THE YEARNINGS OF A MOTHER'S HEART.
The appointment was secured. It was hardly probable that the Earl of
Linleigh should ask anything from the government and be refused. He was
the rising man of the day, and the government was anxious for his
support. He had great influence, and it was all needed. When, therefore,
he made a special application for this choice bit of patronage, it was
agreed on all sides that it would be most unwise to refuse it.
Earle was made perfectly happy. The income of eight hundred pounds a
year did not seem such a great or wonderful thing to him as the fact
that he was a public man, that his footing was firmly established, and
that every day brought him nearer to Doris.
In his simplicity, he often wondered how it was that little paragraphs
continually appeared in the leading papers of the day about him. One
time it was to the effect that it was not generally known that Earle
Moray, Esq., recently appointed to the royal commission service, was the
poet with whose last work all England was delighted. Again, that Earle
Moray, Esq., the poet, intended to contest the borough of Anderley. He
found himself continually mentioned as one of the leading men of the
day, one to whom the eyes of the country turned with hope. Earle could
not imagine how it was, and in his perplexity he spoke of it to Lord
Linleigh.
"If I did not know that it was impossible," he said, "I should imagine
some one was always sending little paragraphs to the newspapers about
me."
"It is the price of celebrity," said the earl. "A man who wishes to
advance with the public must always keep himself before the public eye.
You would be surprised how famous these little paragraphs, as you call
them, have made you already. People often ask me about Earle Moray. You
will have a greater name than this some day, and you will wonder how you
have acquired it."
In the meantime he was wonderfully happy. He was not to commence his
engagement until the middle of April, and the earl insisted upon it that
he should continue at Linleigh Court.
"Lessons in social life are as needful as any others," said Lord
Linleigh. "You cannot do better for the next few weeks than spend as
much time as possible with Lady Estelle. I will introduce you to the
chief magnates of the county; and so you will be acquiring knowledge of
one kind, if not of another."
The next great event was a visit from the Duke and Duchess of Downsbury
to Linleigh Court. The duke had long desired to go, but the duchess,
prouder than himself, constantly refused. At last curiosity prevailed.
Lord Linleigh wrote such glowing accounts of his happiness, and such
descriptions of the beauty of his daughter and the happiness of his
wife, that it was not in human nature to keep away any longer.
Then, indeed, was Lady Doris puzzled. The countess seemed to have but
one anxiety: it was not for herself at all, but for Lord Linleigh's
daughter--that she should look beautiful, that they should admire her,
that she should make the most favorable impression on them, seemed to be
her sole desire. The young beauty was highly amused at it. They were
talking one morning, and Lady Estelle held a long, shining tress of
Doris' hair in her hand.
"I hope," she said, suddenly, "the duchess will admire your hair,
Doris."
"Do you, Lady Linleigh?" was the reply, with a little raising of the
eyebrows. "I am not very anxious about it myself."
"My darling," said the countess, impulsively, "do not say that. I want
my mother to admire and to like, even to love you."
"It is very kind of you, Lady Linleigh, but it is very improbable. I
fancy that I remember her grace. She is very tall and stately, is she
not? with a proud, high-bred face--not handsome at all, but very
aristocratic?"
"Yes," said Lady Estelle, faintly, "that is she."
"Then I am quite sure, dear Lady Linleigh, she will not like me. I must
have been quite a child when you paid that memorable visit to
Brackenside, but I remember her much better than I remember you, and I
am quite sure that she looked as though she would like to shake me."
"But, Doris," said the countess, earnestly, "you must try to make the
duchess like you. You will try, will you not, my dear?"
"Will you tell me why, Lady Linleigh?" asked the young girl.
The countess grew pale and agitated.
"Do it to please me, my darling, because I want her to like you--do it
for my sake. Will you, Doris?"
The girl laughed--a low, rippling laugh, that had no music in it.
"I will do anything, Lady Linleigh--anything to please her, but if my
own mother were living, provided that I loved her myself, I should not
be very anxious for any one else to love her."
Lady Estelle drew back with something like repulsion in her face.
"You are mistaken; you cannot judge. It is only natural that we wish
every one to love and admire what we love ourselves."
Doris looked at her with laughing eyes.
"I cannot see it. I should like every one, for instance, to admire
Earle, but I do not care about any one loving him."
Lady Linleigh sat in silence for some minutes, then looking up, she
said:
"We will not argue over it, my dear child; but you will promise to be
very nice to the duchess, and try to win her liking?"
"Certainly, I promise, Lady Linleigh. Tell me, is the duchess a lady of
great importance?"
"Yes, she is, indeed, she has much influence at court and in society."
"Then I will do all I can, not only to make her like me, but to make her
speak favorably of me. Shall you be pleased, then, dear Lady Linleigh?"
Yes, she would be pleased; but she owned to herself, with a deep sigh,
that it was impossible to arouse any deep or true feeling, any noble
sentiment, any generous idea, in the girl's mind. Appeal to her vanity,
her interest, her ambition, you were sure to find some answering chord.
Appeal to anything else was utterly in vain.
Lady Doris laughed to herself as the countess, with something like
disappointment in her face, quitted the room.
"I have heard the proverb, 'Love me, love my dog,'" she said to herself.
"I never heard, 'Love me, love my mother.'"
Still, the fact that the coming visitor was a duchess, and a person of
very great importance, the wife of one of the wealthiest dukes in
England, was not without its influence on her; she resolved, therefore,
to be most charming and gracious.
She was secretly amused at Lady Linleigh's anxiety over her dress. On
the day when the visitors were expected, she said to her:
"Take great pains with your toilet this evening, Doris--wear that set of
pearls and rubies."
"If the duke were a widower," laughed Lady Doris to herself, "I should
feel sure that the countess wanted me to make a conquest."
She was awed and impressed, in spite of herself, when she stood before
the Duchess of Downsbury. The duke she remembered well; she felt no
especial awe of him; she could tell, from the expression of his face,
that he thought her beautiful. She was accustomed by this time to see
men fall prostrate, as it were, before her beauty, but there was
something in the high-bred, stately duchess before which my Lady Doris
owned herself vanquished. She did not understand the emotion in Lady
Linleigh's face as she led her to the duchess.
"Mamma," she said in a voice that trembled, "this is Lady Doris
Studleigh, my husband's daughter."
The jeweled hands of the duchess trembled as they lay for one half
minute on the golden head.
"I am pleased to see you," she said. "You are very fair; I hope you are
as good as you are fair."
Lady Doris wondered why, for one half minute, every one around her
looked so solemn, why her father's debonair face had lost its color, why
Lady Estelle turned so hastily away, why Earle stood looking on with a
strange light in his eyes. It was droll. Then she dismissed the thought.
They were all more or less sentimental, and there was no accounting for
sentimental people at all.
She was destined the same evening to feel a little more surprised. There
had always been the most perfect harmony and sympathy of taste between
the earl and his daughter, they resembled each other so closely. Lady
Doris felt half inclined to dislike the duchess; her exclusiveness, her
hauteur, awed her after a fashion that was rather disagreeable than
otherwise. As usual, she went to the earl for sympathy.
"Papa," she said, "the worst enemy her grace ever had could not call her
lively."
"She is no longer young; liveliness is one of the attributes of youth,
you know, Doris."
"Yes, but a little more of it would certainly not hurt her, papa."
The earl went to his daughter and laid his hand on her shoulder.
"Doris," he said, "I want to speak to you most particularly, and I want
you to pay the greatest attention to what I have to say."
She looked up in wonder at this preamble.
"Let me impress upon you," he said, "that it is my earnest wish that you
should treat the duke and duchess with all the respect, attention, and
affection that lies in your power. You cannot show them too much, and
the more you show them the better shall I be pleased. They are my wife's
parents."
"I suppose," thought Doris, "he expects they will leave him a fortune.
However, I must trim my bark according to the sea I have to sail on."
So she promised to show all deference, all homage, all respect. She did
so. The duke admired her beyond everything; he thought her one of the
most beautiful, most graceful, one of the cleverest girls he had ever
met. But the duchess did not like her; she had never forgotten her first
impression, that the girl was both vain and wanting in goodness. She
tried to like her, to make the most of her beauty, her talent, but there
was no real warmth in her heart toward her daughter's child. Earle, on
the contrary, won her honest liking. In her own mind, although she knew
that Doris was the daughter of Lord Linleigh, and the descendant of the
Herefords, she thought her inferior to Earle Moray. So this strangely
assorted household remained until the time drew near when the earl
thought of going to London.
The Duke of Downsbury had promised to do his best in helping to forward
the fortunes of Earle Moray. He by this time had recovered from the
shock his daughter's story had inflicted on him; still, he considered it
best, for many reasons, that the secret should be kept. Lady Doris
wondered often how it happened that she was so great a favorite with the
duke. He made her costly and beautiful presents; he liked to ride out
with her; he enjoyed watching her beautiful face.
"Your daughter is unique," he said one day to Lady Estelle, and her face
grew white as she heard the words.
"My daughter!" she repeated. "It seems so strange, papa, to hear that;
no one has ever called her 'my daughter' before."
How the gentle heart yearned over her, the proud young beauty, in the
flush of her triumph, never knew. She looked upon Lady Linleigh's great
love for her as rather tiresome than otherwise; it was annoying to her
that she should be visited every evening, and that the countess should
study so attentively her every look and word. More than once she spoke
impatiently of it to Earle, and wondered that he looked so gravely at
her.
"It seems to me," she cried, "that every one studies Lady Linleigh a
great deal more than they study me."
She wondered why it was that the fair, proud face was always so tender
for her; why the calm eyes always rested on her with a loving light; why
the voice that never varied for others, faltered and grew so loving when
speaking to her. Once or twice it occurred to her that if her own mother
had been living, she could not have shown greater affection for her than
did Lady Estelle Linleigh.