"MY QUEEN ROSE OF THE ROSEBUDS."
The Countess of Linleigh sat anxiously watching the fair face of Lady
Doris. All was going on well at Linleigh. The gentle, stately countess
was already half worshiped there. The earl considered himself the
happiest of men. One conversation had both pleased and touched Lady
Linleigh. When she had been at home some days she fancied Mattie looked
grave and almost sad. She had been thinking seriously about the
girl--whether it was advisable to ask her to remain with Lady Doris as
friend and companion, or whether it would be better to permit her to
return to Brackenside. The earl had spoken of their going to London in
May, if they did so, could Mattie go with them? Would it not be rather
cruel than kind to give her notions, or accustom her to a life which it
would be impossible for her to lead?
The countess saw Mattie walking one morning in the early spring alone,
with a most thoughtful look on her face, and she went to her.
"I have been looking for early violets," said Mattie, glancing with a
smile at Lady Linleigh, "in that pretty little dell--Thorny Dell, Doris
calls it. The air is filled with their fragrance, yet I cannot see them.
At Brackenside, at this time, the woods are full of them."
The countess laughed.
"There is no place like Brackenside, is there, Mattie?"
"No," replied the girl, earnestly, "none--at least it seems so to me,
because I love my home so very dearly."
Then Lady Linleigh placed her hand caressingly on the girl's shoulder.
"Mattie," she said, gently, "you were looking very sad and thoughtful a
few minutes since. What were you thinking of?"
"Home--and Earle," was the frank reply.
Lady Linleigh was half startled.
"What about Earle?" she asked.
The brown eyes were raised wistfully to hers.
"Earle will be so unhappy, Lady Linleigh, without Doris. No one
knows--no one can imagine how he loves her. I cannot think what his life
is without her."
"But he will not be without her long," said the countess. "Did you not
know that he was coming here in February?"
She saw a rose-colored flush underneath the brown skin; she saw a
sudden warm light in the brown eye; and without a word, almost by
instinct, the Countess of Linleigh guessed the girl's secret, and how
dearly she loved Earle.
"Coming here!" repeated Mattie. "I am so glad!"
"So am I," added Lady Linleigh. "I have the highest opinion of your
friend Earle."
She did not know how grateful those words were to the girl, who never
heard Earle spoken of save as Doris' own peculiar property. "Her
friend!" She could have blessed Lady Linleigh for it. The words seemed
to have made that sweet spring sunshine brighter in some strange, vague
way--the odor of the hidden violets and the sound of Earle's voice
seemed to harmonize.
"And you yourself, Mattie," said the countess, more touched than she
cared to own by that unconscious revelation--"would you be happier to
remain here, or to go home? You shall decide for yourself, and do which
you will."
"My place is home," was the simple reply. "I have seen my dear Doris
happy. I shall always be able to picture to myself what her manner of
life is like. I shall know that Earle is content, being with her; so
that it seems to me now my place and my duty alike are at home."
"I think you are right, dear child," said the countess.
She had read the girl's secret rightly, and knew that, from
henceforward, for Mattie Brace, there would be but one consolation, and
that she would find in doing her duty.
"You would like, perhaps," she added, "to wait and welcome Earle?"
But Mattie remembered how many things he would require, what
preparations would be necessary for a visit to Linleigh Court; and she
divined, with the rapidity of thought natural to her, that she must go
home and help Earle. Lady Linleigh was infinitely touched by the young
girl's simplicity, her loving heart, her complete sacrifice. Even the
earl wondered how it was that his wife showed such sincere affection for
Mattie.
Mattie went away, and on this morning, some few days after her
departure, Lady Linleigh sat anxiously watching the face of the
beautiful Doris. Had she any heart, or was she a true Studleigh? The
countess had been thinking of her all the morning, for at breakfast-time
the earl, with a smile of happiness, had given her a letter, saying:
"This is from Earle; how he loves Doris. He is coming to-day."
Lady Linleigh's thoughts had flown back to the time when she sat with
Doris in the conservatory at the Castle, and had argued so strongly with
her on the point of love. She was disappointed, for the beautiful face
did not brighten, no warmth came into the lovely eyes, when she heard
the announcement of her lover's coming.
"Coming to-day, is he, papa?"
And Lady Linleigh, quick to judge, felt a sure conviction that the tie
which bound Lady Doris to Earle Moray, gentleman and poet, was
burdensome to her.
"Perhaps she is ambitious," thought the countess; "it may be that with
her wealth and title she thinks a marriage with Earle beneath her."
Again she felt somewhat reassured when she saw that Lady Doris took some
pains to please her lover. He was to reach Linleigh in the evening.
When the dressing-bell rung, Lady Estelle hastened her toilet, in order
that she might do what she was very fond of doing--spend a short time in
Lady Doris' dressing-room. She loved to see the shining ripples of
golden hair loose and unbound, she liked to watch the glorious face, and
to see the graceful figure arrayed in dress of fitting splendor.
There were times when Lady Doris herself wondered at the great
tenderness of the duke's daughter.
"As fate ordained me a step-mother," she would say to herself with a
smile, "I cannot be sufficiently thankful that she likes me so well."
On this evening Lady Linleigh started with surprise. Accustomed as she
was to the girl's beauty, it had never seemed to her so striking or so
graceful. Lady Doris had indeed arrayed herself so as to charm the eyes
of her lover.
A little cry of admiration came from Lady Estelle; it escaped her
without her knowledge.
Lady Doris looked round with a blush and a smile, and nodded her
graceful head.
"I am being poetical, Lady Linleigh," she said, laughingly. "Earle is a
poet, and I am dressing in character, as a poet's bride, you see."
There was the least possible suspicion of mockery in her words and
laughter, but looking at her, the countess could find no fault. The
tall, graceful figure seemed to rise from clouds of rich white lace; the
white, rounded arms were bare to the shoulder; the graceful neck was
clasped by neither diamond nor pearl; on the white breast a diamond
glittered like flame; the golden hair, with its shining waves, was
beautifully arranged; the little ears were like pink sea-shells; a few
green leaves were carelessly entwined in the golden hair--she looked
like the very spirit of love, beauty and song.
"Then you _do_ care to please Earle?" said Lady Linleigh, as she kissed
the fair face.
"Certainly," was the coquettish reply. "I have no thought of failing,
either."
Even the earl stood and gazed for a few moments in mute admiration of
his daughter's loveliness; then he shook his head, and said, gravely:
"There was no need for it, Doris--no need."
It was characteristic of this father and daughter that they understood
each other perfectly; they were so much alike that the medium of words
was not always required; they seemed to read each other's thoughts by
instinct. While Lady Linleigh stood by, quite ignorant of her husband's
meaning, Lady Doris understood it perfectly. It meant that Earle loved
her already so dearly, there was no need for her to try to win more love
from him.
The earl did not profess to be a man of sentiment. As a rule, he
considered love a kind of weakness to which one was especially liable in
youth, but this wondrous love of Earle Moray's impressed him greatly. He
had decided to drive himself to the station to meet his young guest, to
whom he desired to show all honor; then Lady Linleigh had said it would
be less embarrassing for them to meet alone.
"What a fund of sentiment you have, Estelle," laughed the earl. "By all
means, arrange a _tete-a-tete_ for them. My honest belief is that women
never tire of love-stories."
He did not know how such speeches as these jarred upon the tender,
sensitive heart of his wife. But Lady Linleigh was considerate.
"Doris," she said to the proud young beauty, "it is some time since you
have seen Earle, and he will perhaps feel some restraint in my presence,
and not talk to you as freely as he would in my absence; I will leave
you to receive him."
And Doris laughed with some of the earl's half-contempt for sentiment.
Yet she owned to herself that she was really glad there was no one to
see poor Earle's extravagant delight and wild worship of her.
In the burning intensity of his desire to see her, all other things were
entirely lost. It never occurred to him that the Earl of Linleigh had
purposely put himself to inconvenience to meet him at the railway
station; he never gave even a passing thought to the grand carriage, the
liveried servants, the magnificent mansion; he thought only of
Doris--the birds sang of her, the wind whispered her name. Lord Linleigh
smiled more than once as his remarks were unheard, his questions
unanswered.
After all, there was something very beautiful, half-divine, in such
love. He envied the young poet who felt it and the girl who was its
object. He understood that all the glories of Linleigh were for the
present quite lost on Earle.
When they reached the Court, the earl looked at the poet with a smile.
"If you were an ordinary visitor," he said, "I should suggest the
dining-room and instant refreshment; but knowing you to be far away from
all such earthly matters, I merely mention them. My daughter, the Lady
Doris, is in the drawing-room there--will you join her?"
Earle had longed with the intensity of longing to see her again. His
life had been one long fever, one fire of desire, one constant thought
of her; yet, when he stood once more in her beautiful presence, he was
mute, dumb. She smiled at him, and held out her white, jeweled hands to
him.
"Earle," she said, and at the sound of her voice his whole soul seemed
to wake up. "Earle," she repeated; and the next moment he held those
white hands in his, he drew her to him, he kissed her face, her brow. It
was pitiful to see a strong man's soul so bound down with a mighty love.
"Earle," she repeated a third time, "it is certainly an excellent thing
that I do not wear chignons. How do young ladies manage, I wonder, with
chignons and such a rapturous lover as you. Look at my flowers and
dress; it is not, really, etiquette to kiss any young lady _en grande
toilette_."
He only laughed at the mocking words. What cared he, when his arm was
round her, and he looked into her face again.
"My darling," he said; "my queen rose of the rosebuds."
She laid her hand on his lips.
"That is Tennyson's poetry," she said, "not your own. Are you so very
pleased to see me, Earle?"
"So pleased that I cannot find words--so pleased that the wonder to me
is that I can bear so much happiness."
"If you think you are too happy, Earle, I can soon alter that state of
things," she said, laughingly.
"You cannot alter yourself," he replied. "While you are what you are,
and as you are, I must be the happiest of men--I cannot help it. Mattie
told me that I should find you changed. Why, my darling, you are
beautiful, graceful, noble as a queen. In all the wide world I am quite
sure there is no one like you--none."