PAULINE AND LADY DARRELL.
Pauline communicated her resolution of going to Darrell Court to Miss
Hastings, and that lady looked up in surprise almost too great for
words.
"You are going to Darrell Court to-morrow!" she exclaimed. "It cannot
be, Pauline; you must not travel alone. If you go, I must go with you."
But Pauline threw one arm caressingly round her friend's neck.
"Do not try to stop me," she said, pleadingly, "and let me go alone. I
did a great wrong at Darrell Court, and I must return to set it right.
Only alone can I do that."
"Pauline," asked Miss Hastings, gravely, "do you wish to atone for your
revenge?"
"I do," she replied, simply. "You must let me go alone; and when I come
back I shall have something to tell you--something that I know will
please you very much."
Miss Hastings kissed the beautiful face.
"It is as I thought," she said to herself--"in her case love has worked
wonders--it has redeemed her."
* * * * *
Lady Darrell sat alone in her dressing-room; the autumn day was drawing
to a close. Greatly to her delight and surprise, Captain Langton had
unexpectedly appeared that morning. He knew that in the absence of Miss
Hastings he could not stop at Darrell Court; but he was paying a visit,
he told Lady Darrell, to Sir Peter Glynn, and hoped to see her every
day. He had declined dining at the Court, but promised to spend some
part of the evening there.
Lady Darrell had ordered an early dinner, and sat in her dressing-room
awaiting her maid. Of course she was going to dress for the captain--to
set off her delicate beauty to the greatest advantage. A superb costume
of pale pink brocade, with rich trimmings of white lace, was ready for
her. A suit of pearls and opals lay in their open cases. The room
presented a picturesque appearance of unbounded and splendid
confusion--lace, jewelry, fans, slippers, all kinds of valuable and
pretty ornaments were there; but nothing in that room was one half so
fair as the beautiful woman who sat with a pleased smile upon her face.
Yet there was something like a sigh on her lips. Did he love her? Of her
own feelings she had no doubt. She loved him with her whole heart--as
she had never imagined herself capable of loving any one. But did he
love her? There was somewhat of coldness and indifference in his
manner--something she could not understand. He had greeted her
carelessly--he had bidden her a careless farewell, she said to herself.
Yet he must love her; for the face reflected in the mirror was a very
fair one.
Then she remembered Pauline, and the old wonder came over her why
Pauline had always such great, such unbounded contempt for him.
Her maid came in, and Lady Darrell put on the pink brocade with its
white lace trimmings. The maid, in ecstasies, cried out that it was
superb--that "my lady" had "never looked so beautiful."
Lady Darrell took up the pearl necklace and held it against the pink
brocade to note the contrast. While she held it in her hands one of the
servants gave a hurried rap at the door. She came to announce that Miss
Darrell had arrived suddenly, and wished to see Lady Darrell at once.
"Miss Darrell! Then something must be the matter with Miss Hastings. Ask
her to come to me at once."
In a few moments Pauline was standing in that brilliant room, looking
pale and anxious.
"No," she said, in answer to Lady Darrell's eager question; "there is
nothing the matter with Miss Hastings. I wanted to see you; I want to
see you alone. Can you spare a few minutes?"
Lady Darrell dismissed her maid, and then turned to Pauline.
"What is it?" she asked. "What has brought you here so suddenly?"
Without one word, Pauline went to the door and locked it, and then she
went back to Lady Darrell, who was watching her in wonder.
"I have done you a great wrong," she said, humbly, "and I have come to
atone for it."
Lady Darrell drew back, trembling with strange, vague fear.
"Oh, Pauline, Pauline, what have you done?"
Pauline threw aside her traveling cloak and took off her hat; and then
she came to Lady Darrell.
"Let me tell you my story, kneeling here," she said; and she knelt down
before Lady Darrell, looking as she spoke straight into her face. "Let
me tell you before I begin it," she added, "that I have no excuse to
offer for myself--none. I can only thank Heaven that I have seen my
fault before--for your sake--it is too late."
Slowly, gravely, sometimes with bitter tears and with sobs that came
from the depths of her heart, Pauline told her story--how the captain
had loved her, how ill he had taken her repulse, how she had discovered
his vile worthlessness, but for the sake of her revenge had said
nothing.
Lady Darrell listened as to her death-knell.
"Is this true, Pauline?" she cried. "You vowed vengeance against me--is
this your vengeance, to try to part me from the man I love, and to take
from me the only chance of happiness that my wretched life holds?"
Her fair face had grown deadly pale; all the light and the happiness had
fled from it; the pearls lay unheeded, the blue eyes grew dim with
tears.
"Is it possible, Pauline?" she cried again. "Have I given my love to one
dishonored? I cannot believe it--I will not believe it! It is part of
your vengeance against me. What have I done that you should hate me so?"
The dark eyes and the beautiful face were raised to hers.
"Dear Lady Darrell," said the girl, "I have never spoken a loving word
to you before; but I tell you now that, if I could give my life to save
you from this sorrow, I would do so."
"Aubrey Langton a thief!" cried Lady Darrell. "It is not true--I will
swear that it is not true! I love him, and you want to take him from me.
How could you dare to invent such a falsehood of him, a soldier and a
gentleman? You are cruel and wicked."
Yet through all her passionate denials, through all her bitter anger,
there ran a shudder of deadly fear--a doubt that chilled her with the
coldness of death--a voice that would be heard, crying out that here was
no wrong, no falsehood, but the bare, unvarnished truth. She cast it
from her--she trampled it under foot; and the girl kneeling at her feet
suffered as much as she did herself while she watched that struggle.
"You say that he would have murdered you--that he held a pistol to your
forehead, and made you take that oath--he, Aubrey Langton, did that?"
"He did!" said Pauline. "Would to Heaven I had told you before."
"Would to Heaven you had!" she cried. "It is too late now. I love him--I
love him, and I cannot lose him. You might have saved me from this, and
you would not. Oh, cruel and false!"
"Dearest Lady Darrell," said the girl, "I would wash out my fault with
my heart's blood if I could. There is no humiliation that I would not
undergo, no pain that I would not suffer, to save you."
"You might have saved me. I had a doubt, and I went to you, Pauline,
humbly, not proudly. I prayed you to reveal the truth, and you treated
me with scorn. Can it be that one woman could be so cruel to another? If
you had but spoken half the truth you have now told me, I should have
believed you, and have gone away; I should have crushed down the love
that was rising in my heart, and in time I should have forgotten it. Now
it is too late. I love him, and I cannot lose him--dear Heaven, I cannot
lose him!"
She flung up her arms with a wild cry of despair. None ever suffered
more than did Pauline Darrell then.
"Oh, my sin," she moaned, "my grievous sin!"
She tried to soothe the unhappy woman, but Lady Darrell turned from her
with all the energy of despair.
"I cannot believe you," she cried; "it is an infamous plot to destroy
my happiness and to destroy me. Hark! There is Aubrey Langton's voice;
come with me and say before him what you have said to me."