A BETROTHAL DAY.
Gregory Leslie, seated before his easel, saw the young couple returning
to the house. No need to tell him what had happened. The triumphant
lover was in every line of Earle's face. Gregory Leslie sighed. Earle
had won the most beautiful girl in England for his wife; but the artist
was a deep student of human nature, and he read in Doris a disposition
intensely worldly and selfish, an ambition that nothing could satisfy, a
moral weakness that would break a promise as easily as Samson broke the
seven green withes.
Doris ran away from Earle into the garden, and left him to enter the
house alone. Gregory was the first one he saw.
"Wish me joy!" he cried, exultantly.
"With all my heart. What you have won, may you keep."
"I have no fear," said Earle, the gentleman. "She loves me."
"You have the original; I the picture. This picture will wake the
curiosity of the world," said Gregory, looking at his work.
"But you will not tell who or where is the original? I do not wish my
Doris to be pursued by a crowd of idle, curious people."
"On honor, no," said Gregory, holding out his hand.
Then Earle went on to find Mark and Patty.
Patty heard the news with a bewildered shake of her head.
"There's no counting on Doris," she said. "I thought she was playing
with you. We shall see how it will turn out. I hope you will be happy."
"I am sure they will," spoke up Mattie, and left the room.
"There's your mother to be consulted," said Mark.
"She will be ready for anything that makes me happy."
"And Doris is too young. She cannot be married for a year yet," said
Mark, decidedly. "She must have time to know her mind and to settle
herself. If it were Mattie now, I'd feel different. Mattie is two years
older, and she has a steadier nature."
"But it's not Mattie, thank fortune, for Mattie is my right hand," spoke
up Patty, sharply; for she had read a little of her own child's
cherished secret.
Earle was so overjoyed to get the promise of Doris, that he counted the
year of probation a day, and saw nothing of Gregory Leslie's
incredulity, of Patty's hesitation, of the anxiety of Mark, or of
Mattie's shy withdrawing. These young lovers are selfish, even the best
of them.
Patty roused herself to do justice to the occasion. She set forth a
table with her best damask and the few old pieces of family silver; she
spread out the choicest of her culinary stores, and invited Gregory
Leslie to dine, and Mattie crowned the board with flowers, and put on
her best dress, while Doris played the young _fiancee_ to sweet
perfection. Yet the keen eyes of the artist read not only Mattie's
hidden pain, but Patty's sorrow and anxiety, and saw that Mark was not a
rural father, joyful in a good match for his child, but a man in dire
perplexity, uncertain what was right and wise for him to do.
"This girl and all her surroundings are a mystery," said the artist to
himself.
Earle Moray saw no mystery; all was broad day in the light of his love.
It seemed high noon even, when he went home at night, and the heavens
were lit with starry hosts. Doris had kept him late, not unmindful of
the mother watching alone to hear her boy's tale of wooing, mindful of
her, rather, and finding it a pleasure to tantalize the unknown mother
by a long delay.
But once free of the beguiling voice of his little siren, Earle
remembered heartily his mother, and hurried to her as if his feet were
winged with the sandals of Apollo. He flung open the gate with a crash;
his joyous tread rang on the gravel walk; he dashed into the house, and
into the sitting-room, and dropping on his knees by his mother, clasped
his arms about her waist and cried:
"Mother! she is mine!"
"Heaven bless you, my son!" said his mother; but she sighed.
"You will go and see her, mother, to-morrow? You will see how
wonderfully lovely she is; witty and accomplished, too; you are sure to
be charmed, mother!"
If he had chosen a beggar maid, like King Cophetua, the mother would
have made the best of it. Yet in her secret heart Mrs. Moray thought
Earle too young to marry, and, besides, this girl was very young, and
who knew if she would be a good wife. Earle's poetizing and dreaming
were bad enough, but his love-making was even worse! Still his mother
hid her fears, and sympathized and helped him plan his future, while in
her soul she blessed Mark Brace for that year's delay.
Accustomed from childhood to open his heart to his mother, Earle poured
forth to her the full story of his love, his adoration, his intoxicating
passion for Doris. The mother heard and trembled. His was not the love
of a Christian man for a wife, but of a pagan for the idol in his
shrine. She felt that this love could not be blessed or bring blessing;
it was earthly, infatuated, unreasoning, terrible. She trembled; yet
trembling did not foresee the stormy and dreadful way that this love
should lead her boy, nor in what horror and blackness its grave should
be!
While Mrs. Moray and her son forgot the flight of time, one in anxiety,
the other in overflowing joy, Mark Brace and Patty, at Brackenside Farm,
also kept vigils. They were perplexed to know what was right.
"It was terrible to send us a child in that way," cried Patty. "We
cannot tell what we should do with her."
"I think we can," said Mark. "We were told to do as by our own. We would
give Mattie to Earle, if they both wished it. We can give Doris. No
doubt her mother will be glad to know that she is safe in the care of a
husband."
"But if they come to reclaim her, as I have expected?"
"They gave her to us, unasked, and must abide by our decision. Besides,
here is a year's delay, and the engagement no secret. If the unknown
mother watches her child, let her make known her rights and interfere."
"And the letter said she was of noble blood."
"Earle Moray is a good man, a gentleman, a scholar."
"But what would he think of this secret? They believe Doris to be ours,
the same as Mattie."
"There's the rub," said Mark; "but here, to be honest, we must break
silence. Not to Doris, but to Earle. We must tell Earle and his mother
all the truth that we know. Married life goes ill, Patty, begun in
mystery."
"Possibly Mrs. Moray will not consent."
"I think it will make no difference. If it does, we have done our duty,
and that is all our trouble. I believe her mother is some poor timid
soul, secretly married, and perhaps now dead, and the father also."
Patty sighed, and a look of trouble and conviction was in her face. She
had thoughts about Doris that she did not tell even to Mark.
"Love and trouble always come together," sighed Patty.
"Doris has been a great help to us, as well as a great care," said Mark.
"Her money saved us from ruin, and put us on our feet. I have done
honestly by her, and have not forgotten that she has helped us. But I
admit she fills me with anxiety, and is a strange element in our home.
Once she is well married and gone, I think we shall be very happy
together. I'll save this year's hundred pounds to give her a good
outfit, and give her next year's hundred for a wedding present."
"She has had _all_ the money since she was twelve," said Patty.
"True, but for the first twelve years I did not spend the half of it on
her."
Next day Earle brought his mother, and proudly presented Doris to her.
Mrs. Moray, making allowances for the enthusiasm of a lover, had
expected to find a rosy, pretty country girl. She saw a dainty,
high-bred beauty, of the most exquisite and aristocratic type. She
looked in wonder at Doris, then helplessly at Mark and Patty.
"How little your daughter resembles you!" she cried.
Patty blushed, honest Mark studied the carpet pattern, the pretty lips
of Doris curled scornfully.
Mrs. Moray suspected a mystery. Mark Brace spoke up:
"I'd like a word with you and your son in the garden, ma'am."
Doris watched the three angrily from the window.
"What is father saying that I may not hear? See how oddly Mrs. Moray
looks, and Earle too! What is he saying?"
"Perhaps that he has no fortune to give you," hinted Patty.
"My face is my fortune," cried Doris, pettishly.
"Dear child, do not be so vain! Suppose you lost that fortune."
"Then I'd kill myself. I would not live unbeautiful!"
Poor Patty held up her hands in horror.