THE LADY ROSE.
"Norston's Rest" was brilliantly lighted, for a dinner-party had
assembled, when its heir drove up in his dog-cart that night, and
leaping out, threw his reins to the groom, with some hasty directions
about to-morrow. It was near the dinner hour, and several fair guests
were lingering on the broad, stone terrace, or shaded by the silken
and lace curtains of the drawing-room, watching for his return with
that pretence of graceful indifference with which habits of society
veil the deepest feeling.
One fair creature retreated from the terrace, with a handful of
flowers which she had gathered hastily from a stone vase, and carried
away when the first sound of wheels reached her; but she lingered in
a little room that opened from the great hall, and seemed to be
arranging her flowers with diligence in a vase that stood on a small
malachite table, when young Hurst came in.
Unconsciously, and against her own proud will, she lifted her face
from the flowers, and cast an eager glance into the hall, wondering in
her heart if he would care to seek her for a moment before he went up
to dress.
The young man saw her standing there quite alone, sweet and bright as
the flowers she was arranging, and paused a moment, after drawing off
his gloves; but he turned away and went up the broad, oaken staircase,
with the thoughts of another face, dark, piquant, and more wildly
beautiful, all bathed in blushes, too vividly in his mind for any
other human features to throw even a shadow there.
The Lady Rose dropped a branch of heliotrope and a moss-rosebud, which
had for one instant trembled in her hand, as Hurst passed the door,
and trod upon them with a sharp feeling of disappointment.
"He knew that I was alone," she muttered, "and passed on without a
word. He saw the flowers that he loves best in my hand, but would not
claim them."
Tears, hot, passionate tears, stood in the lady's eyes, and her white
teeth met sharply for a moment, as if grinding some bitter thing
between them; but when Hurst came down-stairs, fully dressed, he found
her in the drawing-room, with a richer bloom than usual on her cheeks,
and the frost-like lace, which fell in a little cloud over the soft
blue of her dress, just quivering with the agitation she had made so
brave an effort to suppress.
As young Hurst came into the drawing-room, Sir Noel, who had been
talking to a guest, came forward in the calm way habitual to his
class, and addressed his son with something very like to a reproof.
"We have almost waited," he said, glancing at the young lady as the
person most aggrieved. "In fact, the dinner has been put back."
The old man's voice was gentle and his manners suave; but there was a
reserved undertone in his speech that warned the young heir of a
deeper meaning than either was intended to suggest.
Hurst only bowed for answer.
"Now that he has come," the baronet added, smiling graciously on the
young lady, but turning away from his son, "perhaps we shall not be
entirely unforgiving."
Walton Hurst made no apology, however, but offered his arm to Lady
Rose, and followed his father's lead into the dining-room.
It was a spacious apartment, brilliantly illuminated with gas and wax
lights, which found a rich reflection from buffets loaded with plate,
and a table on which gold, silver, and rare old glass gleamed and
flashed through masses of hot-house flowers. A slow rustle of silken
trains sweeping the floor, a slight confusion, and the party was
seated.
During the first course Lady Rose was restless and piqued. She found
the person at her side so thoughtful that a feeling of wounded pride
seized upon her, and gave to her manner an air of graceful defiance
that at last drew his attention.
So Hurst broke from the dreaminess of his love reverie and plunged
into the gay conversation about him. Spite of himself the triumphant
gladness of his heart burst forth, and in the glow of his own joy he
met the half-shy, half-playful attentions of the high-bred creature
by his side with a degree of brilliant animation which brought new
bloom to her cheeks, and a smile of contentment to the lips of the
proud old man at the head of the table. This smile deepened into a
glow of entire satisfaction when the gentlemen were left to their
wine; for then young Hurst made an excuse to his father, and, as the
latter thought, followed the ladies into the drawing-room.
Deep drinking at dinner-parties is no longer a practice in England, as
it may have been years ago. Thus it was not many minutes before the
baronet and his guests came up-stairs to find the ladies gathered in
knots about the room, and one, at least, sitting in dissatisfied
solitude near a table filled with books of engravings, which she did
not care to open; for all her discontent had come back when she
thought herself less attractive than the wines of some old vintage,
stored before she was born.
"But where is Walton?" questioned the old gentleman, approaching the
girl, with a faint show of resentment. "Surely, Lady Rose, I expected
to find him at your feet."
"It is a place he seldom seeks," answered the lady, opening one of the
books with assumed carelessness. "If he has left the table, I fancy it
must have been him I saw crossing the terrace ten minutes ago."
Sir Noel replied, incredulously:
"Saw him crossing the terrace! There must have been some mistake. I am
sure he spoke of going to the drawing-room."
She hesitated.
"He changed his mind, I suppose," she said at last, with a slight but
haughty wave of her hand toward a great bay-window that looked out on
the park. "I saw his face as he crossed that block of moonlight on
the terrace, I am quite sure. Perhaps--"
"Perhaps what, Lady Rose?"
"He has some business at the gardener's cottage. Old Jessup is a
favorite, you know," answered the lady, with a light laugh, in which
the old man discovered the bitterness of latent jealousy.
A hot, angry flush suffused the old man's face; but this was the only
sign of anger that he gave. The next instant he was composed as ever,
and answered her with seeming indifference.
"Oh, yes, I remember; I had some orders for Jessup, which he was
thoughtful enough to take."
The lady smiled again, now with a curve of distrustful scorn on her
red lips.
"Perhaps he failed in giving your message earlier, and in his desire
to please you has forsaken us."
"Perhaps," was the indifferent reply. Then the old man moved quietly
away, and speaking a gracious word here and there, glided out of the
room.
Later in the evening, Lady Rose had left her book of engravings, and
stood shrouded in the sweeping draperies of the great window, looking
out upon the park. Directly she saw the figure of her host gliding
across the terrace, which, in that place, seemed flagged with silver,
the moonlight lay so full upon it. The next moment he was lost in the
blackest shadows of the park.
"He has gone to seek him! Now I shall know the worst," she thought,
while quick thrills of hope and dread shot like lances through her
frame. "I could not stoop to spy upon him, but a father is different,
and, once on the alert, will be implacable."
While these thoughts were in her mind, the girl gave a sudden start,
and grasped at the silken curtains, while a faint shivering came over
her, that seemed like coming death.
For deep in the woods of the park, where the gardener's cottage stood,
she heard the sharp report of a gun.
"Great Heaven! What can it mean?" she cried; clasping her hands. "What
can it mean?"