"You cannot be cruel. You cannot think it is wrong to meet me. My whole
life, with everything in it, belongs to you. If you told me to lie down
here and die at your feet, I should do so and smile. Why do you say it
is wrong, Marion?"
A lovely, child-like face was raised to the speaker.
"I do not know. I have a vague idea that anything requiring secrecy must
be wrong. Is it not so?"
He laughed.
"No, sweet. What would the great diplomatists of the world say to such a
theory? Rather try to believe that what is stolen is sweet."
She smiled, but the anxious expression still lingered on her lovely
young face. He noticed it.
"As a rule, Marion, you are quite right. Concealments are odious. But
there are exceptions--this is one--I love you; but I am only a poor
artist, struggling to make a name. You, sweet, are rich and beautiful.
From your high estate you smile upon me as a queen might smile on a
subject. You are a true heroine. You are content 'to lose the world for
love.'"
"I am content," said the girl, with a little sigh of supreme happiness;
"but I wish it were all open and straightforward. I wish you would go to
my guardian and tell him you love me. Then tell Miss Carleton. Indeed,
she would not be angry."
"Do you know what would happen if I did as you advise, Marion?" he
asked.
"Nothing would happen," she replied; "and they would be pleased to see
me happy."
"You have to learn some of the world's lessons yet," he said. "If I were
to go to Lord Ridsdale and say to him, 'My Lord, I love your ward and
she loves me,' do you know what he would do?"
"No," she replied, slowly.
"He would send for you at once, and take such measures as would prevent
me from ever seeing you again. If I were to tell him, Marion, we should
be parted forever. Could you bear that, darling?"
"No," she replied, "I could not, Allan. If you think so, we--we will
keep our secret a little longer."
"Thank you," he said, gratefully, kissing the little white hand clasped
in his. "I knew you would not be cruel, Marion. You are so heroic and
grand--so unlike other girls; you would not darken my solitary life for
an absurd scruple--you would not refuse to see me, when the sight of you
is the only sunbeam that cheers my life."
The beautiful face brightened at his words.
"You will write to me, Marion--and, darling, my heart lives on your
words--they are ever present with me. When I read one of your letters it
seems to me your voice is whispering, and that whisper makes the only
music that cheers my day. Tell me in your letters once, and once again,
that you will be my wife, that you will love me, and never care for any
one else."
"I have told you so," she said; "but if the words please you, I will
tell you over and over again, as you say. You know I love you, Allan."
"I know you are an angel!" cried the young man. "In all the wide world
there is none like you."
Then he clasped the little white hands more tightly in his own, and
whispered sweet words to her that brought a bright flush to her face and
a love light to her eyes. She drooped her head with the coy, pretty
shyness of a bird, listening to words that seemed to her all poetry and
music.
It was a pretty love scene. The lovers stood at the end of an
old-fashioned orchard; the fruit hung ripe on the trees--golden-brown
pears and purple plums, the grass under foot was thick and soft, the sun
had set, the dew was falling, and the birds had gone to rest.
The girl, standing under the trees, with downcast, blushing face and
bright, clear eyes, was lovely as a poet's dream. She was not more than
seventeen, and looked both young and childlike for that age. She had a
face fair as a summer's morning, radiant with youth and happiness.
Greuze might have painted her and immortalized her. She had a delicate
color that was like the faint flush one sees inside a rose. She had eyes
of the same beautiful blue as the purple heartsease, and great masses of
golden-brown hair that fell in rich waves on her neck and shoulders.
She was patrician from the crown of her dainty head to the little feet;
the slender, girlish figure was full of grace and symmetry, the white,
rounded throat and beautiful shoulders were fit models for a sculptor.
She had pretty white hands, with a soft, rose-leaf flush on the fingers.
She was a lovely girl, fair, high-bred and elegant, and she gave promise
of a most superb and magnificent womanhood. Such was Marion Arleigh on
this June evening. The young man by her side was handsome after a
certain style; the impression his face left upon every one was that he
was not to be trusted; his dark eyes were not frank and clear, the thin
lips were shrewd, with lines about them that betokened cruelty; it was a
face from which children shrank instinctively, and women as a rule did
not love. They stood side by side under the shade of an elder tree.
Plainly as patrician was written on her beautiful face and figure,
plebeian was imprinted on his. He was tall, but there was no high-bred
grace, no ease of manner, no courteous dignity such as distinguishes the
true English gentleman. His face expressed passion, but half a dozen
meaner emotions were there as well. None were perceptible to the girl by
his side. She thought him perfection and nothing else.
How comes Marion Arleigh, the heiress of Hanton, ward of Lord Ridsdale,
one of the proudest men in England, and pupil of Miss Carleton, to be
alone in the sweet, soft eveningtide with Allan Lyster, whose name was
not of the fairest repute among men?
If Lord Ridsdale had known it, his anger would have been without bounds;
if Miss Carleton had guessed it, she would have been too shocked ever
to have admitted Miss Arleigh in her doors again. How came she there? It
was the old story of girlish imprudence, of girlish romance and folly,
of a vivid imagination and bright, warm poetical fancy wrongly
influenced and led astray. Much may be forgiven her, for lovely Marion
Arleigh, one of the richest heiresses in England, was an orphan. No
mother's love had taught her wisdom. She had no memory of a mother's
gentle warning, or sweet and tender wisdom. Her mother died when she was
born, and her father, John Arleigh, of Hanton, did not long survive his
wife. He left his child to the care of Lady Ridsdale--his sister--but
she died when Marion was four years old, and Lord Ridsdale, not knowing
what better to do, sent his little ward to school. He thought first of
having a governess at home for her; that would have necessitated a
chaperon, and for that he was not inclined.
"Send her to school," was the advice given him by all his lady friends,
and Lord Ridsdale followed it, as being the safest and wisest plan yet
suggested to him. She was sent first to a lady's school at Brighton,
then to Paris, with Lady Livingstone's daughters, then to Miss
Carleton's, and Miss Carleton was by universal consent considered the
most efficient finishing governess in England.
Marion was very clever; she was romantic to a fault; she idealized
everything and every one with whom she came into contact. She had a
poet's soul, loving most dearly all things bright and beautiful; she was
very affectionate, very impressionable, able, generous with a queenly
lavishness, truthful, noble. Had she been trained by a careful mother,
Marion Arleigh would have been one of the noblest of women; but the best
of school training cannot compensate for the wise and loving discipline
of home. She grew up a most accomplished and lovely girl; the greatest
fault that could be found with her was that she was terribly unreal. She
knew nothing of the practical part of life. She idealized every one so
completely that she never really understood any one.
Lord Ridsdale wondered often what he was to do with this beautiful and
gifted girl when her school days were ended.
"She must be introduced to the world then," he thought; "and I fervently
hope she'll soon be married."
But as her coming to Ridsdale House would cause so great an alteration
in his way of life, he deferred that event as long as it was possible to
do so.
When Adelaide Lyster came as a governess-pupil to Miss Carleton's school
Marion Arleigh was just sixteen. Miss Lyster was not long before she
knew the rank and social importance of her beautiful young pupil.
"When you have the world at your feet," she would say to her sometimes,
"I shall ask you a favor."
"Ask me now!" said Marion, and then Miss Lyster told her how she had a
brother--a genius--an artist--whose talent equaled that of Raphael, but
that he was unknown to the world and had no one to take an interest in
his fortunes.
"One word from you when you are a great lady will be of more value to my
brother than even the praise of critics," she would say; and Miss
Arleigh, flattered by the speech, would promise that word should be
spoken. Adelaide Lyster spent long hours in talking of her brother--of
his genius, his struggles, his thirst for appreciation; the portrait she
drew of him was so beautiful that Marion Arleigh longed to know him. Her
wish was gratified at last. The drawing master who for many years had
attended the school died, and Adelaide besought Miss Carleton to engage
her brother. The astute lady was at first unwilling. Allan Lyster was
young, and she did not think a young master at all suitable. But
Adelaide represented to her that, although young, he was highly
gifted--he could teach well, and his terms were lower than most masters.
"There could be no danger," she said, "Miss Carleton's pupils were all
rich and well born--the young artist poor and unknown. They were all
educated with one idea, namely, that the end and aim of their existence
was to marry well, was to secure a title, if possible--diamonds, an
opera box, a country house and town mansion. With that idea engraven so
firmly on heart, soul and mind, it was not possible that there could be
any danger in receiving a few drawing lessons from a penniless, unknown
artist like Allan Lyster."
So Miss Carleton, for once laying aside her usual caution, engaged him,
and Adelaide Lyster told her favorite pupil as soon as the engagement
was made. The governess-pupil had laid her plans well. On her first
entrance into that high school where every girl had either riches,
beauty or high birth, Adelaide Lyster had sworn to herself to make the
best use of her opportunities, and to secure wealth at least for this
her beloved brother. Allan should marry one of the girls, and then his
fortune in life would be made. After passing them all in review she
decided on Marion Arleigh. Not only was she the wealthiest heiress, but
in her case there were no parents to interfere--no father with stern
refusal, no mother with tearful pleadings. When she was of age she could
please herself--marry Allan, if he would persuade her to do so, and then
he would be master of all her wealth. She began her management of the
somewhat difficult business with tact and diplomacy worthy of a
gray-headed diplomatist. She spoke so incessantly of her
brother--praising his genius, his great gifts--that Marion could not
help thinking of him. She studied the character of this young heiress,
and played so adroitly upon her weakness that Marion Arleigh, in her
sweet girlish simplicity, had no chance against her.
When Allan Lyster came, to all outward appearances no one could have
been more reserved; he rarely addressed his pupils, never except on
matters connected with the lesson. He never looked at them. Miss
Carleton flattered herself that she had found a treasure. Allan was not
only the cheapest master she had ever had, but he was also a model of
discretion. Yet none the less had he adopted his sister's ideas and made
up his mind to woo and win Marion Arleigh.
"It is well worth your while to try," said his sister. "There are no
parents to interfere; she will be her own mistress the very day she is
of age."
"But she is only about seventeen now," said Allan; "there will be so
long to wait."
"The prize is well worth waiting for. Half the peers in England would be
proud and thankful to win it. If you play your cards well, Allan, in one
way or another you must succeed. Let me tell you the most important
thing to do."
"What is that?" he asked, looking admiringly into his sister's face.
"Persuade her to write to you, and mind that her letters to you contain
a promise of marriage. Do you see the importance of that?"
"You are a clever woman, Adelaide; with you to help me I cannot fail."
And he did not fail. Adelaide had arranged her plans too skillfully for
that. She began by saying how much Allan admired Marion; then, seeing
the idea was not displeasing to the young heiress, she gradually told
her how he was certain to die of love for her.
If a wise mother had trained the girl, she would have been less
susceptible; as it was, the notion of a handsome young artist dying for
her was not at all unpleasant. She was seventeen, and had never had a
lover. Other girls had talked about their flirtations; nothing of the
kind had ever occurred to her. True, whenever she went out she could not
help noticing how men's eyes lingered on her face; but that one should
love her--love her so dearly as to die for her, was to her romantic
imagination strange as it was beautiful. Adelaide Lyster could play upon
her feelings and emotions skilfully as she played upon the chords of a
piano.
"I was saying to Allan yesterday how sorry I am that he ever came to
Miss Carleton's. What do you think he said?"
"I cannot tell," replied Miss Arleigh, her beautiful young face flushing
as she spoke.
"He said, ah! that he would rather love you unhappily than be blessed
with the love of a queen; he would rather look upon your face once than
gaze for years on the loveliest of all created women. How he worships
you! Are all men of genius destined to love unhappily, I wonder?"
"Is he so very unhappy?" asked the young lady, sadly.
"Yes; I do not believe he knows what peace or rest is. He never sleeps
or enjoys himself as other people do."
"Why not?" asked the girl, to whom this flattery was most sweet and
pleasant.
"His life is one long thought of you. If you were poor, he would not
mind; there would be some hope of winning you; he would not let any
other barrier than riches stand before him--that is one that honorable
men cannot climb."
"I do not see it," said Miss Arleigh.
"Because you do not know the world. You are so noble in mind yourself,
you do not even understand want of nobility in others. Do you not know
that there are many people who would pretend to love you for the sake of
your fortune?"
"I wish I had no fortune," said the young girl, wistfully. "How shall I
know, Adelaide, when any one loves me for myself?"
"When they are, like Allan, willing to die rather than to own their
love; willing to suffer everything and anything rather than be
suspected of fortune-hunting."
"No one could suspect your brother Allan of that."
"No one who knows him. But, Miss Arleigh, what would your guardian, Lord
Ridsdale, say--what would Miss Carleton say--if Allan went to them, as I
know he wants to do, and asked permission to work for you, to try and
win you? Listen to me--I am telling you the truth. They would not be
content with insult, with dismissing him ignominiously, but they would
mar his future. You do not know the power vested in the hands of the
rich and mighty. An artist must court public opinion, and if one in the
position of Lord Ridsdale was his determined enemy and foe, he could
expect nothing but ruin."
"That is not fair," said the heiress, thoughtfully.
"Then again, if you were to tell Miss Carleton, she would dismiss my
brother, she would complain of him, she would ruin him as completely as
it was in human power to do so. The world is not generous; it is only
noble souls that believe in noble souls. Such people as those would
always persist in considering Allan a fortune-hunter and nothing more."
All of which arguments Miss Lyster intended to impress upon her pupil's
mind, for this one great object of keeping Allan's wooing a secret. If
that could be until Miss Arleigh was twenty-one, and then she could be
persuaded into marrying him, their fortunes were made.
That was her chief object. She knew Miss Arleigh was naturally frank,
open and candid; that she had an instinctive dislike of all underhand
behavior; that she could never be induced to look with favor on anything
mean; but if the romance and generous truth of her character could be
played upon, they were safe.
She had the gift of eloquence, this woman who so cruelly betrayed her
trust. She talked well, and the most subtle and clever of arguments came
to her naturally. Her words had with them a charm and force that the
young could not resist. Let those who misuse such talents remember they
must answer to the Most High God for them. Adelaide Lyster used hers to
betray a trust, that ought to have been held most sacred. She cared
little how she influenced Marion's mind. She cared little what false
notions, what false philosophy, what wrong ideas, she taught her,
provided only she could win her interests, her liking and love for
Allan.