Margaret had never been in love. If any one had asked her why not, she
would have said that she was too busy, and hadn't time. Young men had
admired her, and some few, the artists whom she met now and again,
had fallen in love with her, but no one had ever spoken of the great
mystery to her, for there was something about Margaret, with all her
wildness, an indescribable maiden dignity which kept men silent.
Lord Blair had been the first to speak to her in tones hinting at
passion, and it is little wonder that his words clung to her, and
utterly refused to be dismissed from her mind, though she tried hard
and honestly to forget them; even endeavored to laugh at them, as the
wild words of a wild young man, who would probably forget that he had
ever spoken them, and forget her, too, an hour or two after he had got
to London.
But she could not. She said not a word of what had occurred to old Mrs.
Hale, for she felt that she could not have borne the flow of talk, and
comment, and rebuke which the old lady would pour out. It would have
been better if she had spoken and told her all; a thing divided becomes
halved, a thing dwelt upon grows and gets magnified.
Margaret brooded over the wild words Lord Blair had said until every
sentence was engraved on her mind; even the expression of his face as
he stood before her, defiant as a Greek god, got impressed upon her
memory so that she could call it up whenever she pleased, and, indeed,
it rose before her when she did not even wish it.
"This is absurd and--and nonsensical!" she exclaimed on the second day
after his departure, when she suddenly awoke to the fact that she had
been sitting, brush in hand, staring before her and recalling Lord
Blair's handsome, dare-devil eyes, as they had looked into hers. "I am
behaving like a foolish, sentimental idiot!" she told herself, dabbing
some color on her canvas with angry self-reproach. "What on earth can
it matter to me what such a person as Viscount Leyton said to me? I
shall never see him again, and he has probably forgotten, by this time,
that such a person as myself exists! I am an idiot not to be able to
forget him as easily. He behaved like a savage to the very last, and
I would not speak to him again if--if we were cast alone on a desert
island!"
She sprung to her feet with an exclamation of annoyance, and began
bundling her painting materials together, and was in the midst of
clearing up, when she heard a step behind her, and saw the earl.
It was near the dinner hour, and he was in evening dress, for, though
he dined alone, he always assumed the regulation attire; and Margaret,
as she looked at him, could not help noticing the vague likeness
between him and Lord Blair.
"Do I disturb you?" he said, in his low, grave voice, and he paused
with the knightly courtesy for which he was famous.
"No, my lord. I have just finished for to-day," said Margaret, rather
shyly, for she felt his greatness, which spoke in the tone of his
voice, and proclaimed itself even in his gait, and the way he held
himself.
With a slight inclination of his head he came and stood before the
canvas.
A slight expression of surprise came over his face.
"You have made an excellent copy," he said. "I think you are capable of
higher work--original work."
Margaret's face flushed with pleasure, but she said nothing. It was not
for so humble an individual as herself to bandy compliments with so
great a personage as the Earl of Ferrers.
"You have worked hard," he said, looking at her; "not too hard, I hope."
Now Margaret had grown rather pale during these last two days. It had
been one of the results of Lord Blair's passionate words. She did not
sleep much at night, and what with this and dwelling upon the scene
that had passed between them, the roses which Mrs. Hale wished to see
had vanished from her face.
"You are looking tired and pale," said the earl, in a gravely kind
fashion.
"I am quite well, my lord," she said, standing with lowered lids under
the piercing gaze of the dark-gray eyes.
"Yes, it is a very good copy," he said, returning to the picture. "I
should have paid you a visit before; I have not lost my interest in
art, but I have been engaged and indisposed. I have had my nephew with
me," he continued, more to himself than to her--"Lord Leyton." He
sighed. "You may not have seen him?"
"I have seen him, my lord," said Margaret, and for the life of her she
could not help the tell-tale flush rising to her face.
His eyes rested on hers, and seemed to sink to the innermost depths of
her soul.
"Have you spoken to him?" he asked, not angrily, but in the tones a
judge might use.
Margaret's face grew pale again.
"I have spoken to him, my lord," she said.
The earl's face grew stern and he stood perfectly motionless, with his
eyes fixed on her face.
"I am sorry for that."
"Sorry, my lord?" faltered Margaret.
"I am sorry," he repeated. "My nephew, Lord Leyton, is a wicked and
unprincipled young man. He is not fit----"
"Oh, my lord!" said Margaret, all her womanly chivalry rising on behalf
of the absent.
The earl looked at her, his eyes dark and severe.
"He is not fit to hold converse with such as you." Then the look of
grief and surprise seemed to recall him to himself. "No matter. He has
gone. It is not likely that you will see him again----"
"No, my lord," assented Margaret, with simple dignity.
"Let us say no more about him. He has nearly broken my heart; he is the
one thorn in my side," he went on, notwithstanding that he had said no
more should be spoken of the wicked young man. "He is a spendthrift and
a gambler, and----" he stopped, suddenly. "If your work is done, permit
me to walk with you on the terrace; the air is cool and inviting."
"I have finished for to-day, my lord," she said.
He went to the window and opened it wide for her, and held it open
until she had passed out.
It was only to Lord Blair that he was rough and fierce.
"It is a lovely evening," he said, looking out upon the far-stretching
lawns.
Margaret stood beside him in silence.
"What will you do with your Guido when you have finished it, Miss
Hale?" he said, after a moment or two.
Margaret laughed softly.
"I don't know, my lord," she said at last.
"If you will sell it, I will buy it," he said.
Margaret flushed with gratification.
"I do not know its worth, but I will venture to offer you fifty pounds."
"That's a great deal too much, my lord," she said, decidedly.
"I think not," he responded, so quietly that she could say nothing else
beyond "Thank you, my lord!"
"You shall paint another picture for me," he said; "not a copy this
time." He paused a moment, then went on, "Choose some small piece of
woodland scenery and paint it for me, if you will, Miss Hale."
"I will, my lord," said Margaret, gratefully.
Her simple response seemed to please him, and he looked at her
thoughtfully, and with a sad regret. Why had not Heaven blessed him
with a daughter like to this beautiful girl? was passing through his
mind.
Then he said suddenly:
"You have no parents, Miss Hale?"
"No, my lord," said Margaret sadly.
"And you rely upon your own efforts?" he said gently.
"Yes," replied Margaret, "I depend entirely upon my painting, Lord
Ferrers."
"It is not an ignoble dependence," said the stately old man. "You are
happy in being able to rely upon yourself. And you delight in your
work?"
"I am fonder of it than anything else, my lord," said Margaret, with a
smile.
The earl paced toward the broad steps that lead from the terrace to
the gardens, and Margaret, feeling that she must not go until she was
dismissed, walked by his side.
At a turn in the path he stopped short.
"I must leave you now," he said. "Good-bye! Perhaps, some day, you will
be kind enough to give me your company in another stroll. You will not
forget the picture?"
"Oh, no, my lord," said Margaret, dropping a courtesy.
The earl paced slowly to his own apartments, and entering the library,
sat down before the great carved writing-table.
For half an hour he sat musing.
"So young, so innocent, so much at the mercy of the cold, cruel world.
Depends upon her art! Poor child, a frail dependence! Why should I not?
I am rich beyond calculation, as they tell me. Why should I not do one
act of common kindness, and make my money of some use to one deserving
it? Hitherto it has passed, through Blair's hands to blacklegs and
scoundrels."
He drew the paper toward him and took up the pen with an air of
resolution and wrote a note to Messrs. Tyler & Driver, the family
solicitors.
"Gentlemen," he wrote, "add a codicil to my will, bequeathing five
thousand pounds to Margaret Hale, the granddaughter of Mrs. Hale,
who acts as the Court housekeeper.
Very truly yours, FERRERS."
It was an important letter for Margaret, but it bore upon her future
to an extent far greater than would be inferred even by the gift of so
large a sum of money.