Miss Fernly had made her resolution. She would interview this man when
he came. She would foil him, this fiend in human form, who would wed
one young and lovely girl after bringing sorrow to another.
When Miss Fernly made up her mind to a course, nothing could change it.
"What I am about to do is for Hildegarde's good," she told herself
grimly. "There will be a few tears at first, but the time will come
when she will thank me with all her heart for saving her from such a
consummate rascal. The woman of our race have never forgiven men who
have deceived other women. Hildegarde should not be an exception to the
rule. She is young now, but when she comes to know more about life she
will thank me for saving her."
"Now," said her aunt, aloud, depositing herself in the nearest chair,
and deliberately removing her hat and mantle, "tell me about this
sweetheart of yours."
Hildegarde came over to the hassock and flung herself down upon it and
looked up with laughing eyes into her aunt's face.
"I sent you his picture," she said, "because you did not seem inclined
to come here to meet him, auntie, so that you could see for yourself
just how he looks. But it does not do him justice," went on Hildegarde,
clasping her hands. "That portrait does not tell you how good and noble
he is, and how much he thinks of me!"
An expression that was almost divine came over the face of Hildegarde
Cramer as she uttered the words in a low, sweet voice.
"Tell me about him," again urged her aunt, anxious to fathom just how
deep was the love the girl bore him.
Should she confide in Hildegarde the story of Ida May, Miss Fernly knew
that the present state of affairs must end.
There were girls who would turn in horror from a man who had done
as cruel a deed as that which was laid at the door of the man whom
Hildegarde was about to marry. But might not Hildegarde cling to him
despite all?
"He is all that is noble," continued Hildegarde, dreamily.
"What if he should cease to love you?" said her aunt.
Hildegarde started; a quiver of pain passed over the lovely face.
"Cease to love me!" she repeated. "Ah! do you know what would happen to
me, auntie, if that were to occur? I should die, that is all. When all
was gone that made life worth living, how could I live?"
"It is not easy to die," said Miss Fernly, huskily.
"It would be easy for me," declared Hildegarde.
"One can not live without a heart, and I have given mine to my love."
She continued to talk of her lover in a sweet, girlish fashion; but
Miss Fernly scarcely heard a word she said, she was so engrossed in her
own thoughts and plans.
"You would be so glad if you knew just how perfectly happy I am,
auntie," she went on, in a half-dreamy fashion. "Why, it doesn't seem
the same world to me. He came into my life as the sun breaks upon the
flowers, suddenly, swiftly, and all at once my life became complete. I
met him on board the steamer. I shall never forget how it came about.
I had just come upon deck, and was about to walk to the railing, when
the ship suddenly gave a lurch and I fell forward. I would have fallen
to the deck had not a young man who was standing near-by sprung quickly
forward and caught me. That was the beginning of our acquaintance. My
mother, who had followed me on deck, thanked him warmly. Love came to
me swiftly. At the first glance, when our eyes met, I knew that I had
met the only one in the world that I could ever love. I loved him then
with all my heart."
"Such a sudden love could not be a happy one; it could not end happily."
The girl smiled.
"In most instances that is the case," replied Hildegarde. "But in
mine--mine--ah, Heaven is to be thanked--mine is to be a happy love,
and will have a happy ending!"
Ah, if she had but known, if she had but guessed the thoughts that
filled Miss Fernly's heart, she might have died then and there.
The sun set, and the dusk crept into the room; but it was a subject
that Hildegarde loved, and she could have talked on forever about her
lover.
"Mamma is quite late in returning," she said, at length. "She may not
even come home to dinner."
This proved to be the case. Hildegarde and her aunt dined alone. She
could not help but notice how her niece watched the clock with the
brightest of eyes, the color deepening on her cheeks.
"I shall want to talk with this lover of yours alone," said Miss
Fernly, a trifle hoarsely.
"Will you want to talk to him long, auntie?" asked her niece, wistfully.
"Yes, an hour, or perhaps two. I ordered my carriage at seven; it will
be here as soon as he arrives. He will drive home with me, and can talk
with me in the carriage."
Hildegarde was a little surprised at this announcement, but it did not
occur to her to offer any objection.
"Ah, here he comes _now_!" cried Hildegarde, blushing furiously, all in
a flutter of delight.
In a moment it seemed to her that her aunt had donned her hat and
mantle. She was at the door as soon as the servant, dragging Hildegarde
by the arm.
Eugene Mallard was surprised to see Hildegarde coming to the door to
meet him. Then his eyes fell upon the tall, austere woman in the rear.
He felt intuitively that this must be the aunt of whom Hildegarde
was always speaking. Even before he heard the hurried words of
introduction, the young man held out his hand with a cordial smile.
"I am most pleased to meet you, Miss Fernly," he said. "I have heard
Hildegarde speak of you so much that I feel as if I really knew and
loved you already."
Was it only his fancy, or was the greeting of Hildegarde's aunt a
trifle chilly?
"You are to accompany my aunt to her home," said his _fiancée_; adding,
with a little twinkle in her eye: "Auntie has something to say to you."
For a moment he looked crestfallen; then he added, gallantly:
"I shall be most pleased. Pray command me, Miss Fernly."
Another moment, and they were seated in the carriage. He began to talk
brightly to his companion; but to his great surprise, she answered him
only in monosyllables.
"I am very much afraid she does not like me," he thought, with some
consternation, and he redoubled his efforts to be agreeable. Any one
who was related in any way to his darling Hildegarde was dear to him.
He was always liked by women; he hoped from the depths of his heart
that this lady would not form an aversion to him. But somehow he felt a
cold, uncomfortable chill creeping over his heart. Was it a premonition
of the evil that was so soon to come?