and face are burning with the jade's
blows!"
"I will not go with you!" Jaquelina cried out, trying to break from his
tight clasp. "You have no right to detain me! Let me go at once!"
But her struggles and cries were silenced effectually by a stout
handkerchief the man bound over her mouth.
Then he sprang to the mare's back, and, lifting Jaquelina before him,
galloped quickly away through the increasing darkness and the rain,
which now began to pour down in large, heavy drops, that speedily wet
the girl's thin garments through and through.
Jaquelina was beside herself with terror and fear of the ruffian who
held her in that rough, tight clasp.
A thousand conflicting thoughts rushed over her mind.
She thought of her Uncle Charlie, to whom the loss of Black Bess
would be so severe at the present time; she thought of the sick child
at home, and of the hard, selfish woman who had sent her forth to
encounter this terrible peril.
Every moment while she was borne onward in the storm and darkness
seemed an eternity of time to her bewildered mind.
She had no idea where she was going, or in what direction. The gloom
and darkness hid every object from her view, and she was too terrified
to reason clearly.
At last they stopped. Jaquelina felt herself lifted down from the
mare's back, and borne rapidly in Bowles' arms along what seemed to
be a perfectly dark passage-way, long and winding. The wind and rain
had ceased to blow in her face, and a damp, earthy smell pervaded the
atmosphere.
Jaquelina instantly decided that they were in a cave, of which there
were several in the neighborhood of her home.
Presently her captor paused, and gave a low, peculiar whistle, several
times repeated.
"Enter!" she heard a deep, musical voice exclaim.
Bowles seemed to push aside a thick and heavy curtain. The next moment
a blaze of light shone around him as he entered a large apartment,
pushing his frightened captive before him.
Jaquelina was blinded a moment as she came into the brilliant light
from the outer rain and darkness; then the mist cleared; she looked
up and found herself standing before the stateliest and most superbly
handsome man she had ever beheld in her life.
Tall, dark, haughty, the outlaw chief was as kingly in his beauty as
Lucifer, "star of the morning," might have looked in the hour of his
fall.
His glossy curls of jet-black hair were thrown carelessly back from a
brow as white and perfect as sculptured marble, his dark and piercing
eyes gleamed star-like beneath the black, over-arching brows.
His nose was perfect in shape and contour; his rather stern and
slightly sad lips were half concealed by a long curling mustache,
black, like his hair.
Youth, power, and strength spoke in every line of the firm and
well-knit figure in its careless yet well-fitting hunting suit of fine,
dark-blue flannel.
One might have looked for such a face and form at the head of a gallant
army, bravely leading his troops to victory or death, but never here in
the den of robbers.
Jaquelina had one full glance into that darkly handsome face--one
look that imprinted it forever on her memory--then the chief caught
up a mask that lay upon a table near by, and fitted it hurriedly to
his features; the low, deep, musical voice that bade them enter now
exclaimed with repressed wrath and menace:
"Whom have we here, Bowles? And how have you dared bring a stranger
into my presence while I remained unmasked?"
Jaquelina saw that Bowles trembled at the stern anger of his chief.
"Captain, I humbly beg your pardon," he said. "I caught this girl
riding a fine black mare through the woods, and attempted a harmless
joke upon her, on which she flew at me like a little tigress and
belabored me with her riding-whip. I was so enraged at her impudence
that I whipped upon the mare's back and brought the little wretch here
to you to tell me how to punish her."
A low laugh actually rippled over the stern, sad lips of the robber
chief. He looked at Jaquelina where she stood in the center of the
apartment, the rain-drops falling from her drenched garments upon the
rich crimson carpet in shining little pools, the wet curls clinging to
her white brow; her face pale as death, her slight form trembling with
cold and terror.
The laugh died suddenly on his lips, his dark eyes flashed through the
openings in his mask.
"For shame, Bowles," he said, sharply. "How dared you assault a woman?
We make no war upon such."
"Orders were to take every fine animal that passed," Bowles said,
half-apologetically, yet sullenly.
"Animals, yes, but not human beings, least of all helpless females.
I never counted upon _such_ passing. What were you, a mere slip of a
girl, doing on horseback in the woods at the dead hour of night?" he
inquired, looking curiously at Jaquelina.
"I went to call the doctor to a sick child," she answered.
"Where were all the men of your family and neighborhood that you were
permitted to take such a lonely and perilous midnight ride?" inquired
the outlaw chief, again fixing his dark eyes upon her in surprise, not
unmixed with suspicion.
Jaquelina flushed hotly beneath that look.
"My uncle and all the neighboring men were absent," she said, returning
his gaze with cool scorn.
"Where?" he inquired.
"They have joined together to pursue the horse-thieves whom you have
the honor to command," she replied, defiantly.
The chief started, then tossed his handsome head with a reckless laugh.
"Do you think it likely they will overtake us?" he asked, sneeringly.
"I cannot tell, but I hope so. I wish I could capture _you_," said the
girl, frankly.
"Do you? Why do you wish so?" he inquired, nettled.
"I should like to earn the reward of two hundred dollars that has been
offered for your apprehension;" she replied, naively.
"What would you do with it?" he asked, rather amused at her frankness.
"That is _my_ business," Jaquelina answered, with demure dignity.
"Bowles, light a fire. I have been so interested in your charming
captive that I forgot she was drenched with the rain. Take a seat,
Miss--Miss--I don't know what to call you," he said, as he pushed a
large arm-chair toward her.
"My name is Meredith--Miss Meredith," Jaquelina said, but she did not
take the offered chair. She lifted her dark, clear eyes appealingly to
the masked face of the outlaw captain.
"Oh, sir," she cried, clasping her white hands in unconscious pathos,
"_do_ let me have Black Bess and go home! They tell me you only rob
rich men who can afford to lose their horses. Uncle Charlie is poor. He
has only his farm and the mare, and one horse besides. Would you rob
him of his little all?"
The handsome chief looked admiringly at the sweet, girlish face with
its pleading eyes and wistful lips. In spite of her terror and her
drenched, miserable condition there was a strange, luring charm about
the lovely young face. The heart of the outlaw chief was strangely
stirred by it.
"Miss Meredith," he said, abruptly, "I gather from what you have said
that you are an orphan?"
"Yes," Jaquelina said, wonderingly.
"There is one condition," he said, slowly, "on which I will return
Black Bess to her owner. There is nothing that would tempt me to part
with you. I am a reckless, defiant man, Miss Meredith. I fear nothing;
but your beautiful, brave face has won my heart from me at first sight.
I love you. Let me make you my wife, sweet girl, and I will take you
far away from this life and these scenes, and your life shall be a
long, bright dream of love and happiness!"
CHAPTER V.
The startling suddenness of the outlaw chief's proposal appeared to
take Jaquelina's breath away.
She did not attempt to answer him, but remained silently regarding him
in surprise, not unmixed with terror.
"Have I taken you by surprise?" he inquired, after a moment, in a
gentler tone. "Forgive me. I am used to rough men, not timid women.
But consent to be my bride, Miss Meredith, and you will find me the
tenderest lord a fair girl ever dreamed of. Do not answer me this
moment. Take time to consider."
"I do not need a moment's time to consider," Jaquelina flashed
forth indignantly. "Do you think I would marry a common robber, a
horse-thief, an outlaw?"
She saw the dark eyes flash beneath the outlaw's mask.
"Those are harsh words, Miss Meredith," he said, with outward calmness.
"They are not becoming under my own humble roof and from the lips of my
guest."
"Not your guest, but your captive," the girl said, bitterly.
"A beloved captive," replied the outlaw. "Child, I do not know why my
heart has gone out to you so strangely. It is not your beauty that has
won me. Women more beautiful than you have smiled on me and my heart
was untouched. But the moment I looked into your proud, dark eyes my
soul seemed to recognize its true mate."
"You flatter me!" cried the captive, drawing her slight form erect
with indignant scorn. "I the true mate of a man as reckless and
crime-stained as you? You rate me highly indeed! Were I a man I would
make you retract the insult at the sword's point."
"How? A duel?" asked the outlaw, laughing at her passionate vehemence.
"Yes, a duel," she answered, with unmoved gravity.
"You are a brave little girl, Miss Meredith," the outlaw answered,
resting his white, well-formed hand on the back of a chair with easy
grace, while he regarded her attentively. "You make me admire you more
than ever."
"I am sorry for that," said Jaquelina, with spirit.
"Why?" he inquired, seeming to find pleasure in the very sound of
her voice, although her words were so scornful. "Is admiration so
distasteful to you?"
"From you it is," she said, and although he affected indifference her
scornful tone had an arrow in it that secretly pierced his heart.
"What manner of a man might he be whose admiration would be acceptable
to you, fair lady?" he inquired, coldly, yet with a certain wistfulness
in his tone.
Jaquelina turned her dark eyes on the masked face of the outlaw, and
regarded him steadily as she said, firmly:
"A man quite your opposite in everything--an honest, honorable, noble
man, brave and without reproach."
"_Sans peur et sans reproche_--the Ardelle motto," muttered the outlaw
beneath his dark mustache. "So, Miss Meredith, you are holding up
before me a glass wherein I may see all that I am not?"
"Yes," she said; then after a minute, in which she gazed at the
princely form in unwilling admiration, Jaquelina added, half-pityingly:
"All that you might have been!"
"Yes, all that I might have been," he said, in a saddened and softened
voice. "Are you a student of Whittier, Miss Meredith? Do you believe
with him that
"'Of all sad words of tongue or pen
The saddest are these: _It might have been_'?"
Jaquelina gazed in astonishment at him. A sudden sense of the
strangeness of her position rushed over her.
She was here alone in the outlaw's cave, and he was talking sentiment
to her.
She clasped her slim hands together, and the dark eyes looked at him
pleadingly as she answered:
"I am too young and untutored to discuss these things with you, sir,
and my mind is distracted by thoughts of home. Release me, if you
please. If you will only show me the outlet of the cave I will find my
way home. My friends will be alarmed at my continued absence."
"Do you hear the storm?" he asked. "It is pitchy dark, the rain and
wind are fearful, and you are several miles from home."
"It is no matter," said the girl, desperately. "Only release me, and I
will find my home if I have to crawl there. I am more afraid of you and
your outlaw band than I am of the night and the darkness."
He looked at her thoughtfully.
"Child," he said, abruptly, "you need not fear me. I would not harm
a hair on that little head, and yet, if I suffered you to go free, I
suppose you would at once discover our hiding-place to our enemies."
Jaquelina remained perfectly silent.
"Is it not true?" he inquired, coldly.
She lifted her eyes and gazed at him defiantly.
"You mean that you would do so?" he said, interpreting her look aright.
"Yes, for it would be my duty to rid my neighborhood of such a
scourge," she replied, very low.
Then there was a minute of perfect silence. The long lashes drooped
upon her cheeks as the handsome outlaw studied her face.
Bowles came in with a small furnace filled with glowing coals, then
silently withdrew.
"Draw near to the fire and dry your wet clothing," said the chief,
abruptly.
"There would be no use," Jaquelina answered, coldly, "I shall be
drenched through going home."
"You seem quite certain of going," he said, amused at her persistency.
"I fear you will be disappointed, Miss Meredith. I regret the fact of
Bowles bringing you here very much, and I shall order him to apologize
to you for doing so. But I must tell you that my own safety demands
that I shall keep you a prisoner in this cave until such time as we
shall decide to leave the neighborhood, when, if you shall still
persist in refusing my hand, I may, perhaps, release you."
Jaquelina made an impulsive rush toward the heavy curtains that shut in
the comfortable apartment from the outer darkness of the cave, but the
voice of the outlaw arrested her with her hand upon the thick hanging.
"I should not advise you to attempt leaving without my consent, Miss
Meredith. I have sentries stationed through the cave. You would
scarcely find them so courteous as myself!"
The white hands fell from the heavy curtains in dismay. Jaquelina
remembered the rude, officious Bowles, and accepted the outlaw's
statement as true. She looked at him in surprise and disgust.
"Why do you who appear to have the instincts and the training of a
gentleman, herd with such ruffians?" she asked.
"Promise to marry me, and I will tell you why," he replied. "I will
give up this life and try to become that which you said just now I
might have been. Miss Meredith, I am in serious earnest. Become my
wife, and I swear to you that you shall not have one wish ungratified.
I am wealthy. I will take you away to some fair, bright clime where my
history is all unknown. Costly jewels, splendid silks and laces--all
that the heart of woman desires--shall be yours, with the adoration of
a heart as true as truth."
"I care nothing for these things," Jaquelina answered, crimsoning with
anger and disdain; "you have had my answer. Sooner than link my fate
with one so wicked and crime-stained as your own, I would die here at
your feet!"
"Do I, then, appear so utterly vile in the clear eyes of a pure
woman?" inquired the outlaw chief, in a voice strangely tinctured with
melancholy.
Jaquelina had drawn near the glowing furnace of coals, unconsciously
attracted by the warmth that stole deliciously over her drenched and
shivering frame.
She was too young and untouched by real sorrow to understand the vague
remorse and pathos that quivered in the man's low voice. Yet when she
answered "yes," it was a trifle more gently and kindly.
"I could never teach you to love me, then?" he said, questioningly.
"No," the girl said, decidedly, with her curly head set sidewise, and
such an owlish gravity about her that the outlaw chief, who seemed
"to be all things by turns, and nothing long," felt his risibilities
excited, and laughed outright.
"Why do you laugh?" she inquired, with an air of offended dignity.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Meredith, for my rudeness," he said, "but as
you stood there with the steam from your drenched clothing rising over
your head, and the furnace blazing at your feet, you reminded me so
comically of one of Shakespeare's witches that I was forced to laugh."
Jaquelina was thoroughly angry. To be laughed at by this man whom she
scorned, was too much.
She stepped back into the darkest and coldest corner of the room, and
stood there in silent, dignified displeasure.
"Pray do not allow my silly jest to drive you away from the fire," he
exclaimed, anxiously. "Let me entreat you to return."
But his captive had sunk down upon the floor, and buried her face in
her hands.
Folding his arms across his breast, the outlaw chief walked up and down
across the soft, echoless carpet, his gloomy eyes fixed immovably upon
the little crouching figure with the graceful head bowed on the clasped
hands.
Jaquelina looked very childish and forlorn as she crouched there.
Quite suddenly she broke into a perfectly audible sob of grief and
self-pity.
"I shall miss Violet Earle's party after all. And I had been so happy
over it!"
It was the cry of a child over a broken toy, yet its artless pathos
pierced the man's heart. He went quickly and knelt down beside her.
"Little one, what is this that you grieve for?" he asked, almost
tenderly; "tell me?"
"It is only--only," sobbed the girl, "that you will cause me to lose
the happiest hour of my life."
"Poor child! and life has so few happy hours," said the outlaw chief.
"Tell me what it is you lament so much. Perhaps I may relent."
"It was Miss Violet Earle's lawn-party to-morrow night," sobbed
Jaquelina. "She had invited me. I--I was never at a party in my life,
and I wanted so much to see what it was like."
The listener frowned, then smiled beneath his concealing mask.
"Do not weep for that," he said. "I will tell you what every party is
like, little girl. A party is an occasion when somebody else has a
prettier dress than yours, and somebody else dances with your favorite
beau once more than you did, and when you get home you are mad, and say
you wouldn't have gone if you had known it, so there!"
"I don't believe it," wept Jaquelina, obstinately, "at least, not all
of it. It may be true about the dress. I _know_ Violet Earle's will be
_ever so much_ prettier than mine, but I should never, never wish I had
not gone there."
Ah, Jaquelina, Jaquelina! If those dark eyes, dimmed now with childish
tears, could but have pierced the secret of the untried future!
"She is but a simple child," the outlaw said to himself, pityingly.
"Only a little wild bird. I have caged it, but it would never sing for
me. I must let it fly back to its nest."
He touched the girl's damp, clinging curls lightly.
"Miss Meredith, look up at me," he said.
Jaquelina lifted her wet eyes inquiringly.
"Cannot you leave me in peace?" she asked, shrinking from his light
touch impatiently.
He did not appear to notice the pretty, childish petulance.
"Little bird," he said, "I will give you your freedom if you will
promise me just one thing--you will not reveal the secret of this
cavern retreat to my enemies? It is the only price by which you can
purchase freedom."
"Since it is my only chance of release, I must needs keep the secret,"
Jaquelina said; reluctantly. "What shall I tell them?"
"Only say that you were lost in the woods, and that the outlaw chief
guided you to the road again," he replied.
"Very well," she replied; "but I warn you that if ever I see you
elsewhere I will attempt to capture you."
He looked at the frank, determined face half-reproachfully a moment,
then laughed at the threat.
Ten minutes after he was riding by Jaquelina's side through the stormy
woods.
When the first faint beams of daylight glimmered in the cloudy east, he
watched her riding safely toward home, mounted on the faithful Black
Bess.
"Good-by, Miss Meredith," he had said, as they parted. "When you think
of the outlaw whose love you scorned, do not forget that the bravest
thing a brave man can do is to voluntarily resign the one fair woman
who holds his heart."
But Jaquelina, with a cold and haughty bow, rode silently away.
CHAPTER VI.
"All the people we invited are here, mamma," said Violet Earle, "all
except Jaquelina Meredith. Do you think she will come?"
Laurel Hill, the beautiful home of the Earles, was in a blaze of
light and gayety. The handsome, roomy mansion, with its wide and long
piazzas and large bay windows, was lighted "from garret to basement,"
and thrown open to the guests. The beautiful green lawn, with its
sprinkling of laurel trees that gave the place its name, was almost as
light as day with the glitter of colored lamps and Chinese lanterns.
A pretty summer-house in the center of the lawn was decorated with
garlands of cedar and fluttering silken banners. It was here that
Violet was standing when she spoke to her mother.
She looked very sweet and winning as she stood there, the light shining
down on the fair, flushed face, and on the golden ringlets looped back
with sprays of lilies-of-the-valley nestling among dark green leaves.
She wore a soft, filmy white robe, and a wide sash of pale-blue satin
was knotted carelessly around the slender waist. The pretty dimpled
neck and arms were quite bare, and golden ornaments, studded with
pearls and turquoise, gleamed upon their whiteness.
Mrs. Earle, looking very fair and graceful in silver-gray silk and
pale, gleaming pearls, looked admiringly at her lovely daughter.
"No, I am afraid Jaquelina will not come," she said; "one of the
neighbors was telling me just now that she was lost in the woods last
night and thoroughly drenched by the rain, so it is just possible she
may be ill. Had you not heard it, dear?"
"Yes; Mr. Brown told me," answered Violet. "And only think, mamma, she
met the captain of the outlaws, and he guided her to the road. Was it
not romantic? I should not have expected such courtesy from such a
dreadful man."
"It was perfectly shameful for Mrs. Meredith to have sent her for the
doctor at midnight," said Mrs. Earle, warmly. "They tell me there was
no real necessity for such a thing. The child only had a common attack
of croup, which any sensible mother would have known how to subdue with
simple domestic remedies. Mr. Brown, their near neighbor, tells me it
is playing about the floor, as well as usual, to-day."
"Poor Lina! That terrible man might have killed her," said pretty
Violet, with a shudder.
"Look, Violet--who is that coming now?" said Mrs. Earle suddenly.
Violet looked hastily.
"Oh," she said, "it is Mr. Meredith--he is bringing her after all."
The farmer came up the steps, Jaquelina following in his wake, a veil
tied about her head, a thin summer shawl wrapped about her shoulders.
"They told me I should find you here. I have brought my niece to the
party, Mrs. Earle. She had a cold, but I couldn't persuade her to stay
at home," he said. "I will go back, now, as wife and Dollie are alone,
but if you'll tell me when the party will be over, I'll bring back the
mare for Lina."
"You need not trouble about that," Mrs. Earle replied as he turned
away. "I'll see that she gets back safely, Mr. Meredith."
Then she turned to Jaquelina, who stood beside Violet, gazing with
timid delight at the illuminated lawn and the moving groups of people.
"You may lay aside your wraps, dear," she said, kindly. "I hope you
will enjoy our little party."
"I _know_ I shall," the girl answered, gazing around her with sparkling
eyes. "Oh! Mrs. Earle, how beautiful it all is. It seems just like
fairyland!"
Mrs. Earle smiled indulgently as she helped her to remove the plain
shawl and veil that enveloped her; then she started back with a little
cry of surprise that was faintly re-echoed by Violet.
Jaquelina's sensitive lips quivered; her dark eyes filled with quick
tears.
"I was afraid the dress would not do," she said, falteringly. "I will
put on my wraps and go home again, Mrs. Earle."
She was turning toward the steps, but Violet caught her arm.
"Oh, you little goose!" she said, laughing, "come back. Where _did_ you
get such a sweet dress?"
"_Is_ it pretty? Will it do, indeed?" asked Jaquelina, radiant.
"It is lovely," Mrs. Earle said, kindly. "It makes you look extremely
pretty, my dear."
"_Pretty_ is faint praise, mother," said her handsome son, as he came
up the steps, and overheard the words. "Miss Lina, how do you do? You
have blossomed into a beauty since I last saw you."
His college-mate, who had come up the steps with him, peered over his
shoulder at the "beauty."
He saw a shy, lovely face with dewy-crimson lips, and large, dark eyes
with long, black lashes like fringed curtains--chestnut curls, tinged
with gold, clustering about a low, broad brow and proudly-set head--a
quaint, pretty dress of yellowish India muslin with lace and satin
ribbons fluttering about it.
Nothing more quaintly sweet and pretty than the dress and its wearer
could have been imagined.
Jaquelina gave her hand shyly a moment to Walter Earle, then he stepped
aside to introduce her to his friend.
"Miss Meredith, allow me to present to you my friend, Ronald
Valchester."
Jaquelina bowed to a tall, grave-looking man with dark hair thrown
carelessly back from a high, white brow, and twilight-colored
eyes--blue-gray in quiet moments, starry-black in moments of excitement.
He touched the girl's slim, brown hand lightly with his firm, white
one, then stepped quietly aside a moment later, and allowed Walter
Earle to lead her out upon the lawn.
"My friend is not what you would call a lady's-man," Walter said to
her. "He is a dreamy student, quite absorbed in his books, and yet the
best friend and the bravest that man ever had. He is very intellectual,
and leads in everything at college. We are all proud of him there.
Miss Meredith, you have read of men who stood head and shoulders above
their fellows? Valchester is one of them. I could tell you a hundred
delightful things that he has done if you----"
"Walter, I'll never forgive you if you say another word," said
Valchester's voice behind them.
Walter turned and saw his friend walking after him with Violet clinging
to his arm.
"Listeners never hear good of themselves," he retorted, to cover his
embarrassment at being overheard.
"The old adage is falsified in this case," laughed Valchester, "and for
fear of not coming up to the ideal you have raised in Miss Meredith's
mind, I shall always tread on thorns in her presence."
Walter Earle laughed lightly at the careless metaphor.
"Then the path will be rose-strewn, too," he said, "for where there are
thorns there are roses."
"Talking of roses," said Violet, "reminds me to ask you, Lina, where
are the flowers I told you to wear? You forgot them."
"No, I did not," said the girl. "I must tell you the truth, Violet; I
did not have the time to gather a single flower. I was late as it was;
for you see Aunt Meredith needed me so long I could scarcely get away.
But I thought perhaps you could spare me a flower."
"As many as you like," said Violet, generously. "What will you have?
Here we are at the flower-beds. Make your own selection."
"I am afraid of the gardener," laughed Jaquelina, shrinking back from
the trim and well-kept flower-beds. "I will take anything you choose to
give me."
"Daisies would suit you," said Walter Earle, looking at the sweet, shy
face.
"Scarlet geraniums or roses," said Violet, thinking how beautifully
they would contrast with the dark eyes and the white dress.
Ronald Valchester studied the drooping face attentively, as the dark
eyes gazed at the brilliant flowers, the dark, curling lashes shading
the rose-flushed cheek.
"Passion-flowers, I think," he said, and gathered a cluster of the
bright flowers from the trellis and offered them to her. She took them
with a slight bow, and fastened them in her belt.
What had Ronald Valchester, the gifted, thoughtful student, read in the
lovely, innocent face of the simple girl that had prompted him to offer
her passion-flowers for her type?
Walter Earle looked surprised, but he set it down as one of
Valchester's odd freaks, and told Jaquelina that the flowers were very
becoming.
Violet said that roses would have looked prettier. Then she gathered
some dewy violets and pinned them on his coat with pretty, careless
coquetry.
"Lina, we are going to have a dance on the lawn," said the latter. "Do
you like to dance?"
"No," said Jaquelina, and the fitful color came and went in her cheeks.
"Why not?" Violet said, surprised.
"Because I do not know how to dance," Jaquelina said, so timidly and
naively that Walter Earle and Ronald Valchester laughed. Then Walter
said, good-naturedly:
"Oh, that is nothing. You must dance with me. I will show you how to do
the steps and the figures."
"You are sure I shall not appear awkward?" she asked, her sensitive
pride on the alert.
"You could not be awkward if you tried ever so hard," said the gallant
young collegiate, captivated by the artless shyness and prettiness of
the little girl whom at first he had only meant to patronize.
So they danced together.
Jaquelina fell into it all so naturally and happily that no one felt
inclined to laugh at her when now and then she made a misstep, or
caused a whole quadrille to blunder.
She was so ashamed and penitent over her little mistakes that it was a
pleasure to set her right and forgive her. We pardon so many errors in
youth and beauty.
After awhile Ronald Valchester, dancing with Violet, said, carelessly:
"Your friend, Miss Meredith, is exceedingly pretty--is she not, Miss
Earle?"
Violet looked across at Jaquelina, who was dancing with someone whom
Walter had introduced to her--a handsome, manly young fellow, who
seemed to admire his partner very much. She was startled at the radiant
beauty that happiness had kindled in Jaquelina's changeful face.
"She is not always so pretty," Violet said, quickly; "it is the effect
of the moonlight and lamplight! You should see her at home by daylight.
She is tanned and sunburned, and terribly shabby. Would you believe
she is wearing her dead mother's wedding-dress to-night?"
"I should not have thought it," he said. "It is a very nice dress, is
it not?" and he looked more carefully at the girl who was dancing in
her dead mother's wedding-dress with the passion-flowers half falling
from the satin girdle that bound the slender waist--the girl who was
so pretty and happy in the lamplight and moonlight, and so tanned and
shabby by daylight.
"I have heard of 'gas-light beauties,' Miss Earle," he said carelessly.
"I suppose Miss Meredith must belong to that class."
Violet felt uncomfortable, she could not have told why, for she had
only spoken what she felt to be true.
"Yes," she answered, "I suppose so. I have known Lina Meredith all
my life, or nearly, but I never thought her pretty until to-night.
To-morrow we will call upon her at her own home. You may see for
yourself how different she will appear."
"I shall be pleased to go--thank you," said Ronald Valchester. "Is Miss
Meredith the only daughter?"
Violet looked at him surprised.
"Why, of course," she began, then stopped, and said deprecatingly: "I
have, perhaps, done Lina an injustice in speaking of her as I have to
you, Mr. Valchester. I thought you knew that she is an orphan. It isn't
her fault that she must go shabby and neglected. She is poor, and has
no one to love her."
Violet looked very pretty in the thoughtful student's eyes just
then--much prettier than she had five minutes ago. As he clasped the
little hand in the winding figures of the gay dance, he thought that
the touch of womanly pity in her voice was very winning.
More than once he looked at the slender figure of Jaquelina, as it
whirled past him lightly, with a new interest in his eyes. She had
been simply a pretty, interesting girl to him before, in whose radiant
face he had vaguely read something that prompted him to give her the
passion-flowers.
Now the vibrating chord of sympathy in his nature had been touched by
those simple words: "She has no one to love her."
When that dance was over and Violet had been claimed by another
partner, he went up to Jaquelina.
"You have not danced with me yet," he said. "Will you give me the next
dance, Miss Meredith?"
"You must excuse me, Mr. Valchester," she replied, with a smile, "I
have promised the next dance to your friend, Mr. Earle."
CHAPTER VII.
Jaquelina saw that the young student looked surprised.
"You have danced with Walter Earle twice already," he said. "Do you not
know that it is not considered _en regle_ to dance more than twice with
the same partner?"
She looked at him, puzzled, for an instant. Then the long lashes
drooped, and the ready color flashed into her cheek as she answered.
"I do not think I understand what _en regle_ means, Mr. Valchester."
"I beg your pardon for using a French phrase," said Ronald Valchester,
uncertain whether she was in earnest or meant to rebuke him. "I am
aware that the habit is considered an affectation, but one falls into
these things so naturally at college, you know, Miss Meredith."
But he did not attempt to explain it to her. It had vaguely occurred to
him that she was teasing him, and he relapsed at once into his grave
dignity.
But the next instant he saw that he had been mistaken. She raised her
clear, dark eyes to his face, and said, gratefully:
"You do not laugh at my ignorance, Mr. Valchester--then I may dare to
ask you a favor."
As she spoke she drew a ring from her finger, and held it out to him.
"Will you translate for me the French words in this ring?" she said.
Many times afterward she wondered what had given her such courage to
ask Ronald Valchester this question; she had always been too timid to
ask anyone before.
The student took the ring and held it up to the light of the lamp that
swung in the tree above their heads.
The diamond flashed and sparkled in the antique dead-gold setting. He
read out aloud:
"'_Sans peur et sans reproche._' It is a French motto, Miss Meredith.
It simply means, 'without fear and without reproach.'"
"Oh! what beautiful words," she cried. "Thank you, Mr. Valchester, very
much. All my life I have wanted to know what those words in mamma's
ring meant."
"Anyone, almost, could have told you," he replied, as he handed it back
to her. "Did you never ask anyone?"
"No, I was ashamed to confess such pitiable ignorance," she answered,
frankly. "You see, Mr. Valchester, my mother was French, and it seemed
so odd that I should be ignorant of her mother-tongue."
"No one could laugh at you for that," said Ronald Valchester, kindly.
He was leaning against the tree carelessly, and Jaquelina sat on the
rustic bench beneath it, the soft, white folds of her dress falling on
the velvety green turf. A little beyond them was the square-cut cedar
hedge that bounded the trim lawn.
Jaquelina did not know what dark, gleaming eyes watched her beauty, as
she sat there with the light falling down on her girlish face and form.
She was looking at her companion, and recalling the words in which
Walter Earle had praised him.
"He is handsome, too," she said to herself. "What a beautiful, high,
white brow, and clear-cut face. Mr. Earle must be very proud to have
him for his friend."
"Mr. Valchester, are you a poet?" she asked, suddenly.
"No one ever accused me of being one," he answered, laughing. "Why do
you ask me, Miss Meredith?"
"You look like one," she said.
Ronald Valchester laughed again.
"Did you ever see a poet, Miss Meredith?" he asked.
Then Jaquelina started and blushed.
"No, in truth, I never did," she said. "It was only my fancy. Perhaps I
should have expressed my thought better if I had said that you realize
my ideal of how a poet should look."
"You flatter me," he said, smiling, yet in his heart Ronald Valchester
was pleased at her words, for he saw that she meant them and had no
thought of flattering him.
Quite naturally he said to her after a moment of silent thought.
"Are you fond of poetry, Miss Meredith?"
"I love it better than anything in the world!" she replied, with
enthusiasm.
"Tell me the name of your favorite poet," he said.
He saw the quick, sensitive flush of shame leap into the soft cheek at
the natural question.
"I cannot tell you," she said. "I have had no fair opportunity of
making up my mind. I have read bits from them all, but never a whole
volume. We have not many books at home."
It seemed only kindness that he should say then:
"Will you permit me to lend you some of my books, Miss Meredith? I have
all the poets. I will send you down a box from college."
"Thank you," she said, flushing with pleasure. "I will be very careful
with them, Mr. Valchester."
Either Walter Earle had forgotten her, or something had detained him.
Another set was forming, but he did not come to claim her hand.
The dance was made up and she sat still and waited, while the wild,
entrancing strains of music filled the night with melody.
Ronald Valchester did not seek another partner. He sat down by
Jaquelina's side, and talked to her of books and poetry.
Now and then he repeated pretty bits from his favorite authors, to
which she listened eagerly.
It was very pleasant. The night was so bright and warm, the scene was
so gay and brilliant, the heavy, odorous perfume of honeysuckles and
roses freighted the air.
The moon shone bright and clear, the stars seemed to twinkle with joy.
In her mind Jaquelina silently contrasted it with last night.
Could it be possible that only last night she was kneeling, wet
and cold and wretched in the outlaw's cavern retreat, pleading for
liberty--she who sat here free and happy, and listened to the musical
voice of Ronald Valchester murmuring lovely lines and gentle thoughts
from the poets she loved?
She shivered as if with cold as the striking contrast presented itself
to her mind.
"It is a delightful party," she said to herself. "I would not have
missed it for anything. I have enjoyed every minute of it."
Just then Walter Earle came hurrying up to them.
"Miss Meredith, I beg ten thousand pardons," he cried. "Our dance is
almost over, but I did not know it was on until this moment. You see I
had gone into the house and was talking to my father and some of the
older people, and I did not hear the music. Will you excuse me, and
give me another dance?"
"You are perfectly excusable, sir," she said, "but----" she stopped and
looked at Ronald Valchester.
"I have just been telling her," said Valchester, "that it is neither
customary nor fair to give so many dances to one person."
Walter Earle flushed slightly.
"As I am her teacher," he said, "that objection should not apply to me.
I have been showing her how to do the steps and figures. No one else
volunteered to teach her. You did not, Valchester."
It was Valchester's turn to blush now.
"It was very careless and selfish in me that I did not," he replied.
"But I am sufficiently punished for it, as I have not been able to
secure her for my partner a single time."
"Well, suppose we adjourn to the house now," said Walter. "Refreshments
are served in the dining-room."
"And mamma has sent me to hurry you in," said Violet, appearing on the
scene, with a merry party of young people in her wake.
They went into the house, and Jaquelina found herself placed between
Walter Earle and Ronald Valchester at table. Violet was on the other
side of Valchester.
They formed a merry party. The long table sparkled with silver and
cut-glass and flowers, and the dishes were loaded with rare and dainty
edibles and delicious fruits.
But Jaquelina was too happy and excited to eat. She drank in pleasure
from the sights and sounds about her--the bright, happy faces, the
joyous voices.
The hour that was spent at the table passed like a dream of pleasure,
but afterward she remembered that she had only trifled with her knife
and fork; she had been too excited to eat.
When they left the table the young people all went into the parlor.
Violet had a new piano--a fine instrument that she laughingly said it
was a perfect delight to touch.
Several of the young ladies sang and played. Jaquelina sat quietly at
the window and listened.
Music was a passion with her. It seemed to stir a thousand slumbering
harmonies into life within her heart.
"Do you play?" said Valchester a voice beside her, presently.
"No, I have never been taught," she answered, and he caught the faint
tone of regret in the low voice.
"But you love music?" he said.
"Dearly," she answered, with unconscious pathos.
"You have not had a fashionable boarding-school education, Miss
Meredith, I suppose," he said, and was sorry for the words a moment
after as he saw the sensitive, ever-ready color tinge her cheek.
"Why do you say so?" she asked, toying nervously with the heavy fringe
of the curtain. "Do I betray my ignorance so plainly?"
"Excuse me; not in the least," he replied. "I guessed so because you do
not play."
"I am an orphan, Mr. Valchester," she said, raising her dark eyes to
his face a moment. She seemed to think that all was said in that.
"A song, Mr. Valchester," said Violet Earle, looking round from the
piano toward the window. "It is your turn now."
"Valchester! Valchester!" cried a score of voices.
Jaquelina thought he looked annoyed.
"I am not in voice----" he began.
"No excuses," laughed Walter Earle, who was turning over some sheets of
music. "Send him away from the window, Miss Meredith."
Valchester looked at her.
"Shall you do so?" he asked.
"I should like to hear you sing," she replied, simply.
"Very well, I will sing for you," he answered, as he crossed the room
and sat down on the stool which Violet vacated as he came up.
The long, white hands swept over the pearl keys lightly. A rush of
divine melody filled the room.
Jaquelina shivered, it was so weirdly, thrillingly sweet. He sang song
after song in a full, rich tenor voice, seeming to lose himself in the
strains.
Almost without knowing it, Jaquelina arose and went over to the piano,
standing by Violet, who was turning the leaves of the music.
He glanced up at her with a slight smile, and she saw that his
blue-gray eyes were sparkling with pleasure or excitement--they were
glittering starry black.
"He has the sweetest tenor voice in the country," Violet whispered to
her. "Is it not a perfect treat to hear him sing?"
Jaquelina thought so, but she only whispered "Yes," very faintly. She
did not wish to lose a note of the perfect strains.
At last he rose abruptly.
"I have made you all twice thankful," he laughed. "That is my worst
fault. When I am induced to play I never know when to stop."
No one could be induced to touch the piano after Ronald Valchester had
played--his music was too superior to anyone else's. They all went out
on the lawn again. Some danced--some wandered under the trees. Among
these latter was Jaquelina.
She was walking with Walter Earle again, and Violet with Ronald
Valchester.
It was growing far into the night. Some of the lights had burned low;
the moon was about to go down. The trees grew thick where they were
walking, and some sudden impulse made Jaquelina shiver and lift her
eyes half nervously.
As she did so she met the burning gaze of a pair of dark eyes watching
her from behind a tree.
A scream of surprise and terror. Jaquelina pulled her hand from Walter
Earle's arm and rushed forward. The outlaw chief, for it was no other,
was turning to fly; but she caught his arm and held it tightly in both
her own.
"The outlaw! the outlaw!" she panted. "Do not let him escape!"
He was surrounded in an instant. He made no attempt to fly, but stood
still, gazing around him on the angry faces of the men, and his dark
eyes blazed as they rested on the excited face of the fair girl who had
betrayed him to his enemies.
CHAPTER VIII.
One of the men who was holding the captive looked at Jaquelina and said:
"Miss Meredith, is this really the man you say he is?"
"Yes, he is really the chief of the outlaws," she replied; but her eyes
fell as they all looked at her--the swift color came into her cheek.
No one thought of doubting her word.
They had all heard the story of her adventure in the woods last night,
that she had lost her way in the terrible storm, and the outlaw chief
had guided her to the road.
"Are you quite sure of his identity?"
She looked at the dark, handsome face that was regarding her so
intently. Every feature was stamped indelibly on her memory.
"I am perfectly sure," she replied. "He was unmasked when I saw him at
first. I remember his face perfectly."
"Are you really Gerald Huntington?" they asked him.
"I am called by that name," he responded, almost mechanically, without
looking at them. It seemed as if he could not remove his eyes from
Jaquelina Meredith's flushed and defiant face.
"And this is your gratitude, Miss Meredith," he said, slowly. "Last
night you were in my power, I had every temptation to hold you a
prisoner, but I yielded to pity and let you go free. To-night you
reward me by betraying me into the hands of my enemies."
"I warned you I should do so," she answered, spiritedly. "Why did you
come here?"
"I had a fancy for seeing you again," he answered, boldly. "Last night,
when you wept so bitterly at the thought of missing this merry-making,
I wondered if it would really make you as happy as you thought.
To-night the fancy seized me to come and see. I did not believe you
would betray me even if you saw me."
"Why did you think so? I had warned you I would," she replied.
"I thought that common gratitude would have restrained you. I did not
merit this treatment at your hands," was his reply.
"Miss Meredith has acted exactly right," said one of his captors,
coarsely. "I look upon her as a real heroine. Everyone will feel
pleased and relieved when they hear that she has actually captured the
scourge of the country."
"Aye, she has done what two-score men set out to do last night and
failed in," said another.
Jaquelina lifted her drooping head a little at their words of praise.
At the outlaw's words it had drooped upon her breast.
"She has treated me ungenerously," repeated Gerald Huntington,
scornfully, as he looked at the girl's defenders. "When she fell into
my power last night I treated her fairly and honorably. I will leave it
to any of you whether she has repaid me in like manner."
His dark, flashing eyes ran round the circle of eager, excited faces
under the dim, waning light of the flickering lamp.
In a moment he lifted his finger and pointed at Ronald Valchester, who
stood apart, silently regarding the curious scene.
"You, sir," said the outlaw, "have a noble face, and clear eyes that no
deceit can blind. You can understand what is meant by that much abused
term, honor. I will leave it to you. Has Miss Meredith used me fairly?"
It was a striking scene. It was past the midnight hour. The moon was
sinking behind the distant hills, the starlight and the flickering
lamplight shone weirdly down on the glistening laurel trees, and on the
eager, curious crowd about that central figure, the outlaw chief. His
splendid form was drawn haughtily erect, his head was raised, and his
white hand pointed at the grave, noble face of Ronald Valchester.
Between the two figures was Jaquelina Meredith, lovely, frightened,
half-defiant, yet hanging with her whole heart on Ronald Valchester's
decision. He did not know how eagerly and fearfully she awaited his
words.
Yet Gerald Huntington, as he looked at her, more than half guessed it.
He remembered what they had said to each other last night.
"What manner of man might he be whose admiration would be acceptable to
you?" he had asked her, and she had answered, promptly:
"A man quite your opposite in everything."
Looking fixedly at Ronald Valchester, the outlaw beheld the man whom
Jaquelina's fancy had painted to her heart before she ever beheld
him--the one man, "_sans peur et sans reproche_," whose admiration
would be welcome to her.
"I will leave it to you," he repeated. "Has Miss Meredith used me
fairly?"
"I decidedly decline to express an opinion on the subject," replied
Ronald Valchester, gravely and coldly.
There was a moment's silence.
"Very well," said the outlaw, with a quiet bow; then he looked again at
the fair young face that had caused his downfall.
"Miss Meredith," he said, "you have repaid my kindness to you last
night with the basest ingratitude. It was love for your beautiful face
that led me here to-night. I have lurked in the shadows for hours
watching your happiness, and unselfishly rejoicing in your unclouded
joy. But your cruelty has awakened the sleeping tiger in my heart.
Henceforth beware the name of Gerald Huntington! I swear to you that
sooner or later I will take a terrible revenge for this injury!"
"Do not be frightened at the villain's threat, Miss Meredith," said a
gentleman, kindly, as they led the captive away. "He will not have the
chance to harm you. They will be sure to send him to the penitentiary
for life."
Jaquelina looked startled.
"Will the punishment, indeed, be so severe?" she cried. "I did not know
that! I only thought----"
"Do not begin to repent of your brave deed, Miss Meredith," cried
Walter Earle, gayly, at her side. "Of course he will go into
imprisonment for life, or for a very long term of years, certainly--and
deserves it, too, the handsome rascal!"
"Then you do not think I acted wrong?" said Jaquelina, almost piteously.
"Wrong! no, indeed!" said Walter Earle. "I think you are a perfect
little heroine."
"So do I," "And I," "And I," cried a score of voices; but Ronald
Valchester, whose opinion she longed to hear, was gravely silent.
No one could induce the gifted student to utter his opinion on that
one subject--whether or not Jaquelina had treated Gerald Huntington
unfairly.
When asked about it afterward, as he often was, he distinctly and
invariably declined to discuss it.
Walter Earle, his dear friend, could not chaff him into betraying
himself.
Violet, though she coaxed and teased bewitchingly, could not charm his
thoughts from him. He kept his opinion to himself.
The delightful party broke up in a whirl of excitement. More than half
the young men went away with the squad that guarded the prisoner,
anxious to see him placed in safe custody.
Others hurried home to carry their friends the welcome news of the
dreaded horse-thief's capture.
Walter Earle drove Jaquelina home in his mother's pretty little basket
phaeton.
Mr. Meredith was awake, and in answer to his question his niece told
him it had been a pleasant party, but she did not tell him what he
would have been delighted to hear, namely, that the outlaw chief had
been captured.
She went to her room, laid aside her mother's wedding-dress, and put
away with the ring and locket the withered passion-flowers that Ronald
Valchester had gathered for her.
"I will keep the flowers in remembrance of to-night," she said,
artlessly. "It would have been the happiest night of my life," she
added, "if only----" a vague sigh followed the broken sentence.
CHAPTER IX.
Jaquelina was lying at ease under her favorite apple tree the next
afternoon when the murmur of voices roused her.
She lifted her head, and saw Walter and Violet Earle with Mr.
Valchester.
"I knew we should find you here," said Violet, with her soft laugh. "I
have heard about your pretty retreat under the apple trees."
She did not say that she had come straight there, feeling quite sure of
catching Jaquelina at a disadvantage.
Violet would not have owned to herself that she was prompted by a
spiteful little feminine instinct. But she gave Ronald Valchester an
arch little smile that said plainer than words:
"Did I not tell you the truth? Is not the little beauty of last night
brown, awkward and shabby to-day?"
Violet herself looked as fair and pure as a lily in her cool, white
dress and white chip hat with its delicate wreath of violets.
She had some violets fastened with the lace at her throat, and they
were just the color of her eyes.
She was fully conscious of the pleasant fact that though Jaquelina
had rivaled her last night, she had a very decided advantage over her
to-day.
But men never _do_ see with woman's eyes. Ronald Valchester only saw
that the _brune_ skin was glowing with the rosy tint of health, that
the careless, boyish locks of chestnut hair had caught and held some
stray gleams of summer sunshine, that the brown hands were slender and
delicately formed.
He noticed, too, that the girlish form, guiltless of stays or laces,
was very graceful with the willowy lightness and roundness so lovely in
youth.
But he never realized at all, until he heard Violet telling her mamma
at tea that night, that "poor Lina Meredith had on a faded and darned
calico, and worn-out boots with half the buttons gone."
Jaquelina had been reading a book of poetry, and some of the dreaminess
still lingered in her eyes as she rose to greet her visitors.
A half wish darted into her mind that they had gone into the house at
first, that she might have slipped into the back way and donned her
Sunday dress, but no one guessed the thought, not even Walter Earle,
who said, with a careless laugh:
"Ah! Miss Cinderella, we have caught you without your ball-dress
to-day. Where are your diamond ring and gold locket?"
Jaquelina looked at them a little surprised.
"I have put away the ring and locket," she said. "I do not wear them
usually; they belonged to my mother."
Then she added, a little shyly and anxiously:
"Will you come into the house and see Aunt Meredith?"
"Thanks--no," answered Violet, promptly. "It is so pretty out here in
the orchard, we would rather stay."
She fluttered down to a seat at the root of the great apple tree,
making a pretty picture with the low boughs bending above her head.
Valchester had already taken a seat and possessed himself of
Jaquelina's worn poetry volume. He immediately became lost in its
pages.
Walter Earle groaned.
"What has the book-worm got hold of now?" he inquired.
Violet moved a little nearer--near enough to look over at the open
volume.
"Favorite poems by favorite authors," she replied.
"Is that your daily reading?" asked Walter of Jaquelina.
"Yes," she admitted.
"Are you fond of poetry?" Violet asked her.
"Yes," she said again, demurely.
"You should ask Valchester to show you his volume of manuscript
poetry," said Walter, laughing. "He is a very untiring and voluminous
poet--I might say a second Byron!"
Valchester looked up, flushed and confused--evidently annoyed. He was
about to speak when Jaquelina broke out reproachfully:
"Oh! Mr. Valchester--I asked you--and you denied it!"
"Asked him what?" cried Walter, enjoying the situation immensely.
"If he was a poet," said Jaquelina, breathless, "and he said----"
"That no one ever accused me of it," said Valchester. "I confess to
some rhymes, Miss Meredith, but to be a poet--a real poet--means more
than that."
"Miss Lina, it is only modesty that makes him talk so," said Walter,
laughingly. "He has written some very readable rhymes, I assure you."
"Miss Meredith, I hope you will not give credence to Walter's idle
gossip," exclaimed Ronald Valchester, really distressed now. "It is as
I told you just now, I have rhymed some--I confess it. Of course my
verses sound well to Earle--he has not the slightest taste for poetry.
True poetry and real doggerel would be alike to him. But the critics
might tell me to----"
"Return to your gallipots, as they told the poet-apothecary," laughed
Earle.
"Yes," said Valchester, and returned to his reading.
"Read aloud to us," said Violet. "Should you not like that, Lina?"
"Very much," she replied, and her dark eyes brightened at the thought.
"Then I will read on from where we interrupted you," said Valchester,
looking at Jaquelina. "Which poet was it, Miss Meredith?"
"Longfellow--it was Hiawatha's Wooing," she said, and blushed, though
she did not know why, at Violet's laugh.
"And you left off--where?" inquired Valchester, holding the open book
toward her.
Jaquelina leaned forward a moment, turned a page with her brown
forefinger, and showed him the verse.
She did not know why her breath came quicker for an instant as his
white hand touched hers quite accidentally, but Violet Earle saw the
swift color rise into her cheek.
It was a beautiful scene. The day was so bright and golden, the grass
so green, the clover blossoms and the orchard blooms were so sweet,
and the quartette under the apple tree were so young and so happy.
Sorrow had never touched them with her gloomy finger. It was one of
those "hours we frame in gold--pictures to be remembered."
Valchester read on in his deep, sweet voice that seemed to blend
harmoniously with the warble of the birds and the myriad sweet voices
of nature:
"Pleasant was the journey homeward!
All the birds sang loud and sweetly
Songs of happiness and heart's ease;
Sang the blue bird, the Owaissa:
'Happy are you, Hiawatha,
Having such a wife to love you!'
Sang the robin, the Opechee:
'Happy are you, Minnehaha,
Having such a noble husband!'
"From the sky the sun benignant
Looked upon them through the branches,
Saying to them: 'Oh, my children,
Love is sunshine, hate is shadow;
Life is checkered shade and sunshine;
Rule by love, oh, Hiawatha!'
"From the sky the moon looked at them,
Filled the lodge with mystic splendors,
Whispered to them: 'Oh, my children,
Day is restless, night is quiet,
Man imperious, woman feeble;
Half is mine, although I follow,
Rule by patience, Laughing Water!'"
"It is very beautiful," said Valchester, shutting the book and glancing
round quickly, so as to catch the expression on each face, "but I will
not read anymore. I see that Walter looks bored, and Miss Earle as if
she would rather talk to Miss Meredith about the party last night."
"I am dying to ask her if she enjoyed it all," said Violet, piqued that
he had read her indifference to poetry, yet carrying it off with cool
self-possession; "did you, Lina?"
Jaquelina looked up with a start, her dark eyes soft and dreamy. In
fancy, she was still following the young brave, Hiawatha, as he bore
his bride homeward.
"Through interminable forests,
Over wide and rushing rivers."
"Oh! yes, it was delightful," she said, and a smile chased the
momentary dreaminess away. "I enjoyed it all very much, except,
perhaps, just at the last."
"I should have thought you would have enjoyed that most of all," cried
Walter Earle. "Do you know, Miss Meredith, that you are quite a heroine
all over the country this morning. Your presence of mind and daring
are on every lip. The farmers breathe freely once more. You have not
only earned the reward of two hundred dollars, but you have won the
admiration and gratitude of all who have heard of it. By to-morrow
morning you will find yourself in all the newspapers."
"'You will wake up and find yourself famous,'" quoted Violet, laughing.
But Jaquelina did not look elated at their words. A shadow seemed to
fall over the brightness of the arch, brunette face. She glanced at
Ronald Valchester shyly. His face was perfectly non-committal.
"I do not know whether to be ashamed or proud," she said, frankly.
"Gerald Huntington seemed to think I had taken an unfair advantage of
him. But to tell the truth, I have brooded so much and so ardently
over his capture that I was wild with delight at the idea of its
possibility. I forgot gratitude and everything else in the moment when
I frantically clutched him--forgot everything but the offered reward."
"I did not know you were so mercenary, Lina," said Miss Earle, laughing.
Jaquelina looked abashed for a moment, then she answered, without
looking up, and almost pleadingly:
"You see, Violet, I needed two hundred dollars so very, very much."
"For what?" said careless, thoughtless Walter. "To buy a silk dress, or
a watch, or a pair of diamond earrings?"
"Neither," she answered, half vexed, half smiling. "I wanted it to buy
an education."
Walter and Violet laughed. Valchester looked surprised a moment, then
smiled a smile of sweet approval.
"I thought you were--educated," said Walter.
She was about to reply when Mrs. Meredith's shrill, peculiar call was
heard from the house:
"Jack-we-li-ner! Jack-we-li-ner!"
Jaquelina's face faded in a frown of shame and annoyance. She rose,
with a hurried excuse, and, promising to return, went to the house.
"Aunt Meredith, I have company," she said, a little impatiently, to the
red-faced, cross-looking woman in the doorway.
"Where?" asked Mrs. Meredith, looking around, bewildered.
"Out in the orchard--Miss Violet Earle, with her brother and his
friend," said Jaquelina. "I should like to go back if you can spare me."
"I _can't_ spare you. I want you to tend Dollie while I run over to
Mrs. Brown's on a matter of business," Mrs. Meredith said sharply.
"Can I take Dollie to the orchard with me? It is very warm and sunny
there," said Jaquelina, timidly.
"Yes, take her if you choose--I don't care," said her aunt, as she
slipped on her sunbonnet and hurried off to a gossiping neighbor's.
CHAPTER IX.
Jaquelina took the heavy child in her arms and went slowly back to the
orchard.
"That inevitable Dollie," said Violet, warmly, as she saw her coming.
"It's a shame that Mrs. Meredith does not hire a nurse for that great,
fat child! I am sure if I were Jaquelina I would not be forced to carry
it round."
"It _is_ a shame," echoed Walter. "She is so slender she almost
staggers beneath its weight."
But it never occurred to him to go and relieve her of the burden. It
would have seemed superlatively ridiculous for him, the gay, handsome
young dandy, to have carried chubby little Dollie Meredith up the hill,
even to save a pretty girl's arms from aching.
He was surprised and vexed when Ronald Valchester rose and sauntered
down the grassy orchard slope to meet Jaquelina.
"What is Valchester up to now?" he said, gnawing the ends of his fair
mustache, jealously.
"Miss Meredith," said Valchester, with quiet courtesy, "allow me to
carry the child for you. You are not strong enough for such a burden."
"No, thank you," she said, nervously, "I am quite accustomed to it you
see, and----"
But all further remonstrance was cut short by Mr. Valchester's decisive
action. He took the child gently but firmly from her arms and walked
up the slope with it, for "all the world," as Violet rather acidly
remarked to her brother, "like a country booby going to meeting with
his wife and child."
"Val, I only wish that Millard could get a glimpse of you now!" called
out Walter, laughing.
"Who is Millard?" Violet queried.
"Oh! one of our class-mates--an artist of no mean merit either. How
delightfully he would caricature Valchester's appearance now."
Valchester did not seem disturbed by the playful hit. He sat
Dollie down in the long grass and filled her fat little hands
with pink-and-white clover heads. Jaquelina sat down beside her,
apprehensive that she would cram the blossoms into her ever-open mouth
and choke herself.
"And you will spend the two hundred dollars reward you will receive for
the capture of the outlaw chief on your education, Miss Lina?" said
Walter, resuming the conversation where it had been interrupted by the
curt summons of Dollie's mother.
"Yes," Jaquelina answered, simply.
"And then?" said Walter Earle.
"Then," she answered hopefully, and a little eagerly, "I hope I shall
leave the farm and earn my own living somewhere. I am ambitious of
becoming a governess."
"A vaulting ambition," said Violet, with a light laugh.
"Not very," said Lina, with a gentle innocence and gravity that checked
Violet's delicate sarcasm. "It will be better than the farm, that is
all."
"Mr. Valchester, here is a four-leaved clover for you," said Violet.
"Take it and keep it. It may bring you good luck."
"Thank you," he said, and took it carelessly and held it between his
long, white fingers. A little later, when no one was looking, he shut
it inside the leaves of Jaquelina's book.
"You have given the clover to one who could not appreciate good luck if
it came to him," laughed Walter. "Valchester has known nothing else all
his life. He is fortune's favorite."
"I think you are, too, Mr. Earle--you and Violet," Jaquelina said,
gently.
A faint sigh quivered over her lips as she spoke. She looked at these
three in their costly apparel and with their bright, happy faces, and
it seemed to her as if they belonged to quite a different world from
her own. They were fortune's favorites, all of them.
"Thank you," said Walter, smiling, "I hope the fickle goddess will
always be kind to me."
Then Violet rose, shaking out the apple blossoms that had fallen into
the folds of her dress, and declared it was time to go.
"We came to ask you to go boating with us," said Walter, "but I
suppose," with anything but a loving glance at innocent Dollie, "it
would be no use."
Jaquelina's eyes brightened, then saddened again almost pathetically.
"No, for Aunt Meredith has gone away," she said. "I could not go
to-day."
In her keen disappointment she was quite unconscious how much pathetic
emphasis she laid upon "to-day."
"To-morrow, then?" said Walter, instantly. "Could you not slip away
from that terrible Dollie to-morrow?"
She looked at him, her eyes shining, her lips trembling with pleasure.
"Yes, if you went at noon," she said; "if later--no."
"Why not later?" asked Violet, curiously.
"Because I must help with the milking then," she answered, simply.
"We will go at noon, then," said Walter at once. "We will call for you
punctually, and you must be ready."
"Young ladies are never ready when called for," said Ronald Valchester,
with his slight smile.
"I will prove the exception to the rule," Jaquelina answered, brightly,
while Violet said to herself in wonder:
"_What_ in the world will she wear? I _do_ wonder why mamma insists
upon having us patronize Jaquelina Meredith. She is not in our set, and
she hasn't a decent thing to wear! It is strange she doesn't have the
good sense to understand it herself and decline our invitations."
Violet said the same to herself the next day when she went upon the
river.
Violet had on a lovely boating-suit of blue serge, and a leghorn sailor
hat set coquettishly on her golden locks.
Jaquelina wore her simple pink-dotted calico dress, with a white
ruffled apron tied about the slim, round waist, "for all the world," as
Miss Violet said to herself, pityingly and half-disdainfully, "like a
parlor-maid."
She had caught up an old straw hat of her uncle's and fastened it on
her head with a strip of velvet ribbon passed over the top and tied
beneath her chin. It looked quaint and picturesque, and a more charming
face than the one it framed could not have been imagined. The bright,
dark eyes, curtained by such inky, sweeping lashes, would in themselves
alone have made a plain face beautiful, but Jaquelina had delicate,
well-cut features, and lovely scarlet lips, parting over small,
regular, white teeth. No amount of shabby dressing could have made her
a fright or a dowdy with that radiant face. The _brune_ tint, acquired
by the too ardent kisses of the wind and sun, marred it a little, but
the soft, rich color in her cheeks almost atoned for the fault.
It was a lovely day and a lovely river. The bending trees overhung the
green, flowery banks and threw their long, grateful shadows across the
sunny water. It was so clear you could see the pebbles in the bottom
and the silvery little fish darting to and fro.
Walter and Valchester took turns in rowing. Sometimes they would suffer
the boat to drift at its will while they chattered and laughed in the
gay thoughtlessness of youth.
Long afterward, when winter was in the sky and the clouds of sorrow
overhung their lives, they looked back upon these two days--this one
upon the river and yesterday beneath the blossoming apple-boughs--as
golden days that were like beautiful pictures set in their memory.
The next day Walter Earle and his friend went back to the University.
Walter Earle had talked a great deal about Jaquelina Meredith since the
night of the lawn-party. He saw that his mother was not displeased at
his admiration of the lovely orphan girl.
"I admire Miss Meredith very much," he said, in his frank way. "I think
she is very beautiful--do not you, Val?"
"She is--fascinating," said Ronald Valchester.
Violet looked up quickly.
"Fascinating," she said. "What do you mean by that, Mr. Valchester? I
do not exactly comprehend. Is it more--or less--than beauty?"
"I think it is more," he replied.
"More?" said Violet. "What could be better than beauty, Mr. Valchester."
"The power to win," said Valchester. "I have seen some very beautiful
women whom I did not admire. They lacked that _je ne sais quoi_, which
is so strong in Miss Meredith that I could fancy one might even admire
her against his will."
"You mean the charm of the serpent," said Violet, innocently.
"No, I did not mean that in the least," said Valchester.
He bit his lip as if the suggestion did not please him.
"There is nothing serpent-like about Miss Meredith. She seems a gentle,
fresh-hearted girl; but I do not believe I could quite define my
impressions"--abruptly--"will you excuse me from trying?"
"Certainly," she answered, carelessly, to hide a certain girlish pique,
while Walter said, gaily:
"You are too dignified to get down to the level of Violet's
understanding, Val. Let me explain. He means, in college parlance, sis,
that Miss Meredith has a taking way with her."
"Thank you; I quite understand," said Violet, with dignity.
She went out of the room, and the subject was not resumed.
There had been some talk of their going over to the farm to bid Miss
Meredith adieu, but the project was tacitly dropped.
They returned to college that night, but without seeing Jaquelina.
One week afterward a huge box of books was forwarded to the girl, over
which she went almost wild with joy.
All the best of the poets, ancient and modern, were there, in fine and
elegant bindings, and profusely illustrated. In the first volume she
opened was a card.
"The compliments of Ronald Valchester."
Jaquelina studied the beautiful chirography of the student admiringly
for awhile; then she laid it away with the withered passion-flowers in
the box with her dead mother's jewelry.
After several days of passionate delight over the books, Jaquelina
remembered that she had not thanked the sender.
Soon afterward a little white note found its way to the University.
Ronald Valchester read the few lines it contained many times; but he
must have forgotten to show it to Walter Earle, for the latter never
heard of it.
"MR. VALCHESTER:--A thousand thanks for the books. You have made me
very happy.
"JAQUELINA MEREDITH."
That was all she said, but it pleased Ronald Valchester, though the
University students unanimously agreed that he was hard to please and
fastidious to a fault.
The note was well-written, in a clear, refined hand. It pleased his
whim to put it away carefully.
There was one thing Ronald Valchester did not like. It was to read in
the newspapers the glowing accounts of the outlaw's capture by a young
girl. The students were all quite wild over it.
Walter Earle had described it to them in the most enthusiastic terms,
and they would have liked nothing so well as to meet the dark-eyed
young heroine. But Ronald Valchester was exceedingly sorry that the
story had gotten into the papers.
After awhile the newspapers chronicled the fact that Gerald Huntington
had been tried and convicted, and that his counsel had obtained a new
hearing in his case; but it was thought that he could not escape being
sent to the penitentiary for a long term of years. It was feared by
many that the hot-headed Virginians would mob him.
* * * * *
The months flew swiftly past. At the close of the college session,
Walter Earle and Ronald Valchester both graduated with distinguished
honors.
After they separated, each to their homes, Walter wrote to his friend
that Jaquelina Meredith had received the reward of two hundred dollars
for Gerald Huntington's capture, and that she had gone away to enter a
boarding-school at Staunton.
"But I have found out several pretty girls in the neighborhood," wrote
Walter; "so I am trying to console myself for pretty Lina's absence. By
the way, Violet is visiting the Claxtons in your city. Give my love to
her if you see her."
CHAPTER X.
There was another lawn party at Laurel Hill. Again the band was playing
in the summer-house on the lawn; light feet kept time to the merry
dance; lights glimmered in the trees, and the scene was like fairy-land.
More than a year had passed since the last party. The orchards had
bloomed again, and dropped their scented red and white blossoms. The
boughs hung low with gold and crimson globes of fair white fruit. The
timid, tender spring flowers were gone, and summer's glowing beauties
reigned instead.
Since Walter Earle had graduated he and Violet had been traveling in
the South with a party of friends. They had returned now, and this
reception to their young friends had been planned and carried out with
a great deal of interest and pleasure. It was a far more pretentious
affair than the almost impromptu one of last year. Several persons
had come from a distance to attend it. Among the latter was Ronald
Valchester.
Jaquelina Meredith, fresh from her school at Staunton, was there also.
Violet had feebly opposed an invitation to her at first, but her mother
and Walter had promptly overruled her embarrassed objections.
"My dear," Mrs. Earle had said in some surprise, "why do you object to
Lina Meredith? Do you not like her?"
Pretty Violet, grown taller and even more stylish than of old, flushed
and looked annoyed.
"Lina is not in our set," she said, "and she is too poor to get a party
dress; of course she could not come without one."
"She had the prettiest dress at the party last year," said Walter,
warmly.
"That is all you know about it," said Violet, laughingly. "It was her
mother's wedding-dress. She had not a decent thing of her own."
"She can wear her mother's dress again," said Mrs. Earle and her son
simultaneously, and Mrs. Earle added almost pleadingly: "Do let her
come, Violet, she is so young and pretty, and would enjoy it so much."
"And she has so few pleasures," said Walter, with commendable
forethought for such a giddy young man.
"Oh, she can come--certainly," Violet answered coldly. "Only I thought
she would not care to come unless she could appear as others do. Last
year she was quite ignorant, she did not know anything about society.
But now that she has spent a year at boarding-school, she knows, of
course, that a shabby-looking girl is next to nobody. Invite her if you
like, I only wished to spare her feelings."
"I think we should spare her feelings better by asking than by leaving
her out," replied gentle Mrs. Earle.
So the orphan girl was asked, and Mr. Meredith came again and brought
her as before. And Violet was mistaken this time, for Jaquelina had
really something to wear.
This time it was a pretty robe of some soft, thin stuff, silver-gray,
and shining in the moonlight. The neck was cut square, and edged
with some soft, pretty lace. The sleeves were short, and exposed the
perfectly molded arms.
Jaquelina had brightened it here and there with a few vivid scarlet
roses, and the effect was exquisite.
In the flickering light of the lamps, and the softer gleam of the
moonlight, the slight and graceful form seemed to float in a robe of
silvery mist. Violet, in pale blue satin and pearls, felt eclipsed and
resentful again as she had done at the lawn party a year before.
"Lina, where _did_ you get such a pretty dress?" she asked her,
unceremoniously.
"Is it pretty?" asked Jaquelina, pleased. "I bought it at Staunton to
wear at one of our school concerts where I had to sing a part."
"_Can_ you sing?" asked Violet, incredulous.
"A little," admitted Jaquelina, modestly.
"And play?" said Violet.
And again Jaquelina answered shyly:
"A little; only the accompaniments to my songs, you know, Violet."
"Then I shall be certain to call on you to sing and play to-night, and
you must not refuse," said Violet, smiling to herself at the idea of
the singing and playing Jaquelina could have acquired in a year.
She did not look frightened at Violet's words. She simply said that she
would do her best. Violet had no idea what that "best" meant.
"Mr. Valchester is here," she said, after a pause, with a keen glance
at the other. "He came yesterday on purpose to attend our party. But
you have totally forgotten him, I suppose," turning her head a little
sidewise.
"Oh, no; I remember him perfectly well," said Jaquelina, unembarrassed.
"Do you? You have a good memory. I believe you only saw him once or
twice."
"Three times," Jaquelina answered.
"I do not believe he has remembered _you_ so well," said Violet,
arranging her bracelets. "When some one named you this morning at
breakfast, he did not speak of you nor ask any questions. He appeared
calm and uninterested as if you were a stranger."
"He has probably forgotten me," said Jaquelina, quietly, and Violet
could not see any change in the charming face as she spoke the careless
words.
She had changed somewhat since she had been away, and acquired a touch
more of the grave, pretty dignity that had always seemed so natural to
her.
There was a minute's pause while they stood together beneath the arched
lattice work of honeysuckle and roses, like a beautiful picture of
night and morning; the one with her fair, blonde beauty and pale blue
robe; the other in her soft gray draperies, and dusky eyes with that
starry gleam in their darkness.
That thought came into the mind of the gentleman who came up to them
from a side-path, almost abruptly. It was Ronald Valchester.
"Miss Earle," he said, "I think you promised to give me the first
dance."
"I am ready to keep my word," answered Violet, with a brilliant smile.
Then she saw that the blue-gray eyes were gazing intently at her silent
companion.
"Oh, Mr. Valchester," she cried, "I see you have forgotten Lina
Meredith. She was at our party last summer, and went boating on the
river with us one day--don't you remember?"
Some pretty lines somewhere read rushed into his mind. Jaquelina
embodied the thought:
"Sweet face, swift eyes, and gleaming,
Sun-lifted, mingling hair--
Lips like two rosebuds dreaming
In June's sweet-scented air.
Life, when her spring days meet her,
Hope, when the angels greet her,
Is not more calm, nor sweeter,
And love is not more fair!"
He drew a long breath and stepped forward with extended hand.
"Miss Meredith, is it really you?" he said. "You must pardon me that I
did not recognize you on the instant. I had not forgotten you, but you
have changed."
She gave him her slim hand a moment, and would have spoken, but Violet
seemed impatient, and tapped her daintily slippered foot restlessly.
"I hear the first notes of the band," she said. "If we do not hasten
they will make up the dance without me."
Valchester bowed and offered her his arm just as Walter Earle came
hurrying up.
"Miss Lina, will you give me the first dance?" he said; "you owe it
to me, indeed, for I taught you your first steps last year. Do you
remember?"
"As though it were yesterday," she replied, with a smile, as she put
her slight hand on his arm.
In the whirl of the dance Valchester bent his tall head over her a
moment to ask, almost pleadingly:
"Will you give me the next dance, Miss Meredith?"
"Yes," she answered, as their hands met a moment in the giddy turn.
She did not guess how long it seemed to Valchester before the next
dance came.
Walter Earle took her to her seat and lingered beside her until his
friend availed himself of the first notes of the music to come and lead
her away.
"I hoped she had not a partner for this dance," cried Walter,
dolorously. "I meant to sit here and talk sentiment to her. I shall
regret that I taught her the steps since you fellows continually take
her away from me."
"I will sit by you, Walter," said his sister, coming to his side.
There was a smile on her face, but her voice sounded sad or troubled
somehow.
"What, not dancing?" he said, surprised.
"Not this time. I am tired and would rather rest," she answered.
She sat down by his side and laid her white, jeweled hand on his arm.
"Walter, are you in love with Lina Meredith?" she asked him, very low.
Walter started and flushed.
"That's a leading question--rather," he said. "Well, Violet, I
certainly admire her. I have never seen a more charming little girl in
my life."
"Is Ronald Valchester in love with her, too?" pursued Violet, looking
away from him that he might not see how much pain the question had
brought into her eyes.
Walter laughed at the question.
"Valchester in love?" he said. "The idea is too supremely ridiculous to
be entertained. What put such an idea in your head, Vi?"
"I don't know," she said. "Yes, I do, too! Last summer, you know, he
said she was so fascinating."
"So he did--and so she is," said her brother. "But in love! Valchester
is too devoted to his books and his esthetic fancies to fall in love
with anything less ethereal than the muse of poetry."
"If you are in love with Lina Meredith, why don't you propose to her
and have the matter settled?" she asked, petulantly.
"I didn't know you were anxious to have Lina Meredith for a sister,"
said Walter, staring.
"I should be very pleased," said Violet, desperately, and she spoke the
truth.
She knew that Jaquelina was good and pretty. She had nothing against
her except her vague jealousy of Ronald Valchester.
"If you mean to propose for her, pray do so at once, and let us have
the wedding this fall," said Violet, with feverish impatience.
Meanwhile Jaquelina's partner, with his tall head bent over her, was
saying:
"I had not forgotten you, Miss Meredith, though I seemed startled for
the moment. Did you think I had?"
The dark eyes looked at him in smiling gratitude.
"I know that you remembered me kindly once, at least," she replied. "It
was when you sent me the books. Oh, I could not tell you how much I
enjoyed them, Mr. Valchester. You cannot imagine what happiness they
gave me. I could never thank you enough for your kindness."
"If you remembered me kindly a few times it was quite sufficient," he
said. "Did you--Lina?"
"Did I _what_?" said the girl, with a keen shiver of some indefinable
emotion as the low name passed his lips.
"Think of me?" he answered, looking straight into her dark, uplifted
eyes.
"Often and often," she responded, with frank gravity. "You see I had
the beautiful books to recall you to my mind every day. Then one
day when I was looking through the book you read in the orchard, I
found----"
"What?" he asked, as she paused with a pleased smile on her scarlet
lips.
"I found on one page a pressed four-leaved clover. I remembered that
Violet had given you one that day, and I was so pleased," she said.
"Pleased--why?" asked Ronald Valchester.
"That you had given it to me," she answered.
"You are not superstitious enough to believe that the four-leaved
clover brings good luck?" he said, looking at her with a smile in his
twilight-colored eyes.
"Oh, no," she answered, with frank innocence; "I was pleased because I
thought it seemed a silent message from you to me to say that you wish
me well."
CHAPTER XI.
Ronald Valchester was a fine musician, and had a beautiful voice. No
one would sing or play after him usually.
The contrast was too great. Perhaps it was for that very reason that
Violet asked Jaquelina to play directly after Valchester had vacated
the piano-stool after singing an exquisite air from a favorite opera.
For a moment Jaquelina seemed tempted to refuse. The warm color rose
into her cheek as they all looked at her, her scarlet lips trembled,
but Violet said quickly: