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Behind A Mask Or, A Woman's Power
By
Louisa May Alcott
Contents
Chapter 2 - A GOOD BEGINNING..
Chapter 3 - PASSION AND PIQUE.
Chapter 5 - HOW THE GIRL DID IT.
"Has she come?"
"No, Mamma, not yet."
"I wish it were well over. The though=
t of
it worries and excites me. A cushion for my back, Bella."
And poor, peevish Mrs. Coventry sank into =
an
easy chair with a nervous sigh and the air of a martyr, while her pretty
daughter hovered about her with affectionate solicitude.
"Who are they talking of, Lucia?"
asked the languid young man lounging on a couch near his cousin, who bent o=
ver
her tapestry work with a happy smile on her usually haughty face.
"The new governess, Miss Muir. Shall I
tell you about her?"
"No, thank you. I have an inveterate
aversion to the whole tribe. I've often thanked heaven that I had but one
sister, and she a spoiled child, so that I have escaped the infliction of a
governess so long."
"How will you bear it now?" asked
Lucia.
"Leave the house while she is in
it."
"No, you won't. You're too lazy,
Gerald," called out a younger and more energetic man, from the recess
where he stood teasing his dogs.
"I'll give her a three days' trial; if
she proves endurable I shall not disturb myself; if, as I am sure, she is a
bore, I'm off anywhere, anywhere out of her way."
"I beg you won't talk in that depress=
ing
manner, boys. I dread the coming of a stranger more than you possibly can, =
but
Bella must not be neglected; so I have nerved =
myself
to endure this woman, and Lucia is good enough to say she will attend to her
after tonight."
"Don't be troubled, Mamma. She is a n=
ice
person, I dare say, and when once we are used to her, I've no doubt we shal=
l be
glad to have her, it's so dull here just now. Lady Sydney said she was a qu=
iet,
accomplished, amiable girl, who needed a home, and would be a help to poor
stupid me, so try to like her for my sake."
"I will, dear, but isn't it getting l=
ate?
I do hope nothing has happened. Did you tell them to send a carriage to the
station for her, Gerald?"
"I forgot it. But it's not far, it wo=
n't
hurt her to walk" was the languid reply.
"It was indolence, not forgetfulness,=
I
know. I'm very sorry; she will think it so rude to leave her to find her wa=
y so
late. Do go and see to it, Ned."
"Too late, Bella, the train was in so=
me
time ago. Give your orders to me next time. Mother and I'll see that they a=
re
obeyed," said Edward.
"Ned is just at an age to make a fool=
of
himself for any girl who comes in his way. Have a care of the governess, Lu=
cia,
or she will bewitch him."
Gerald spoke in a satirical whisper, but h=
is
brother heard him and answered with a good-humored laugh.
"I wish there was any hope of your ma=
king
a fool of yourself in that way, old fellow. Set me a good example, and I
promise to follow it. As for the governess, she is a woman, and should be
treated with common civility. I should say a little extra kindness wouldn't=
be
amiss, either, because she is poor, and a stranger."
"That is my dear, good-hearted Ned! W=
e'll
stand by poor little Muir, won't we?" And running to her brother, Bella
stood on tiptoe to offer him a kiss which he could not refuse, for the rosy
lips were pursed up invitingly, and the bright eyes full of sisterly affect=
ion.
"I do hope she has come, for, when I =
make
an effort to see anyone, I hate to make it in vain. Punctuality is such a virtue, and I know this woman has=
n't
got it, for she promised to be here at seven, and now it is long after,&quo=
t;
began Mrs. Coventry, in an injured tone.
Before she could get breath for another
complaint, the clock struck seven and the doorbell rang.
"There she is!" cried Bella, and
turned toward the door as if to go and meet the newcomer.
But Lucia arrested her, saying
authoritatively, "Stay here, child. It is her place to come to you, not
yours to go to her."
"Miss Muir," announced a servant,
and a little black-robed figure stood in the doorway. For an instant no one
stirred, and the governess had time to see and be seen before a word was
uttered. All looked at her, and she cast on the household group a keen glan=
ce
that impressed them curiously; then her eyes fell, and bowing slightly she
walked in. Edward came forward and received her with the frank cordiality w=
hich
nothing could daunt or chill.
"Mother, this is the lady whom you
expected. Miss Muir, allow me to apologize for our apparent neglect in not
sending for you. There was a mistake about the carriage, or, rather, the la=
zy
fellow to whom the order was given forgot it. Bella, come here."
"Thank you, no apology is needed. I d=
id
not expect to be sent for." And the governess meekly sat down without
lifting her eyes.
"I am glad to see you. Let me take yo=
ur
things," said Bella, rather shyly, for Gerald, still lounging, watched=
the
fireside group with languid interest, and Lucia never stirred. Mrs. Coventry
took a second survey and began:
"You were punctual, Miss Muir, which
pleases me. I'm a sad invalid, as Lady Sydney told you, I hope; so that Miss
Coventry's lessons will be directed by my niece, and you will go to her for
directions, as she knows what I wish. You will excuse me if I ask you a few
questions, for Lady Sydney's note was very brief, and I left everything to =
her judgment."
"Ask anything you like, madam,"
answered the soft, sad voice.
"You are Scotch, I believe."
"Yes, madam."
"Are your parents living?"
"I have not a relation in the
world."
"Dear me, how sad! Do you mind tellin=
g me
your age?"
"Nineteen." And a smile passed o=
ver
Miss Muir's lips, as she folded her hands with an air of resignation, for t=
he
catechism was evidently to be a long one.
"So young! Lady Sydney mentioned
five-and-twenty, I think, didn't she, Bella?"
"No, Mamma, she only said she thought=
so.
Don't ask such questions. It's not pleasant before us all," whispered
Bella.
A quick, grateful glance shone on her from=
the
suddenly lifted eyes of Miss Muir, as she said quietly, "I wish I was
thirty, but, as I am not, I do my best to look and seem old."
Of course, every one looked at her then, a=
nd
all felt a touch of pity at the sight of the pale-faced girl in her plain b=
lack
dress, with no ornament but a little silver cross at her throat. Small, thi=
n,
and colorless she was, with yellow hair, gray eyes, and sharply cut, irregu=
lar,
but very expressive features. Poverty seemed to have set its bond stamp upon
her, and life to have had for her more frost than sunshine. But something in
the lines of the mouth betrayed strength, and the clear, low voice had a
curious mixture of command and entreaty in its varying tones. Not an attrac=
tive
woman, yet not an ordinary one; and, as she sat there with her delicate han=
ds
lying in her lap, her head bent, and a bitter look on her thin face, she was
more interesting than many a blithe and blooming girl. Bella's heart warmed=
to
her at once, and she drew her seat nearer, while Edward went back to his do=
gs
that his presence might not embarrass her.
"You have been ill, I think,"
continued Mrs. Coventry, who considered this fact the most interesting of a=
ll
she had heard concerning the governess.
"Yes, madam, I left the hospital only=
a
week ago."
"Are
you quite sure it is safe to begin teaching so soon?"
"I have no time to lose, and shall so=
on
gain strength here in the country, if you care to keep me."
"And you are fitted to teach music,
French, and drawing?"
"I shall endeavor to prove that I
am."
"Be kind enough to go and play an air=
or
two. I can judge by your touch; I used to play finely when a girl."
Miss Muir rose, looked about her for the
instrument, and seeing it at the other end of the room went toward it, pass=
ing
Gerald and Lucia as if she did not see them. Bella followed, and in a moment
forgot everything in admiration. Miss Muir played like one who loved music =
and
was perfect mistress of her art. She charmed them all by the magic of this
spell; even indolent Gerald sat up to listen, and Lucia put down her needle=
, while
Ned watched the slender white fingers as they flew, and wondered at the
strength and skill which they possessed.
"Please sing," pleaded Bella, as=
a
brilliant overture ended.
With the same meek obedience Miss Muir
complied, and began a little Scotch melody, so sweet, so sad, that the girl=
's
eyes filled, and Mrs. Coventry looked for one of her many pocket-handkerchi=
efs.
But suddenly the music ceased, for, with a vain attempt to support herself,=
the
singer slid from her seat and lay before the startled listeners, as white a=
nd
rigid as if struck with death. Edward caught her up, and, ordering his brot=
her
off the couch, laid her there, while Bella chafed her hands, and her mother
rang for her maid. Lucia bathed the poor girl's temples, and Gerald, with
unwonted energy, brought a glass of wine. Soon Miss Muir's lips trembled, s=
he
sighed, then murmured, tenderly, with a pretty Scotch accent, as if wanderi=
ng
in the past, "Bide wi' me, Mither, I'm sae sick an sad here all
alone."
"Take a sip of this, and it will do y=
ou
good, my dear," said Mrs. Coventry, quite touched by the plaintive wor=
ds.
The strange voice seemed to recall her. She
sat up, looked about her, a little wildly, for a moment, then collected her=
self
and said, with a pathetic look and tone, "Pardon me. I have been on my
feet all day, and, in my eagerness to keep my appointment, I forgot to eat
since morning. I'm better now; shall I finish the song?"
"By no means. Come and have some
tea," said Bella, full of pity and remorse.
"Scene first, very well done,"
whispered Gerald to his cousin.
Miss Muir was just before them, apparently
listening to Mrs. Coventry's remarks upon fainting fits; but she heard, and
looked over her shoulders with a gesture like Rachel. Her eyes were gray, b=
ut
at that instant they seemed black with some strong emotion of anger, pride,=
or
defiance. A curious smile passed over her face as she bowed, and said in he=
r penetrating
voice, "Thanks. The last scene shall be still better."
Young Coventry was a cool, indolent man,
seldom conscious of any emotion, any passion, pleasurable or otherwise; but=
at
the look, the tone of the governess, he experienced a new sensation, indefi=
nable,
yet strong. He colored and, for the first time in his life, looked abashed.=
Lucia
saw it, and hated Miss Muir with a sudden hatred; for, in all the years she=
had
passed with her cousin, no look or word of hers had possessed such power.
Coventry was himself again in an instant, with no trace of that passing cha=
nge,
but a look of interest in his usually dreamy eyes, and a touch of anger in =
his
sarcastic voice.
"What a melodramatic young lady! I sh=
all
go tomorrow."
Lucia laughed, and was well pleased when he
sauntered away to bring her a cup of tea from the table where a little scene
was just taking place. Mrs. Coventry had sunk into her chair again, exhaust=
ed
by the flurry of the fainting fit. Bella was busied about her; and Edward,
eager to feed the pale governess, was awkwardly trying to make the tea, aft=
er a
beseeching glance at his cousin which she did not choose to answer. As he u=
pset
the caddy and uttered a despairing exclamation, Miss Muir quietly took her
place behind the urn, saying with a smile, and a shy glance at the young ma=
n,
"Allow me to assume my duty at once, and serve you all. I understand t=
he
art of making people comfortable in this way. The scoop, please. I can gath=
er
this up quite well alone, if you will tell me how your mother likes her
tea."
Edward pulled a chair to the table and made
merry over his mishaps, while Miss Muir performed her little task with a sk=
ill
and grace that made it pleasant to watch her. Coventry lingered a moment af=
ter
she had given him a steaming cup, to observe her more nearly, while he aske=
d a question
or two of his brother. She took no more notice of him than if he had been a
statue, and in the middle of the one remark he addressed to her, she rose to
take the sugar basin to Mrs. Coventry, who was quite won by the modest,
domestic graces of the new governess.
"Really, my dear, you are a treasure;=
I
haven't tasted such tea since my poor maid Ellis died. Bella never makes it
good, and Miss Lucia always forgets the cream. Whatever you do you seem to =
do
well, and that is such<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> a comfort."
"Let me always do this for you, then.=
It
will be a pleasure, madam." And Miss Muir came back to her seat with a
faint color in her cheek which improved her much.
"My brother asked if young Sydney was=
at
home when you left," said Edward, for Gerald would not take the troubl=
e to
repeat the question.
Miss Muir fixed her eyes on Coventry, and
answered with a slight tremor of the lips, "No, he left home some weeks
ago."
The young man went back to his cousin, say=
ing,
as he threw himself down beside her, "I shall not go tomorrow, but wait
till the three days are out."
"Why?" demanded Lucia.
Lowering his voice he said, with a signifi=
cant
nod toward the governess, "Because I have a fancy that she is at the
bottom of Sydney's mystery. He's not been himself lately, and now he is gone
without a word. I rather like romances in real life, if they are not too lo=
ng,
or difficult to read."
"Do you think her pretty?"
"Far from it, a most uncanny little
specimen."
"Then why fancy Sydney loves her?&quo=
t;
"He is an oddity, and likes sensations
and things of that sort."
"What do you mean, Gerald?"
"Get the Muir to look at you, as she =
did
at me, and you will understand. Will you have another cup, Juno?"
"Yes, please." She liked to have=
him
wait upon her, for he did it to no other woman except his mother.
Before he could slowly rise, Miss Muir gli=
ded
to them with another cup on the salver; and, as Lucia took it with a cold n=
od,
the girl said under her breath, "I think it honest to tell you that I
possess a quick ear, and cannot help hearing what is said anywhere in the r=
oom.
What you say of me is of no consequence, but you may speak of things which =
you prefer
I should not hear; therefore, allow me to warn you." And she was gone
again as noiselessly as she came.
"How do you like that?" whispered
Coventry, as his cousin sat looking after the girl, with a disturbed
expression.
"What an uncomfortable creature to ha=
ve
in the house! I am very sorry I urged her coming, for your mother has taken=
a
fancy to her, and it will be hard to get rid of her," said Lucia, half
angry, half amused.
"Hush, she hears every word you say. I
know it by the expression of her face, for Ned is talking about horses, and=
she
looks as haughty as ever you did, and that is saying much. Faith, this is
getting interesting."
"Hark, she is speaking; I want to
hear," and Lucia laid her hand on her cousin's lips. He kissed it, and
then idly amused himself with turning the rings to and fro on the slender
fingers.
"I have been in France several years,
madam, but my friend died and I came back to be with Lady Sydney, till--&qu=
ot;
Muir paused an instant, then added, slowly, "till I fell ill. It was a
contagious fever, so I went of my own accord to the hospital, not wishing to
endanger her."
"Very right, but are you sure there i=
s no
danger of infection now?" asked Mrs. Coventry anxiously.
"None, I assure you. I have been well=
for
some time, but did not leave because I preferred to stay there, than to ret=
urn
to Lady Sydney."
"No quarrel, I hope? No trouble of any
kind?"
"No quarrel, but--well, why not? You =
have
a right to know, and I will not make a foolish mystery out of a very simple
thing. As your family, only, is present, I may tell the truth. I did not go
back on the young gentleman's account. Please ask no more."
"Ah, I see. Quite prudent and proper,
Miss Muir. I shall never allude to it again. Thank you for your frankness.
Bella, you will be careful not to mention this to young friends; girls goss=
ip
sadly, and it would annoy Lady Sydney beyond everything to have this talked
of."
"Very neighborly of Lady S. to send t=
he
dangerous young lady here, where there are two young gentlemen to be captivated. I
wonder why she didn't keep Sydney after she had caught him," murmured
Coventry to his cousin.
"Because she had the utmost contempt =
for
a titled fool." Miss Muir dropped the words almost into his ear, as she
bent to take her shawl from the sofa corner. "How the deuce did she get
there?" ejaculated Coventry, looking as if he had received another
sensation. "She has spirit, though, and upon my word I pity Sydney, if=
he
did try to dazzle her, for he must have got a splendid dismissal."
"Come and play billiards. You promise=
d,
and I hold you to your word," said Lucia, rising with decision, for Ge=
rald
was showing too much interest in another to suit Miss Beaufort.
"I am, as ever, your most devoted. My
mother is a charming woman, but I find our evening parties slightly dull, w=
hen
only my own family are present. Good night, Mamma." He shook hands with
his mother, whose pride and idol he was, and, with a comprehensive nod to t=
he
others, strolled after his cousin.
"Now they are gone we can be quite co=
zy,
and talk over things, for I don't mind Ned any more than I do his dogs,&quo=
t;
said Bella, settling herself on her mother's footstool.
"I merely wish to say, Miss Muir, tha=
t my
daughter has never had a governess and is sadly backward for a girl of sixt=
een.
I want you to pass the mornings with her, and get her on as rapidly as
possible. In the afternoon you will walk or drive with her, and in the even=
ing
sit with us here, if you like, or amuse yourself as you please. While in th=
e country
we are very quiet, for I cannot bear much company, and when my sons want
gaiety, they go away for it. Miss Beaufort oversees the servants, and takes=
my
place as far as possible. I am very delicate and keep my room till evening,
except for an airing at noon. We will try each other for a month, and I hop=
e we
shall get on quite comfortably together."
"I shall do my best, madam."
One
would not have believed that the meek, spiritless voice which uttered these
words was the same that had startled Coventry a few minutes before, nor that
the pale, patient face could ever have kindled with such sudden fire as that
which looked over Miss Muir's shoulder when she answered her young host's
speech.
Edward thought within himself, Poor little
woman! She has had a hard life. We will try and make it easier while she is
here; and began his charitable work by suggesting that she might be tired. =
She
acknowledged she was, and Bella led her away to a bright, cozy room, where =
with
a pretty little speech and a good-night kiss she left her.
When alone Miss Muir's conduct was decided=
ly
peculiar. Her first act was to clench her hands and mutter between her teet=
h,
with passionate force, "I'll not fail again if there is power in a wom=
an's
wit and will!" She stood a moment motionless, with an expression of al=
most
fierce disdain on her face, then shook her clenched hand as if menacing some
unseen enemy. Next she laughed, and shrugged her shoulders with a true Fren=
ch shrug,
saying low to herself, "Yes, the last scene shall be better than the first. Mon dieu , how tired and hungry I am!"=
Kneeling before the one small trunk which =
held
her worldly possessions, she opened it, drew out a flask, and mixed a glass=
of
some ardent cordial, which she seemed to enjoy extremely as she sat on the
carpet, musing, while her quick eyes examined every corner of the room.
"Not bad! It will be a good field for=
me
to work in, and the harder the task the better I shall like it. Merci , old friend. You put heart and co=
urage
into me when nothing else will. Come, the curtain is down, so I may be myse=
lf
for a few hours, if actresses ever are themselves."
Still sitting on the floor she unbound and
removed the long abundant braids from her head, wiped the pink from her fac=
e,
took out several pearly teeth, and slipping off her dress appeared herself
indeed, a haggard, worn, and moody woman of thirty at least. The metamorpho=
sis
was wonderful, but the disguise was more in the expression she assumed than=
in
any art of costume or false adornment. Now she was alone, and her mobile
features settled into their natural expression, weary, hard, bitter. She had
been lovely once, happy, innocent, and tender; but nothing of all this rema=
ined
to the gloomy woman who leaned there brooding over some wrong, or loss, or
disappointment which had darkened all her life. For an hour she sat so,
sometimes playing absently with the scanty locks that hung about her face,
sometimes lifting the glass to her lips as if the fiery draught warmed her =
cold
blood; and once she half uncovered her breast to eye with a terrible glance=
the
scar of a newly healed wound. At last she rose and crept to bed, like one w=
orn
out with weariness and mental pain.
Only the housemaids were astir when Miss M=
uir
left her room next morning and quietly found her way into the garden. As she
walked, apparently intent upon the flowers, her quick eye scrutinized the f=
ine
old house and its picturesque surroundings.
"Not bad," she said to herself,
adding, as she passed into the adjoining park, "but the other may be
better, and I will have the best."
Walking rapidly, she came out at length up=
on
the wide green lawn which lay before the ancient hall where Sir John Covent=
ry
lived in solitary splendor. A stately old place, rich in oaks, well-kept
shrubberies, gay gardens, sunny terraces, carved gables, spacious rooms,
liveried servants, and every luxury befitting the ancestral home of a rich =
and honorable
race. Miss Muir's eyes brightened as she looked, her step grew firmer, her
carriage prouder, and a smile broke over her face; the smile of one well
pleased at the prospect of the success of some cherished hope. Suddenly her
whole air changed, she pushed back her hat, clasped her hands loosely before
her, and seemed absorbed in girlish admiration of the fair scene that could=
not
fail to charm any beauty-loving eye. The cause of this rapid change soon
appeared. A hale, handsome man, between fifty and sixty, came through the
little gate leading to the park, and, seeing the young stranger, paused to
examine her. He had only time for a glance, however; she seemed conscious of
his presence in a moment, turned with a startled look, uttered an exclamati=
on
of surprise, and looked as if hesitating whether to speak or run away. Gall=
ant
Sir John took off his hat and said, with the old-fashioned courtesy which b=
ecame
him well, "I beg your pardon for disturbing you, young lady. Allow me =
to
atone for it by inviting you to walk where you will, and gather what flowers
you like. I see you love them, so pray make free with those about you."=
;
With a charming air of maidenly timidity a=
nd
artlessness, Miss Muir replied, "Oh, thank you, sir! But it is I who
should ask pardon for trespassing. I never should have dared if I had not k=
nown
that Sir John was absent. I always wanted to see this fine old place, and r=
an
over the first thing, to satisfy myself."
"And are you satisfied?" he asked, with=
a
smile.
"More than satisfied--I'm charmed; fo=
r it
is the most beautiful spot I ever saw, and I've seen many famous seats, bot=
h at
home and abroad," she answered enthusiastically.
"The Hall is much flattered, and so w=
ould
its master be if he heard you," began the gentleman, with an odd expre=
ssion.
"I should not praise it to him--at le=
ast,
not as freely as I have to you, sir," said the girl, with eyes still
turned away.
"Why not?" asked her companion,
looking much amused.
"I should be afraid. Not that I dread=
Sir
John; but I've heard so many beautiful and noble things about him, and resp=
ect
him so highly, that I should not dare to say much, lest he should see how I
admire and--"
"And what, young lady? Finish, if you
please."
"I was going to say, love him. I will=
say
it, for he is an old man, and one cannot help loving virtue and bravery.&qu=
ot;
Miss Muir looked very earnest and pretty as
she spoke, standing there with the sunshine glinting on her yellow hair,
delicate face, and downcast eyes. Sir John was not a vain man, but he found=
it
pleasant to hear himself commended by this unknown girl, and felt redoubled=
curiosity
to learn who she was. Too well-bred to ask, or to abash her by avowing what=
she
seemed unconscious of, he left both discoveries to chance; and when she tur=
ned,
as if to retrace her steps, he offered her the handful of hothouse flowers
which he held, saying, with a gallant bow, "In Sir John's name let me =
give
you my little nosegay, with thanks for your good opinion, which, I assure y=
ou,
is not entirely deserved, for I know him well."
Miss Muir looked up quickly, eyed him an
instant, then dropped her eyes, and, coloring deeply, stammered out, "I
did not know--I beg your pardon--you are too kind, Sir John."
He laughed like a boy, asking, mischievous=
ly,
"Why call me Sir John? How do you know that I am not the gardener or t=
he
butler?"
"I did not see your face before, and =
no
one but yourself would say that any praise was undeserved," murmured M=
iss
Muir, still overcome with girlish confusion.
"Well, well, we will let that pass, a=
nd
the next time you come we will be properly introduced. Bella always brings =
her
friends to the Hall, for I am fond of young people."
"I am not a friend. I am only Miss
Coventry's governess." And Miss Muir dropped a meek curtsy. A slight
change passed over Sir John's manner. Few would have perceived it, but Miss
Muir felt it at once, and bit her lips with an angry feeling at her heart. =
With
a curious air of pride, mingled with respect, she accepted the still offered
bouquet, returned Sir John's parting bow, and tripped away, leaving the old
gentleman to wonder where Mrs. Coventry found such a piquant little governe=
ss.
"That is done, and very well for a
beginning," she said to herself as she approached the house.
In a green paddock close by fed a fine hor=
se,
who lifted up his head and eyed her inquiringly, like one who expected a
greeting. Following a sudden impulse, she entered the paddock and, pulling a
handful of clover, invited the creature to come and eat. This was evidently=
a
new proceeding on the part of a lady, and the horse careered about as if be=
nt
on frightening the newcomer away.
"I see," she said aloud, laughin=
g to
herself. "I am not your master, and you rebel. Nevertheless, I'll conq=
uer
you, my fine brute."
Seating herself in the grass, she began to
pull daisies, singing idly the while, as if unconscious of the spirited
prancings of the horse. Presently he drew nearer, sniffing curiously and ey=
eing
her with surprise. She took no notice, but plaited the daisies and sang on =
as
if he was not there. This seemed to pique the petted creature, for, slowly =
approaching,
he came at length so close that he could smell her little foot and nibble at
her dress. Then she offered the clover, uttering caressing words and making
soothing sounds, till by degrees and with much coquetting, the horse permit=
ted
her to stroke his glossy neck and smooth his mane.
It was a pretty sight--the slender figure =
in
the grass, the high-spirited horse bending his proud head to her hand. Edwa=
rd
Coventry, who had watched the scene, found it impossible to restrain himself
any longer and, leaping the wall, came to join the group, saying, with ming=
led
admiration and wonder in countenance and voice, "Good morning, Miss Mu=
ir.
If I had not seen your skill and courage proved before my eyes, I should be
alarmed for your safety. Hector is a wild, wayward beast, and has damaged m=
ore
than one groom who tried to conquer him."
"Good morning, Mr. Coventry. Don't te=
ll
tales of this noble creature, who has not deceived my faith in him. Your gr=
ooms
did not know how to win his heart, and so subdue his spirit without breaking
it."
Miss Muir rose as she spoke, and stood with
her hand on Hector's neck while he ate the grass which she had gathered in =
the
skirt of her dress.
"You have the secret, and Hector is y=
our
subject now, though heretofore he has rejected all friends but his master. =
Will
you give him his morning feast? I always bring him bread and play with him
before breakfast."
"Then you are not jealous?" And =
she
looked up at him with eyes so bright and beautiful in expression that the y=
oung
man wondered he had not observed them before.
"Not I. Pet him as much as you will; =
it
will do him good. He is a solitary fellow, for he scorns his own kind and l=
ives
alone, like his master," he added, half to himself.
"Alone, with such a happy home, Mr.
Coventry?" And a softly compassionate glance stole from the bright eye=
s.
"That was an ungrateful speech, and I
retract it for Bella's sake. Younger sons have no position but such as they=
can
make for themselves, you know, and I've had no chance yet."
"Younger sons! I thought--I beg
pardon." And Miss Muir paused, as if remembering that she had no right=
to
question.
Edward smiled and answered frankly, "=
Nay,
don't mind me. You thought I was the heir, perhaps. Whom did you take my
brother for last night?"
"For some guest who admired Miss Beaufort. I did not hear his name, nor observe him enough to discover who he was. I saw only your land mother, your charming little sister, and--"<= o:p>
She stopped there, with a half-shy,
half-grateful look at the young man which finished the sentence better than=
any
words. He was still a boy, in spite of his one-and-twenty years, and a litt=
le
color came into his brown cheek as the eloquent eyes met his and fell before
them.
"Yes, Bella is a capital girl, and one
can't help loving her. I know you'll get her on, for, really, she is the mo=
st
delightful little dunce. My mother's ill health and Bella's devotion to her
have prevented our attending to her education before. Next winter, when we =
go
to town, she is to come out, and must be prepared for that great event, you
know," he said, choosing a safe subject.
"I shall do my best. And that reminds=
me
that I should report myself to her, instead of enjoying myself here. When o=
ne
has been ill and shut up a long time, the country is so lovely one is apt to
forget duty for pleasure. Please remind me if I am negligent, Mr.
Coventry."
"That name belongs to Gerald. I'm only
Mr. Ned here," he said as they walked toward the house, while Hector
followed to the wall and sent a sonorous farewell after them.
Bella came running to meet them, and greet=
ed
Miss Muir as if she had made up her mind to like her heartily. "What a
lovely bouquet you have got! I never can arrange flowers prettily, which ve=
xes
me, for Mamma is so fond of them and cannot go out herself. You have charmi=
ng
taste," she said, examining the graceful posy which Miss Muir had much
improved by adding feathery grasses, delicate ferns, and fragrant wild flow=
ers
to Sir John's exotics.
Putting them into Bella's hand, she said, =
in a
winning way, "Take them to your mother, then, and ask her if I may have
the pleasure of making her a daily nosegay; for I should find real delight =
in
doing it, if it would please her."
"How kind you are! Of course it would
please her. I'll take them to her while the dew is still on them." And
away flew Bella, eager to give both the flowers and the pretty message to t=
he
poor invalid.
Edward
stopped to speak to the gardener, and Miss Muir went up the steps alone. The
long hall was lined with portraits, and pacing slowly down it she examined =
them
with interest. One caught her eye, and, pausing before it, she scrutinized =
it
carefully. A young, beautiful, but very haughty female face. Miss Muir
suspected at once who it was, and gave a decided nod, as if she saw and cau=
ght
at some unexpected chance. A soft rustle behind her made her look around, a=
nd,
seeing Lucia, she bowed, half turned, as if for another glance at the pictu=
re,
and said, as if involuntarily, "How beautiful it is! May I ask if it i=
s an
ancestor, Miss Beaufort?"
"It is the likeness of my mother"
was the reply, given with a softened voice and eyes that looked up tenderly=
.
"Ah, I might have known, from the
resemblance, but I scarcely saw you last night. Excuse my freedom, but Lady
Sydney treated me as a friend, and I forget my position. Allow me."
As she spoke, Miss Muir stooped to return =
the
handkerchief which had fallen from Lucia's hand, and did so with a humble m=
ien
which touched the other's heart; for, though a proud, it was also a very ge=
nerous
one.
"Thank you. Are you better, this
morning?" she said, graciously. And having received an affirmative rep=
ly,
she added, as she walked on, "I will show you to the breakfast room, as
Bella is not here. It is a very informal meal with us, for my aunt is never
down and my cousins are very irregular in their hours. You can always have
yours when you like, without waiting for us if you are an early riser."=
;
Bella and Edward appeared before the others
were seated, and Miss Muir quietly ate her breakfast, feeling well satisfied
with her hour's work. Ned recounted her exploit with Hector, Bella delivered
her mother's thanks for the flowers, and Lucia more than once recalled, with
pardonable vanity, that the governess had compared her to her lovely mother,
expressing by a look as much admiration for the living likeness as for the
painted one. All kindly did their best to make the pale girl feel at home, =
and
their cordial manner seemed to warm and draw her out; for soon she put off =
her
sad, meek air and entertained them with gay anecdotes of her life in Paris,=
her
travels in Russia when governess in Prince Jermadoff's family, and all mann=
er
of witty stories that kept them interested and merry long after the meal wa=
s over.
In the middle of an absorbing adventure, Coventry came in, nodded lazily,
lifted his brows, as if surprised at seeing the governess there, and began =
his
breakfast as if the ennui of another day had already taken possession of hi=
m.
Miss Muir stopped short, and no entreaties could induce her to go on.
"Another time I will finish it, if you
like. Now Miss Bella and I should be at our books." And she left the r=
oom,
followed by her pupil, taking no notice of the young master of the house,
beyond a graceful bow in answer to his careless nod.
"Merciful creature! she goes when I c=
ome,
and does not make life unendurable by moping about before my eyes. Does she
belong to the moral, the melancholy, the romantic, or the dashing class,
Ned?" said Gerald, lounging over his coffee as he did over everything =
he
attempted.
"To none of them; she is a capital li=
ttle
woman. I wish you had seen her tame Hector this morning." And Edward
repeated his story.
"Not a bad move on her part," sa=
id
Coventry in reply. "She must be an observing as well as an energetic y=
oung
person, to discover your chief weakness and attack it so soon. First tame t=
he
horse, and then the master. It will be amusing to watch the game, only I sh=
all
be under the painful necessity of checkmating you both, if it gets
serious."
"You needn't exert yourself, old fell=
ow,
on my account. If I was not above thinking ill of an inoffensive girl, I sh=
ould
say you were the prize best worth winning, and advise you to take care of y=
our
own heart, if you've got one, which I rather doubt."
"I often doubt it, myself; but I fancy
the little Scotchwoman will not be able to satisfy either of us upon that
point. How does your highness like her?" asked Coventry of his cousin,=
who
sat near him.
"Better than I thought I should. She =
is
well-bred, unassuming, and very entertaining when she likes. She has told us
some of the wittiest stories I've heard for a long time. Didn't our laughter
wake you?" replied Lucia.
"Yes. Now atone for it by amusing me =
with
a repetition of these witty tales."
"That is impossible; her accent and
manner are half the charm," said Ned. "I wish you had kept away t=
en
minutes longer, for your appearance spoilt the best story of all."
"Why didn't she go on?" asked
Coventry, with a ray of curiosity.
"You
forget that she overheard us last night, and must feel that you consider he=
r a
bore. She has pride, and no woman forgets speeches like those you made,&quo=
t;
answered Lucia.
"Or forgives them, either, I believe.
Well, I must be resigned to languish under her displeasure then. On Sydney's
account I take a slight interest in her; not that I expect to learn anything
from her, for a woman with a mouth like that never confides or confesses
anything. But I have a fancy to see what captivated him; for captivated he =
was,
beyond a doubt, and by no lady whom he met in society. Did you ever hear
anything of it, Ned?" asked Gerald.
"I'm not fond of scandal or gossip, a=
nd
never listen to either." With which remark Edward left the room.
Lucia was called out by the housekeeper a
moment after, and Coventry left to the society most wearisome to him, namely
his own. As he entered, he had caught a part of the story which Miss Muir h=
ad
been telling, and it had excited his curiosity so much that he found himsel=
f wondering
what the end could be and wishing that he might hear it.
What the deuce did she run away for, when I
came in? he thought. If she is amusing, she must make herself useful; for i=
t's
intensely dull, I own, here, in spite of Lucia. Hey, what's that?
It was a rich, sweet voice, singing a
brilliant Italian air, and singing it with an expression that made the music
doubly delicious. Stepping out of the French window, Coventry strolled along
the sunny terrace, enjoying the song with the relish of a connoisseur. Othe=
rs
followed, and still he walked and listened, forgetful of weariness or tune.=
As
one exquisite air ended, he involuntarily applauded. Miss Muir's face appea=
red
for an instant, then vanished, and no more music followed, though Coventry
lingered, hoping to hear the voice again. For music was the one thing of wh=
ich
he never wearied, and neither Lucia nor Bella possessed skill enough to cha=
rm
him. For an hour he loitered on the terrace or the lawn, basking in the
sunshine, too indolent to seek occupation or society. At length Bella came =
out,
hat in hand, and nearly stumbled over her brother, who lay on the grass.
"You lazy man, have you been dawdling
here all this time?" she said, looking down at him.
"No, I've been very busy. Come and te=
ll
me how you've got on with the little dragon."
"Can't stop. She bade me take a run a=
fter
my French, so that I might be ready for my drawing, and so I must."
"It's too warm to run. Sit down and a=
muse
your deserted brother, who has had no society but bees and lizards for an
hour."
He drew her down as he spoke, and Bella
obeyed; for, in spite of his indolence, he was one to whom all submitted
without dreaming of refusal.
"What have you been doing? Muddling y=
our
poor little brains with all manner of elegant rubbish?"
"No, I've been enjoying myself immens=
ely.
Jean is so interesting, so kind and clever. She
didn't bore me with stupid grammar, but just talked to me in such pretty Fr=
ench
that I got on capitally, and like it as I never expected to, after Lucia's =
dull
way of teaching it."
"What did you talk about?"
"Oh,
all manner of things. She asked questions, and I answered, and she corrected
me."
"Questions about our affairs, I
suppose?"
"Not one. She don't care two sous for=
us
or our affairs. I thought she might like to know what sort of people we wer=
e,
so I told her about Papa's sudden death, Uncle John, and you, and Ned; but =
in
the midst of it she said, in her quiet way, 'You are getting too confidenti=
al,
my dear. It is not best to talk too freely of one's affairs to strangers. L=
et
us speak of something else.'"
"What were you talking of when she sa=
id
that, Bell?"
"You."
"Ah, then no wonder she was bored.&qu=
ot;
"She was tired of my chatter, and did=
n't
hear half I said; for she was busy sketching something for me to copy, and
thinking of something more interesting than the Coventrys."
"How do you know?"
"By the expression of her face. Did y=
ou
like her music, Gerald?"
"Yes. Was she angry when I clapped?&q=
uot;
"She looked surprised, then rather pr=
oud,
and shut the piano at once, though I begged her to go on. Isn't Jean a pret=
ty
name?"
"Not bad; but why don't you call her =
Miss
Muir?"
"She begged me not. She hates it, and
loves to be called Jean, alone. I've imagined such a nice little romance ab=
out
her, and someday I shall tell her, for I'm sure she has had a love
trouble."
"Don't get such nonsense into your he=
ad,
but follow Miss Muir's well-bred example and don't be curious about other
people's affairs. Ask her to sing tonight; it amuses me."
"She won't come down, I think. We've
planned to read and work in my boudoir, which is to be our study now. Mamma
will stay in her room, so you and Lucia can have the drawing room all to
yourselves."
"Thank you. What will Ned do?"
"He will amuse Mamma, he says. Dear o=
ld
Ned! I wish you'd stir about and get him his commission. He is so impatient=
to
be doing something and yet so proud he won't ask again, after you have
neglected it so many times and refused Uncle's help."
"I'll attend to it very soon; don't w=
orry
me, child. He will do very well for a time, quietly here with us."
"You always say that, yet you know he
chafes and is unhappy at being dependent on you. Mamma and I don't mind; bu=
t he
is a man, and it frets him. He said he'd take matters into his own hands so=
on,
and then you may be sorry you were so slow in helping him."
"Miss Muir is looking out of the wind=
ow.
You'd better go and take your run, else she will scold."
"Not she. I'm not a bit afraid of her,
she's so gentle and sweet. I'm fond of her already. You'll get as brown as =
Ned,
lying here in the sun. By the way, Miss Muir agrees with me in thinking him
handsomer than you."
"I admire her taste and quite agree w=
ith
her."
"She said he was manly, and that was =
more
attractive than beauty in a man. She does express things so nicely. Now I'm
off." And away danced Bella, humming the burden of Miss Muir's sweetest
song.
"'Energy is more attractive than beau=
ty
in a man.' She is right, but how the deuce can a man be energetic, with nothing to
expend his energies upon?" mused Coventry, with his hat over his eyes.=
A few moments later, the sweep of a dress
caught his ear. Without stirring, a sidelong glance showed him Miss Muir co=
ming
across the terrace, as if to join Bella. Two stone steps led down to the la=
wn.
He lay near them, and Miss Muir did not see him till close upon him. She st=
arted
and slipped on the last step, recovered herself, and glided on, with a glan=
ce
of unmistakable contempt as she passed the recumbent figure of the apparent
sleeper. Several things in Bella's report had nettled him, but this look ma=
de
him angry, though he would not own it, even to himself.
"Gerald, come here, quick!"
presently called Bella, from the rustic seat where she stood beside her
governess, who sat with her hand over her face as if in pain.
Gathering himself up, Coventry slowly obey=
ed,
but involuntarily quickened his pace as he heard Miss Muir say, "Don't
call him; he can do nothing"; for the empha=
sis on
the word "he" was very significant.
"What is it, Bella?" he asked,
looking rather wider awake than usual.
"You startled Miss Muir and made her =
turn
her ankle. Now help her to the house, for she is in great pain; and don't l=
ie
there anymore to frighten people like a snake in the grass," said his
sister petulantly.
"I beg your pardon. Will you allow
me?" And Coventry offered his arm. Miss Muir looked up with the expres=
sion
which annoyed him and answered coldly, "Thank you, Miss Bella will do =
as
well."
"Permit me to doubt that." And w=
ith
a gesture too decided to be resisted, Coventry drew her arm through his and=
led
her into the house. She submitted quietly, said the pain would soon be over=
, and
when settled on the couch in Bella's room dismissed him with the briefest t=
hanks.
Considering the unwonted exertion he had made, he thought she might have be=
en a
little more grateful, and went away to Lucia, who always brightened when he
came.
No more was seen of Miss Muir till teatime;
for now, while the family were in retirement, they dined early and saw no
company. The governess had excused herself at dinner, but came down in the
evening a little paler than usual and with a slight limp in her gait. Sir J=
ohn
was there, talking with his nephew, and they merely acknowledged her presen=
ce
by the sort of bow which gentlemen bestow on governesses. As she slowly made
her way to her place behind the urn, Coventry said to his brother, "Ta=
ke
her a footstool, and ask her how she is, Ned." Then, as if necessary to
account for his politeness to his uncle, he explained how he was the cause =
of
the accident.
"Yes, yes. I understand. Rather a nice
little person, I fancy. Not exactly a beauty, but accomplished and well-bre=
d,
which is better for one of her class."
"Some tea, Sir John?" said a soft
voice at his elbow, and there was Miss Muir, offering cups to the gentlemen=
.
"Thank you, thank you," said Sir
John, sincerely hoping she had overheard him.
As Coventry took his, he said graciously,
"You are very forgiving, Miss Muir, to wait upon me, after I have caus=
ed
you so much pain."
"It is my duty, sir" was her rep=
ly,
in a tone which plainly said, "but not my pleasure." And she retu=
rned
to her place, to smile, and chat, and be charming, with Bella and her broth=
er.
Lucia, hovering near her uncle and Gerald,
kept them to herself, but was disturbed to find that their eyes often wande=
red
to the cheerful group about the table, and that their attention seemed
distracted by the frequent bursts of laughter and fragments of animated
conversation which reached them. In the midst of an account of a tragic aff=
air
which she endeavored to make as interesting and pathetic as possible, Sir J=
ohn
burst into a hearty laugh, which betrayed that he had been listening to a
livelier story than her own. Much annoyed, she said hastily, "I knew it
would be so! Bella has no idea of the proper manner in which to treat a
governess. She and Ned will forget the difference of rank and spoil that pe=
rson
for her work. She is inclined to be presumptuous already, and if my aunt wo=
n't
trouble herself to give Miss Muir a hint in time, I shall."
"Wait until she has finished that sto=
ry,
I beg of you," said Coventry, for Sir John was already off.
"If you find that nonsense so
entertaining, why don't you follow Uncle's example? I don't need you."=
"Thank you. I will." And Lucia w=
as
deserted.
But Miss Muir had ended and, beckoning to
Bella, left the room, as if quite unconscious of the honor conferred upon h=
er
or the dullness she left behind her. Ned went up to his mother, Gerald retu=
rned
to make his peace with Lucia, and, bidding them good-night, Sir John turned=
homeward.
Strolling along the terrace, he came to the lighted window of Bella's study,
and wishing to say a word to her, he half pushed aside the curtain and look=
ed
in. A pleasant little scene. Bella working busily, and near her in a low ch=
air,
with the light falling on her fair hair and delicate profile, sat Miss Muir
reading aloud. "Novels!" thought Sir John, and smiled at them for=
a
pair of romantic girls. But pausing to listen a moment before he spoke, he
found it was no novel, but history, read with a fluency which made every fa=
ct
interesting, every sketch of character memorable, by the dramatic effect gi=
ven
to it. Sir John was fond of history, and failing eyesight often curtailed h=
is favorite
amusement. He had tried readers, but none suited him, and he had given up t=
he
plan. Now as he listened, he thought how pleasantly the smoothly flowing vo=
ice
would wile away his evenings, and he envied Bella her new acquisition.
A bell rang, and Bella sprang up, saying,
"Wait for me a minute. I must run to Mamma, and then we will go on with
this charming prince."
Away she went, and Sir John was about to
retire as quietly as he came, when Miss Muir's peculiar behavior arrested h=
im
for an instant. Dropping the book, she threw her arms across the table, laid
her head down upon them, and broke into a passion of tears, like one who co=
uld
bear restraint no longer. Shocked and amazed, Sir John stole away; but all =
that
night the kindhearted gentleman puzzled his brains with conjectures about h=
is
niece's interesting young governess, quite unconscious that she intended he
should do so.
For several weeks the most monotonous
tranquillity seemed to reign at Coventry House, and yet, unseen, unsuspecte=
d, a
storm was gathering. The arrival of Miss Muir seemed to produce a change in
everyone, though no one could have explained how or why. Nothing could be m=
ore unobtrusive
and retiring than her manners. She was devoted to Bella, who soon adored he=
r,
and was only happy when in her society. She ministered in many ways to Mrs.
Coventry's comfort, and that lady declared there never was such a nurse. She
amused, interested and won Edward with her wit and womanly sympathy. She ma=
de
Lucia respect and envy her for her accomplishments, and piqued indolent Ger=
ald
by her persistent avoidance of him, while Sir John was charmed with her res=
pectful
deference and the graceful little attentions she paid him in a frank and
artless way, very winning to the lonely old man. The very servants liked he=
r;
and instead of being, what most governesses are, a forlorn creature hovering
between superiors and inferiors, Jean Muir was the life of the house, and t=
he
friend of all but two.
Lucia disliked her, and Coventry distrusted
her; neither could exactly say why, and neither owned the feeling, even to
themselves. Both watched her covertly yet found no shortcoming anywhere. Me=
ek,
modest, faithful, and invariably sweet-tempered--they could complain of not=
hing
and wondered at their own doubts, though they could not banish them.
It soon came to pass that the family was
divided, or rather that two members were left very much to themselves. Plea=
ding
timidity, Jean Muir kept much in Bella's study and soon made it such a plea=
sant
little nook that Ned and his mother, and often Sir John, came in to enjoy t=
he
music, reading, or cheerful chat which made the evenings so gay. Lucia at f=
irst
was only too glad to have her cousin to herself, and he too lazy to care wh=
at
went on about him. But presently he wearied of her society, for she was not=
a
brilliant girl, and possessed few of those winning arts which charm a man a=
nd
steal into his heart. Rumors of the merry-makings that went on reached him =
and
made him curious to share them; echoes of fine music went sounding through =
the
house, as he lounged about the empty drawing room; and peals of laughter
reached him while listening to Lucia's grave discourse.
She soon discovered that her society had l=
ost
its charm, and the more eagerly she tried to please him, the more signally =
she
failed. Before long Coventry fell into a habit of strolling out upon the
terrace of an evening, and amusing himself by passing and repassing the win=
dow
of Bella's room, catching glimpses of what was going on and reporting the r=
esult
of his observations to Lucia, who was too proud to ask admission to the hap=
py
circle or to seem to desire it.
"I shall go to London tomorrow,
Lucia," Gerald said one evening, as he came back from what he called
"a survey," looking very much annoyed.
"To London?" exclaimed his cousi=
n,
surprised.
"Yes, I must bestir myself and get Ned
his commission, or it will be all over with him."
"How do you mean?"
"He is falling in love as fast as it =
is
possible for a boy to do it. That girl has bewitched him, and he will make a
fool of himself very soon, unless I put a stop to it."
"I was afraid she would attempt a
flirtation. These persons always do, they are such a mischief-making
race."
"Ah, but there you are wrong, as far =
as
little Muir is concerned. She does not flirt, and Ned has too much sense and
spirit to be caught by a silly coquette. She treats him like an elder siste=
r,
and mingles the most attractive friendliness with a quiet dignity that
captivates the boy. I've been watching them, and there he is, devouring her
with his eyes, while she reads a fascinating novel in the most fascinating =
style.
Bella and Mamma are absorbed in the tale, and see nothing; but Ned makes
himself the hero, Miss Muir the heroine, and lives the love scene with all =
the
ardor of a man whose heart has just waked up. Poor lad! Poor lad!"
Lucia
looked at her cousin, amazed by the energy with which he spoke, the anxiety=
in
his usually listless face. The change became him, for it showed what he mig=
ht
be, making one regret still more what he was. Before she could speak, he was
gone again, to return presently, laughing, yet looking a little angry.
"What now?" she asked.
"'Listeners never hear any good of th=
emselves'
is the truest of proverbs. I stopped a moment to look at Ned, and heard the
following flattering remarks. Mamma is gone, and Ned was asking little Muir=
to sing
that delicious barcarole she gave us the other evening.
"'Not
now, not here,' she said.
"'Why not? You sang it in the drawing
room readily enough,' said Ned, imploringly.
"'That is a very different thing,' and
she looked at him with a little shake of the head, for he was folding his h=
ands
and doing the passionate pathetic.
"'Come
and sing it there then,' said innocent Bella. 'Gerald likes your voice so m=
uch,
and complains that you will never sing to him.'
"'He never asks me,' said Muir, with =
an
odd smile.
"'He is too lazy, but he wants to hear
you.'
"'When he asks me, I will sing--if I =
feel
like it.' And she shrugged her shoulders with a provoking gesture of
indifference.
"'But it amuses him, and he gets so b=
ored
down here,' began stupid little Bella. 'Don't be shy or proud, Jean, but co=
me
and entertain the poor old fellow.'
"'No, thank you. I engaged to teach M=
iss
Coventry, not to amuse Mr. Coventry' was all the answer she got.
"'You amuse Ned, why not Gerald? Are =
you
afraid of him?' asked Bella.
"Miss Muir laughed, such a scornful
laugh, and said, in that peculiar tone of hers, 'I cannot fancy anyone bein=
g afraid of your elder brother.'
"'I am, very often, and so would you =
be,
if you ever saw him angry,' And Bella looked as if I'd beaten her.
"'Does he ever wake up enough to be
angry?' asked that girl, with an air of surprise. Here Ned broke into a fit=
of
laughter, and they are at it now, I fancy, by the sound."
"Their foolish gossip is not worth
getting excited about, but I certainly would send Ned away. It's no use try=
ing
to get rid of 'that girl,' as you say, for my aunt is as deluded about her =
as
Ned and Bella, and she really does get the child along splendidly. Dispatch
Ned, and then she can do no harm," said Lucia, watching Coventry's alt=
ered
face as he stood in the moonlight, just outside the window where she sat.
"Have you no fears for me?" he a=
sked
smiling, as if ashamed of his momentary petulance.
"No, have you for yourself?" And=
a
shade of anxiety passed over her face.
"I defy the Scotch witch to enchant m=
e,
except with her music," he added, moving down the terrace again, for J=
ean
was singing like a nightingale.
As the song ended, he put aside the curtai=
n,
and said, abruptly, "Has anyone any commands for London? I am going th=
ere
tomorrow."
"A pleasant trip to you," said N=
ed
carelessly, though usually his brother's movements interested him extremely=
.
"I want quantities of things, but I m=
ust
ask Mamma first." And Bella began to make a list.
"May I trouble you with a letter, Mr.
Coventry?"
Jean Muir turned around on the music stool=
and
looked at him with the cold keen glance which always puzzled him.
He bowed, saying, as if to them all, "=
;I
shall be off by the early train, so you must give me your orders tonight.&q=
uot;
"Then come away, Ned, and leave Jean =
to
write her letter."
And Bella took her reluctant brother from =
the
room.
"I will give you the letter in the
morning," said Miss Muir, with a curious quiver in her voice, and the =
look
of one who forcibly suppressed some strong emotion.
"As you please." And Coventry we=
nt
back to Lucia, wondering who Miss Muir was going to write to. He said nothi=
ng
to his brother of the purpose which took him to town, lest a word should
produce the catastrophe which he hoped to prevent; and Ned, who now lived i=
n a
sort of dream, seemed to forget Gerald's existence altogether.
With unwonted energy Coventry was astir se=
ven
next morning. Lucia gave him his breakfast, and as he left the room to order
the carriage, Miss Muir came gliding downstairs, very pale and heavy-eyed (=
with
a sleepless, tearful night, he thought) and, putting a delicate little lett=
er
into his hand, said hurriedly, "Please leave this at Lady Sydney's, an=
d if
you see her, say 'I have remembered.'"
Her peculiar manner and peculiar message
struck him. His eye involuntarily glanced at the address of the letter and =
read
young Sydney's name. Then, conscious of his mistake, he thrust it into his =
pocket
with a hasty "Good morning," and left Miss Muir standing with one
hand pressed on her heart, the other half extended as if to recall the lett=
er.
All the way to London, Coventry found it
impossible to forget the almost tragical expression of the girl's face, and=
it
haunted him through the bustle of two busy days. Ned's affair was put in the
way of being speedily accomplished, Bella's commissions were executed, his =
mother's
pet delicacies provided for her, and a gift for Lucia, whom the family had
given him for his future mate, as he was too lazy to choose for himself.
Jean Muir's letter he had not delivered, f=
or
Lady Sydney was in the country and her townhouse closed. Curious to see how=
she
would receive his tidings, he went quietly in on his arrival at home. Every=
one
had dispersed to dress for dinner except Miss Muir, who was in the garden, =
the
servant said.
"Very well, I have a message for
her"; and, turning, the "young master," as they called him, =
went
to seek her. In a remote corner he saw her sitting alone, buried in thought=
. As
his step roused her, a look of surprise, followed by one of satisfaction,
passed over her face, and, rising, she beckoned to him with an almost eager
gesture. Much amazed, he went to her and offered the letter, saying kindly,
"I regret that I could not deliver it. Lady Sydney is in the country, =
and
I did not like to post it without your leave. Did I do right?"
"Quite right, thank you very much--it=
is
better so." And with an air of relief, she tore the letter to atoms, a=
nd
scattered them to the wind.
More amazed than ever, the young man was a=
bout
to leave her when she said, with a mixture of entreaty and command,
"Please stay a moment. I want to speak to you."
He paused, eyeing her with visible surpris=
e,
for a sudden color dyed her cheeks, and her lips trembled. Only for a momen=
t,
then she was quite self-possessed again. Motioning him to the seat she had
left, she remained standing while she said, in a low, rapid tone full of pa=
in
and of decision:
"Mr. Coventry, as the head of the hou=
se I
want to speak to you, rather than to your mother, of a most unhappy affair
which has occurred during your absence. My month of probation ends today; y=
our
mother wishes me to remain; I, too, wish it sincerely, for I am happy here,=
but
I ought not. Read this, and you will see why."
She put a hastily written note into his ha=
nd
and watched him intently while he read it. She saw him flush with anger, bi=
te
his lips, and knit his brows, then assume his haughtiest look, as he lifted=
his
eyes and said in his most sarcastic tone, "Very well for a beginning. =
The
boy has eloquence. Pity that it should be wasted. May I ask if you have rep=
lied
to this rhapsody?"
"I have."
"And what follows? He begs you 'to fly
with him, to share his fortunes, and be the good angel of his life.' Of cou=
rse
you consent?"
There
was no answer, for, standing erect before him, Miss Muir regarded him with =
an
expression of proud patience, like one who expected reproaches, yet was too
generous to resent them. Her manner had its effect. Dropping his bitter ton=
e,
Coventry asked briefly, "Why do you show me this? What can I do?"=
"I show it that you may see how much =
in
earnest 'the boy' is, and how open I desire to be. You can control, advise,=
and
comfort your brother, and help me to see what is my duty."
"You love him?" demanded Coventry
bluntly.
"No!" was the quick, decided ans=
wer.
"Then why make him love you?"
"I never tried to do it. Your sister =
will
testify that I have endeavored to avoid him as I--" And he finished the
sentence with an unconscious tone of pique, "As you have avoided me.&q=
uot;
She bowed silently, and he went on:
"I will do you the justice to say that
nothing can be more blameless than your conduct toward myself; but why allow
Ned to haunt you evening after evening? What could you expect of a romantic=
boy
who had nothing to do but lose his heart to the first attractive woman he
met?"
A momentary glisten shone in Jean Muir's
steel-blue eyes as the last words left the young man's lips; but it was gone
instantly, and her voice was full of reproach, as she said, steadily,
impulsively, "If the 'romantic boy' had been allowed to lead the life =
of a
man, as he longed to do, he would have had no time to lose his heart to the
first sorrowful girl whom he pitied. Mr. Coventry, the fault is yours. Do n=
ot blame
your brother, but generously own your mistake and retrieve it in the speedi=
est,
kindest manner."
For an instant Gerald sat dumb. Never since
his father died had anyone reproved him; seldom in his life had he been bla=
med.
It was a new experience, and the very novelty added to the effect. He saw h=
is
fault, regretted it, and admired the brave sincerity of the girl in telling=
him
of it. But he did not know how to deal with the case, and was forced to con=
fess
not only past negligence but present incapacity. He was as honorable as he =
was
proud, and with an effort he said frankly, "You are right, Miss Muir. =
I am
to blame, yet as soon as I saw the danger, I tried to avert it. My visit to
town was on Ned's account; he will have his commission very soon, and then =
he
will be sent out of harm's way. Can I do more?"
"No, it is too late to send him away =
with
a free and happy heart. He must bear his pain as he can, and it may help to
make a man of him," she said sadly.
"He'll soon forget," began Coven=
try,
who found the thought of gay Ned suffering an uncomfortable one.
"Yes, thank heaven, that is possible,=
for
men."
Miss Muir pressed her hands together, with=
a
dark expression on her half-averted face. Something in her tone, her manner,
touched Coventry; he fancied that some old wound bled, some bitter memory a=
woke
at the approach of a new lover. He was young, heart-whole, and romantic, un=
der all
his cool nonchalance of manner. This girl, who he fancied loved his friend =
and
who was, beloved by his brother, became an object of interest to him. He pi=
tied
her, desired to help her, and regretted his past distrust, as a chivalrous =
man
always regrets injustice to a woman. She was happy here, poor, homeless sou=
l,
and she should stay. Bella loved her, his mother took comfort in her, and w=
hen
Ned was gone, no one's peace would be endangered by her winning ways, her r=
ich
accomplishments. These thoughts swept through his mind during a brief pause,
and when he spoke, it was to say gently:
"Miss Muir, I thank you for the frank=
ness
which must have been painful to you, and I will do my best to be worthy of =
the
confidence which you repose in me. You were both discreet and kind to speak
only to me. This thing would have troubled my mother extremely, and have do=
ne
no good. I shall see Ned, and try and repair my long neglect as promptly as=
possible.
I know you will help me, and in return let me beg of you to remain, for he =
will
soon be gone."
She looked at him with eyes full of tears,=
and
there was no coolness in the voice that answered softly, "You are too
kind, but I had better go; it is not wise to stay."
"Why not?"
She colored beautifully, hesitated, then s=
poke
out in the clear, steady voice which was her greatest charm, "If I had=
known
there were sons in this family, I never should have come. Lady Sydney spoke
only of your sister, and when I found two gentlemen, I was troubled, becaus=
e--I
am so unfortunate--or rather, people are so kind as to like me more than I =
deserve.
I thought I could stay a month, at least, as your brother spoke of going aw=
ay,
and you were already affianced, but--"
"I am not affianced."
Why he said that, Coventry could not tell,=
but
the words passed his lips hastily and could not be recalled. Jean Muir took=
the
announcement oddly enough. She shrugged her shoulders with an air of extreme
annoyance, and said almost rudely, "Then you should be; you will be so=
on.
But that is nothing to me. Miss Beaufort wishes me gone, and I am too proud=
to remain
and become the cause of disunion in a happy family. No, I will go, and go at
once."
She turned away impetuously, but Edward's =
arm
detained her, and Edward's voice demanded, tenderly, "Where will you g=
o,
my Jean?"
The tender touch and name seemed to rob he=
r of
her courage and calmness, for, leaning on her lover, she hid her face and
sobbed audibly.
"Now don't make a scene, for heaven's
sake," began Coventry impatiently, as his brother eyed him fiercely,
divining at once what had passed, for his letter was still in Gerald's hand=
and
Jean's last words had reached her lover's ear.
"Who gave you the right to read that,=
and
to interfere in my affairs?" demanded Edward hotly.
"Miss Muir" was the reply, as
Coventry threw away the paper.
"And you add to the insult by ordering
her out of the house," cried Ned with increasing wrath.
"On the contrary, I beg her to
remain."
"The deuce you do! And why?"
"Because she is useful and happy here,
and I am unwilling that your folly should rob her of a home which she
likes."
"You are very thoughtful and devoted =
all
at once, but I beg you will not trouble yourself. Jean's happiness and home
will be my care now."
"My dear boy, do be reasonable. The t=
hing
is impossible. Miss Muir sees it herself; she came to tell me, to ask how b=
est
to arrange matters without troubling my mother. I've been to town to attend=
to
your affairs, and you may be off now very soon."
"I have no desire to go. Last month it
was the wish of my heart. Now I'll accept nothing from you." And Edward
turned moodily away from his brother.
"What folly! Ned, you must leave home. It is all arranged and =
cannot
be given up now. A change is what you need, and it will make a man of you. =
We
shall miss you, of course, but you will be where you'll see something of li=
fe,
and that is better for you than getting into mischief here."
"Are you going away, Jean?" asked
Edward, ignoring his brother entirely and bending over the girl, who still =
hid
her face and wept. She did not speak, and Gerald answered for her.
"No, why should she if you are
gone?"
"Do you mean to stay?" asked the
lover eagerly of Jean.
"I wish to remain, but--" She pa=
used
and looked up. Her eyes went from one face to the other, and she added,
decidedly, "Yes, I must go, it is not wise to stay even when you are
gone."
Neither of the young men could have explai=
ned
why that hurried glance affected them as it did, but each felt conscious of=
a
willful desire to oppose the other. Edward suddenly felt that his brother l=
oved
Miss Muir, and was bent on removing her from his way. Gerald had a vague id=
ea
that Miss Muir feared to remain on his account, and he longed to show her t=
hat
he was quite safe. Each felt angry, and each showed it in a different way, =
one
being violent, the other satirical.
"You are right, Jean, this is not the
place for you; and you must let me see you in a safer home before I go,&quo=
t;
said Ned, significantly.
"It strikes me that this will be a
particularly safe home when your dangerous self is removed," began
Coventry, with an aggravating smile of calm superiority.
"And I think that I leave a more dangerous
person than myself behind me, as poor Lucia can testify."
"Be careful what you say, Ned, or I s=
hall
be forced to remind you that I am master here. Leave Lucia's name out of th=
is
disagreeable affair, if you please."
"You are master here, but not of me, =
or
my actions, and you have no right to expect obedience or respect, for you
inspire neither. Jean, I asked you to go with me secretly; now I ask you op=
enly
to share my fortune. In my brother's presence I ask, and will have an answer."
He caught her hand impetuously, with a def=
iant
look at Coventry, who still smiled, as if at boy's play, though his eyes we=
re
kindling and his face changing with the still, white wrath which is more
terrible than any sudden outburst. Miss Muir looked frightened; she shrank =
away
from her passionate young lover, cast an appealing glance at Gerald, and se=
emed
as if she longed to claim his protection yet dared not.
"Speak!" cried Edward, desperate=
ly.
"Don't look to him, tell me truly, with your own lips, do you, can you
love me, Jean?"
"I have told you once. Why pain me by
forcing another hard reply," she said pitifully, still shrinking from =
his
grasp and seeming to appeal to his brother.
"You wrote a few lines, but I'll not =
be
satisfied with that. You shall answer; I've seen love in your eyes, heard i=
t in
your voice, and I know it is hidden in your heart. You fear to own it; do n=
ot
hesitate, no one can part us--speak, Jean, and satisfy me."
Drawing her hand decidedly away, she went a
step nearer Coventry, and answered, slowly, distinctly, though her lips
trembled, and she evidently dreaded the effect of her words, "I will
speak, and speak truly. You have seen love in my face; it is in my heart, a=
nd I
do not hesitate to own it, cruel as it is to force the truth from me, but t=
his love
is not for you. Are you satisfied?"
He looked at her with a despairing glance =
and
stretched his hand toward her beseechingly. She seemed to fear a blow, for
suddenly she clung to Gerald with a faint cry. The act, the look of fear, t=
he
protecting gesture Coventry involuntarily made were too much for Edward,
already excited by conflicting passions. In a paroxysm of blind wrath, he
caught up a large pruning knife left there by the gardener, and would have =
dealt
his brother a fatal blow had he not warded it off with his arm. The stroke
fell, and another might have followed had not Miss Muir with unexpected cou=
rage
and strength wrested the knife from Edward and flung it into the little pond
near by. Coventry dropped down upon the seat, for the blood poured from a d=
eep
wound in his arm, showing by its rapid flow that an artery had been severed.
Edward stood aghast, for with the blow his fury passed, leaving him overwhe=
lmed
with remorse and shame.
Gerald looked up at him, smiled faintly, a=
nd
said, with no sign of reproach or anger, "Never mind, Ned. Forgive and
forget. Lend me a hand to the house, and don't disturb anyone. It's not muc=
h, I
dare say." But his lips whitened as he spoke, and his strength failed =
him.
Edward sprang to support him, and Miss Muir, forgetting her terrors, proved=
herself
a girl of uncommon skill and courage.
"Quick! Lay him down. Give me your
handkerchief, and bring some water," she said, in a tone of quiet comm=
and.
Poor Ned obeyed and watched her with breathless suspense while she tied the
handkerchief tightly around the arm, thrust the handle of his riding whip
underneath, and pressed it firmly above the severed artery to stop the
dangerous flow of blood.
"Dr. Scott is with your mother, I thi=
nk.
Go and bring him here" was the next order; and Edward darted away,
thankful to do anything to ease the terror which possessed him. He was gone
some minutes, and while they waited Coventry watched the girl as she knelt
beside him, bathing his face with one hand while with the other she held th=
e bandage
firmly in its place. She was pale, but quite steady and self-possessed, and=
her
eyes shone with a strange brilliancy as she looked down at him. Once, meeti=
ng
his look of grateful wonder, she smiled a reassuring smile that made her
lovely, and said, in a soft, sweet tone never used to him before, "Be
quiet. There is no danger. I will stay by you till help comes."
Help did come speedily, and the doctor's f=
irst
words were "Who improvised that tourniquet?"
"She did," murmured Coventry.
"Then you may thank her for saving yo=
ur
life. By Jove! It was capitally done"; and the old doctor looked at the
girl with as much admiration as curiosity in his face.
"Never mind that. See to the wound,
please, while I ran for bandages, and salts, and wine."
Miss Muir was gone as she spoke, so fleetly
that it was in vain to call her back or catch her. During her brief absence,
the story was told by repentant Ned and the wound examined.
"Fortunately I have my case of
instruments with me," said the doctor, spreading on the bench a long a=
rray
of tiny, glittering implements of torture. "Now, Mr. Ned, come here, a=
nd
hold the arm in that way, while I tie the artery. Hey! That will never do.
Don't tremble so, man, look away and hold it steadily."
"I can't!" And poor Ned turned f=
aint
and white, not at the sight but with the bitter thought that he had longed =
to
kill his brother.
"I
will hold it," and a slender white hand lifted the bare and bloody arm=
so
firmly, steadily, that Coventry sighed a sigh of relief, and Dr. Scott fell=
to
work with an emphatic nod of approval.
It was soon over, and while Edward ran in =
to
bid the servants beware of alarming their mistress, Dr. Scott put up his
instruments and Miss Muir used salts, water, and wine so skillfully that Ge=
rald
was able to walk to his room, leaning on the old man, while the girl suppor=
ted
the wounded arm, as no sling could be made on the spot. As he entered the c=
hamber,
Coventry turned, put out his left hand, and with much feeling in his fine e=
yes
said simply, "Miss Muir, I thank you."
The color came up beautifully in her pale
cheeks as she pressed the hand and without a word vanished from the room. L=
ucia
and the housekeeper came bustling in, and there was no lack of attendance on
the invalid. He soon wearied of it, and sent them all away but Ned, who
remorsefully haunted the chamber, looking like a comely young Cain and feel=
ing
like an outcast.
"Come here, lad, and tell me all about
it. I was wrong to be domineering. Forgive me, and believe that I care for =
your
happiness more sincerely than for my own."
These frank and friendly words healed the
breach between the two brothers and completely conquered Ned. Gladly did he
relate his love passages, for no young lover ever tires of that amusement i=
f he
has a sympathizing auditor, and Gerald was sympathetic now. For an hour did he=
lie
listening patiently to the history of the growth of his brother's passion.
Emotion gave the narrator eloquence, and Jean Muir's character was painted =
in
glowing colors. All her unsuspected kindness to those about her was dwelt u=
pon;
all her faithful care, her sisterly interest in Bella, her gentle attention=
s to
their mother, her sweet forbearance with Lucia, who plainly showed her disl=
ike,
and most of all, her friendly counsel, sympathy, and regard for Ned himself=
.
"She would make a man of me. She puts
strength and courage into me as no one else can. She is unlike any girl I e=
ver
saw; there's no sentimentality about her; she is wise, and kind, and sweet.=
She
says what she means, looks you straight in the eye, and is as true as steel=
. I've
tried her, I know her, and--ah, Gerald, I love her so!"
Here the poor lad leaned his face into his
hands and sighed a sigh that made his brother's heart ache.
"Upon my soul, Ned, I feel for you; a=
nd
if there was no obstacle on her part, I'd do my best for you. She loves Syd=
ney,
and so there is nothing for it but to bear your fate like a man."
"Are you sure about Sydney? May it no=
t be
some one else?" and Ned eyed his brother with a suspicious look.
Coventry
told him all he knew and surmised concerning his friend, not forgetting the
letter. Edward mused a moment, then seemed relieved, and said frankly,
"I'm glad it's Sydney and not you. I can bear it better."
"Me!" ejaculated Gerald, with a
laugh.
"Yes, you; I've been tormented lately
with a fear that you cared for her, or rather, she for you."
"You jealous young fool! We never see=
or
speak to one another scarcely, so how could we get up a tender interest?&qu=
ot;
"What do you lounge about on that ter=
race
for every evening? And why does she get fluttered when your shadow begins to
come and go?" demanded Edward.
"I like the music and don't care for =
the
society of the singer, that's why I walk there. The fluttering is all your
imagination; Miss Muir isn't a woman to be fluttered by a man's shadow.&quo=
t;
And Coventry glanced at his useless arm.
"Thank you for that, and for not sayi=
ng
'little Muir,' as you generally do. Perhaps it was my imagination. But she
never makes fun of you now, and so I fancied she might have lost her heart =
to
the 'young master.' Women often do, you know."
"She
used to ridicule me, did she?" asked Coventry, taking no notice of the
latter part of his brother's speech, which was quite true nevertheless.
"Not exactly, she was too well-bred f=
or
that. But sometimes when Bella and I joked about you, she'd say something so
odd or witty that it was irresistible. You're used to being laughed at, so =
you
don't mind, I know, just among ourselves."
"Not I. Laugh away as much as you
like," said Gerald. But he did mind, and wanted exceedingly to know wh=
at
Miss Muir had said, yet was too proud to ask. He turned restlessly and utte=
red
a sigh of pain.
"I'm talking too much; it's bad for y=
ou.
Dr. Scott said you must be quiet. Now go to sleep, if you can."
Edward left the bedside but not the room, =
for
he would let no one take his place. Coventry tried to sleep, found it
impossible, and after a restless hour called his brother back.
"If the bandage was loosened a bit, it
would ease my arm and then I could sleep. Can you do it, Ned?"
"I dare not touch it. The doctor gave
orders to leave it till he came in the morning, and I shall only do harm if=
I
try."
"But I tell you it's too tight. My ar=
m is
swelling and the pain is intense. It can't be right to leave it so. Dr. Sco=
tt
dressed it in a hurry and did it too tight. Common sense will tell you
that," said Coventry impatiently.
"I'll call Mrs. Morris; she will
understand what's best to be done." And Edward moved toward the door,
looking anxious.
"Not she, she'll only make a stir and
torment me with her chatter. I'll bear it as long as I can, and perhaps Dr.
Scott will come tonight. He said he would if possible. Go to your dinner, N=
ed.
I can ring for Neal if I need anything. I shall sleep if I'm alone,
perhaps."
Edward reluctantly obeyed, and his brother=
was
left to himself. Little rest did he find, however, for the pain of the woun=
ded
arm grew unbearable, and, taking a sudden resolution, he rang for his serva=
nt.
"Neal, go to Miss Coventry's study, a=
nd
if Miss Muir is there, ask her to be kind enough to come to me. I'm in great
pain, and she understand wounds better than anyone else in the house."=
With much surprise in his face, the man
departed and a few moments after the door noiselessly opened and Miss Muir =
came
in. It had been a very warm day, and for the first time she had left off her
plain black dress. All in white, with no ornament but her fair hair, and a
fragrant posy of violets in her belt, she looked a different woman from the
meek, nunlike creature one usually saw about the house. Her face was as alt=
ered
as her dress, for now a soft color glowed in her cheeks, her eyes smiled sh=
yly,
and her lips no longer wore the firm look of one who forcibly repressed eve=
ry
emotion. A fresh, gentle, and charming woman she seemed, and Coventry found=
the
dull room suddenly brightened by her presence. Going straight to him, she s=
aid
simply, and with a happy, helpful look very comforting to see, "I'm gl=
ad
you sent for me. What can I do for you?"
He told her, and before the complaint was
ended, she began loosening the bandages with the decision of one who unders=
tood
what was to be done and had faith in herself.
"Ah, that's relief, that's comfort!&q=
uot;
ejaculated Coventry, as the last tight fold fell away. "Ned was afraid=
I
should bleed to death if he touched me. What will the doctor say to us?&quo=
t;
"I neither know nor care. I shall say=
to
him that he is a bad surgeon to bind it so closely, and not leave orders to
have it untied if necessary. Now I shall make it easy and put you to sleep,=
for
that is what you need. Shall I? May I?"
"I wish you would, if you can."<= o:p>
And while she deftly rearranged the bandag=
es,
the young man watched her curiously. Presently he asked, "How came you=
to
know so much about these things?"
"In the hospital where I was ill, I s=
aw much
that interested me, and when I got better, I used to sing to the patients
sometimes."
"Do you mean to sing to me?" he
asked, in the submissive tone men unconsciously adopt when ill and in a wom=
an's
care.
"If you like it better than reading a=
loud
in a dreamy tone," she answered, as she tied the last knot.
"I do, much better," he said
decidedly.
"You are feverish. I shall wet your
forehead, and then you will be quite comfortable." She moved about the
room in the quiet way which made it a pleasure to watch her, and, having
mingled a little cologne with water, bathed his face as unconcernedly as if=
he
had been a child. Her proceedings not only comforted but amused Coventry, w=
ho
mentally contrasted her with the stout, beer-drinking matron who had ruled =
over
him in his last illness.
"A clever, kindly little woman,"=
he
thought, and felt quite at his ease, she was so perfectly easy herself.
"There, now you look more like
yourself," she said with an approving nod as she finished, and smoothed
the dark locks off his forehead with a cool, soft hand. Then seating hersel=
f in
a large chair near by, she began to sing, while tidily rolling up the fresh
bandages which had been left for the morning. Coventry lay watching her by =
the
dim light that burned in the room, and she sang on as easily as a bird, a
dreamy, low-toned lullaby, which soothed the listener like a spell. Present=
ly, looking
up to see the effect of her song, she found the young man wide awake, and
regarding her with a curious mixture of pleasure, interest, and admiration.=
"Shut your eyes, Mr. Coventry," =
she
said, with a reproving shake of the head, and an odd little smile.
He laughed and obeyed, but could not resis=
t an
occasional covert glance from under his lashes at the slender white figure =
in
the great velvet chair. She saw him and frowned.
"You are very disobedient; why won't =
you
sleep?"
"I can't, I want to listen. I'm fond =
of
nightingales."
"Then I shall sing no more, but try
something that has never failed yet. Give me your hand, please."
Much amazed, he gave it, and, taking it in
both her small ones, she sat down behind the curtain and remained as mute a=
nd
motionless as a statue. Coventry smiled to himself at first, and wondered w=
hich
would tire first. But soon a subtle warmth seemed to steal from the soft pa=
lms
that enclosed his own, his heart beat quicker, his breath grew unequal, and=
a thousand
fancies danced through his brain. He sighed, and said dreamily, as he turned
his face toward her, "I like this." And in the act of speaking,
seemed to sink into a soft cloud which encompassed him about with an atmosp=
here
of perfect repose. More than this he could not remember, for sleep, deep and
dreamless, fell upon him, and when he woke, daylight was shining in between=
the
curtains, his hand lay alone on the coverlet, and his fair-haired enchantre=
ss
was gone.
For several days Coventry was confined to =
his
room, much against his will, though everyone did their best to lighten his
irksome captivity. His mother petted him, Bella sang, Lucia read, Edward was
devoted, and all the household, with one exception, were eager to serve the
young master. Jean Muir never came near him, and Jean Muir alone seemed to =
possess
the power of amusing him. He soon tired of the others, wanted something new;
recalled the piquant character of the girl and took a fancy into his head t=
hat
she would lighten his ennui. After some hesitation, he carelessly spoke of =
her
to Bella, but nothing came of it, for Bella only said Jean was well, and ve=
ry
busy doing something lovely to surprise Mamma with. Edward complained that =
he
never saw her, and Lucia ignored her existence altogether. The only
intelligence the invalid received was from the gossip of two housemaids over
their work in the next room. From them he learned that the governess had be=
en
"scolded" by Miss Beaufort for going to Mr. Coventry's room; that=
she
had taken it very sweetly and kept herself carefully out of the way of both
young gentlemen, though it was plain to see that Mr. Ned was dying for her.=
Mr. Gerald amused himself by thinking over
this gossip, and quite annoyed his sister by his absence of mind.
"Gerald, do you know Ned's commission=
has
come?"
"Very interesting. Read on, Bella.&qu=
ot;
"You stupid boy! You don't know a wor=
d I
say," and she put down the book to repeat her news.
"I'm glad of it; now we must get him =
off
as soon as possible--that is, I suppose he will want to be off as soon as
possible." And Coventry woke up from his reverie.
"You needn't check yourself, I know a=
ll
about it. I think Ned was very foolish, and that Miss Muir has behaved
beautifully. It's quite impossible, of course, but I wish it wasn't, I do so
like to watch lovers. You and Lucia are so cold you are not a bit
interesting."
"You'll do me a favor if you'll stop =
all
that nonsense about Lucia and me. We are not lovers, and never shall be, I
fancy. At all events, I'm tired of the thing, and wish you and Mamma would =
let
it drop, for the present at least."
"Oh Gerald, you know Mamma has set her
heart upon it, that Papa desired it, and poor Lucia loves you so much. How =
can
you speak of dropping what will make us all so happy?"
"It won't make me happy, and I take t=
he
liberty of thinking that this is of some importance. I'm not bound in any w=
ay,
and don't intend to be till I am ready. Now we'll talk about Ned."
Much grieved and surprised, Bella obeyed, =
and
devoted herself to Edward, who very wisely submitted to his fate and prepar=
ed
to leave home for some months. For a week the house was in a state of
excitement about his departure, and everyone but Jean was busied for him. S=
he
was scarcely seen; every morning she gave Bella her lessons, every afternoon
drove out with Mrs. Coventry, and nearly every evening went up to the Hall =
to read
to Sir John, who found his wish granted without exactly knowing how it had =
been
done. The day Edward left, he came down from bidding his mother good-bye, l=
ooking
very pale, for he had lingered in his sister's little room with Miss Muir as
long as he dared.
"Good-bye, dear. Be kind to Jean,&quo=
t;
he whispered as he kissed his sister.
"I will, I will," returned Bella,
with tearful eyes.
"Take care of Mamma, and remember
Lucia," he said again, as he touched his cousin's beautiful cheek.
"Fear nothing. I will keep them
apart," she whispered back, and Coventry heard it.
Edward offered his hand to his brother,
saying, significantly, as he looked him in the eye, "I trust you,
Gerald."
"You may, Ned."
Then
he went, and Coventry tired himself with wondering what Lucia meant. A few =
days
later he understood.
Now Ned is gone, little Muir will appear, I
fancy, he said to himself; but "little Muir" did not appear, and
seemed to shun him more carefully than she had done her lover. If he went to
the drawing room in the evening hoping for music, Lucia alone was there. If=
he
tapped at Bella's door, there was always a pause before she opened it, and =
no
sign of Jean appeared though her voice had been audible when he knocked. If=
he
went to the library, a hasty rustle and the sound of flying feet betrayed t=
hat
the room was deserted at his approach. In the garden Miss Muir never failed=
to
avoid him, and if by chance they met in hall or breakfast room, she passed =
him
with downcast eyes and the briefest, coldest greeting. All this annoyed him
intensely, and the more she eluded him, the more he desired to see her--fro=
m a
spirit of opposition, he said, nothing more. It fretted and yet it entertai=
ned
him, and he found a lazy sort of pleasure in thwarting the girl's little
maneuvers. His patience gave out at last, and he resolved to know what was =
the meaning
of this peculiar conduct. Having locked and taken away the key of one door =
in
the library, he waited till Miss Muir went in to get a book for his uncle. =
He
had heard her speak to Bella of it, knew that she believed him with his mot=
her,
and smiled to himself as he stole after her. She was standing in a chair,
reaching up, and he had time to see a slender waist, a pretty foot, before =
he
spoke.
"Can I help you, Miss Muir?"
She started, dropped several books, and tu=
rned
scarlet, as she said hurriedly, "Thank you, no; I can get the steps.&q=
uot;
"My long arm will be less trouble. I'=
ve
got but one, and that is tired of being idle, so it is very much at your
service. What will you have?"
"I--I--you startled me so I've
forgotten." And Jean laughed, nervously, as she looked about her as if
planning to escape.
"I beg your pardon, wait till you
remember, and let me thank you for the enchanted sleep you gave me ten days
ago. I've had no chance yet, you've shunned me so pertinaciously."
"Indeed I try not to be rude, but--&q=
uot;
She checked herself, and turned her face away, adding, with an accent of pa=
in
in her voice, "It is not my fault, Mr. Coventry. I only obey orders.&q=
uot;
"Whose orders?" he demanded, sti=
ll
standing so that she could not escape.
"Don't ask; it is one who has a right=
to
command where you are concerned. Be sure that it is kindly meant, though it=
may
seem folly to us. Nay, don't be angry, laugh at it, as I do, and let me run=
away,
please."
She turned, and looked down at him with te=
ars
in her eyes, a smile on her lips, and an expression half sad, half arch, wh=
ich
was altogether charming. The frown passed from his face, but he still looked
grave and said decidedly, "No one has a right to command in this house=
but
my mother or myself. Was it she who bade you avoid me as if I was a madman =
or a
pest?"
"Ah, don't ask. I promised not to tel=
l,
and you would not have me break my word, I know." And still smiling, s=
he
regarded him with a look of merry malice which made any other reply
unnecessary. It was Lucia, he thought, and disliked his cousin intensely ju=
st
then. Miss Muir moved as if to step down; he detained her, saying earnestly,
yet with a smile, "Do you consider me the master here?"
"Yes," and to the word she gave a
sweet, submissive intonation which made it expressive of the respect, regar=
d,
and confidence which men find pleasantest when women feel and show it.
Unconsciously his face softened, and he looked up at her with a different
glance from any he had ever given her before.
"Well, then, will you consent to obey=
me
if I am not tyrannical or unreasonable in my demands?"
"I'll try."
"Good!
Now frankly, I want to say that all this sort of thing is very disagreeable=
to
me. It annoys me to be a restraint upon anyone's liberty or comfort, and I =
beg
you will go and come as freely as you like, and not mind Lucia's absurditie=
s.
She means well, but hasn't a particle of penetration or tact. Will you prom=
ise
this?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"It is better as it is, perhaps."=
;
"But you called it folly just now.&qu=
ot;
"Yes,
it seems so, and yet--" She paused, looking both confused and distress=
ed.
Coventry lost patience, and said hastily,
"You women are such enigmas I never expect to understand you! Well, I'=
ve
done my best to make you comfortable, but if you prefer to lead this sort of
life, I beg you will do so."
"I don't prefer it; it is hateful to =
me.
I like to be myself, to have my liberty, and the confidence of those about =
me.
But I cannot think it kind to disturb the peace of anyone, and so I try to
obey. I've promised Bella to remain, but I will go rather than have another
scene with Miss Beaufort or with you."
Miss Muir had burst out impetuously, and s=
tood
there with a sudden fire in her eyes, sudden warmth and spirit in her face =
and
voice that amazed Coventry. She was angry, hurt, and haughty, and the change
only made her more attractive, for not a trace of her former meek self
remained. Coventry was electrified, and still more surprised when she added=
, imperiously,
with a gesture as if to put him aside, "Hand me that book and move awa=
y. I
wish to go."
He obeyed, even offered his hand, but she
refused it, stepped lightly down, and went to the door. There she turned, a=
nd
with the same indignant voice, the same kindling eyes and glowing cheeks, s=
he
said rapidly, "I know I have no right to speak in this way. I restrain
myself as long as I can, but when I can bear no more, my true self breaks l=
oose,
and I defy everything. I am tired of being a cold, calm machine; it is
impossible with an ardent nature like mine, and I shall try no longer. I ca=
nnot
help it if people love me. I don't want their love. I only ask to be left in
peace, and why I am tormented so I cannot see. I've neither beauty, money, =
nor
rank, yet every foolish boy mistakes my frank interest for something warmer,
and makes me miserable. It is my misfortune. Think of me what you will, but
beware of me in time, for against my will I may do you harm."
Almost fiercely she had spoken, and with a
warning gesture she hurried from the room, leaving the young man feeling as=
if
a sudden thunder-gust had swept through the house. For several minutes he s=
at
in the chair she left, thinking deeply. Suddenly he rose, went to his siste=
r,
and said, in his usual tone of indolent good nature, "Bella, didn't I =
hear
Ned ask you to be kind to Miss Muir?"
"Yes, and I try to be, but she is so =
odd
lately."
"Odd! How do you mean?"
"Why, she is either as calm and cold =
as a
statue, or restless and queer; she cries at night, I know, and sighs sadly =
when
she thinks I don't hear. Something is the matter."
"She
frets for Ned perhaps," began Coventry.
"Oh dear, no; it's a great relief to =
her
that he is gone. I'm afraid that she likes someone very much, and someone d=
on't
like her. Can it be Mr. Sydney?"
"She called him a 'titled fool' once,=
but
perhaps that didn't mean anything. Did you ever ask her about him?" sa=
id
Coventry, feeling rather ashamed of his curiosity, yet unable to resist the
temptation of questioning unsuspecting Bella.
"Yes, but she only looked at me in her
tragical way, and said, so pitifully, 'My little friend, I hope you will ne=
ver
have to pass through the scenes I've passed through, but keep your peace
unbroken all your life.' After that I dared say no more. I'm very fond of h=
er,
I want to make her happy, but I don't know how. Can you propose anything?&q=
uot;
"I was going to propose that you make=
her
come among us more, now Ned is gone. It must be dull for her, moping about
alone. I'm sure it is for me. She is an entertaining little person, and I e=
njoy
her music very much. It's good for Mamma to have gay evenings; so you bestir
yourself, and see what you can do for the general good of the family."=
"That's all very charming, and I've
proposed it more than once, but Lucia spoils all my plans. She is afraid yo=
u'll
follow Ned's example, and that is so silly."
"Lucia is a--no, I won't say fool,
because she has sense enough when she chooses; but I wish you'd just settle
things with Mamma, and then Lucia can do nothing but submit," said Ger=
ald
angrily.
"I'll try, but she goes up to read to
Uncle, you know, and since he has had the gout, she stays later, so I see
little of her in the evening. There she goes now. I think she will captivate
the old one as well as the young one, she is so devoted."
Coventry looked after her slender black
figure, just vanishing through the great gate, and an uncomfortable fancy t=
ook
possession of him, born of Bella's careless words. He sauntered away, and a=
fter
eluding his cousin, who seemed looking for him, he turned toward the Hall,
saying to himself, I will see what is going on up here. Such things have
happened. Uncle is the simplest soul alive, and if the girl is ambitious, s=
he
can do what she will with him.
Here a servant came running after him and =
gave
him a letter, which he thrust into his pocket without examining it. When he
reached the Hall, he went quietly to his uncle's study. The door was ajar, =
and
looking in, he saw a scene of tranquil comfort, very pleasant to watch. Sir
John leaned in his easy chair with one foot on a cushion. He was dressed wi=
th his
usual care and, in spite of the gout, looked like a handsome, well-preserved
old gentleman. He was smiling as he listened, and his eyes rested complacen=
tly
on Jean Muir, who sat near him reading in her musical voice, while the suns=
hine
glittered on her hair and the soft rose of her cheek. She read well, yet
Coventry thought her heart was not in her task, for once when she paused, w=
hile
Sir John spoke, her eyes had an absent expression, and she leaned her head =
upon
her hand, with an air of patient weariness.
Poor girl! I did her great injustice; she =
has
no thought of captivating the old man, but amuses him from simple kindness.=
She
is tired. I'll put an end to her task; and Coventry entered without knockin=
g.
Sir John received him with an air of polite
resignation, Miss Muir with a perfectly expressionless face.
"Mother's love, and how are you today,
sir?"
"Comfortable, but dull, so I want you=
to
bring the girls over this evening, to amuse the old gentleman. Mrs. King has
got out the antique costumes and trumpery, as I promised Bella she should h=
ave them,
and tonight we are to have a merrymaking, as we used to do when Ned was
here."
"Very well, sir, I'll bring them. We'=
ve
all been out of sorts since the lad left, and a little jollity will do us g=
ood.
Are you going back, Miss Muir?" asked Coventry.
"No, I shall keep her to give me my t=
ea
and get things ready. Don't read anymore, my dear, but go and amuse yourself
with the pictures, or whatever you like," said Sir John; and like a
dutiful daughter she obeyed, as if glad to get away.
"That's a very charming girl,
Gerald," began Sir John as she left the room. "I'm much intereste=
d in
her, both on her own account and on her mother's."
"Her mother's! What do you know of her
mother?" asked Coventry, much surprised.
"Her mother was Lady Grace Howard, who
ran away with a poor Scotch minister twenty years ago. The family cast her =
off,
and she lived and died so obscurely that very little is known of her except
that she left an orphan girl at some small French pension. This is the girl,
and a fine girl, too. I'm surprised that you did not know this."
"So am I, but it is like her not to t=
ell.
She is a strange, proud creature. Lady Howard's daughter! Upon my word, tha=
t is
a discovery," and Coventry felt his interest in his sister's governess
much increased by this fact; for, like all wellborn Englishmen, he valued r=
ank
and gentle blood even more than he cared to own.
"She has had a hard life of it, this =
poor
little girl, but she has a brave spirit, and will make her way anywhere,&qu=
ot;
said Sir John admiringly.
"Did Ned know this?" asked Gerald
suddenly.
"No, she only told me yesterday. I was looking in the Peerage<= span style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> and chanced to speak of the Howards= . She forgot herself and called Lady Grace her mother. Then I got the whole story, for the lonely little thing was glad to make a confidant of someone."<= o:p>
"That accounts for her rejection of
Sydney and Ned: she knows she is their equal and will not snatch at the rank
which is hers by right. No, she's not mercenary or ambitious."
"What
do you say?" asked Sir John, for Coventry had spoken more to himself t=
han
to his uncle.
"I wonder if Lady Sydney was aware of
this?" was all Gerald's answer.
"No, Jean said she did not wish to be
pitied, and so told nothing to the mother. I think the son knew, but that w=
as a
delicate point, and I asked no questions."
"I shall write to him as soon as I
discover his address. We have been so intimate I can venture to make a few
inquiries about Miss Muir, and prove the truth of her story."
"Do you mean to say that you doubt
it?" demanded Sir John angrily.
"I beg your pardon, Uncle, but I must
confess I have an instinctive distrust of that young person. It is unjust, I
dare say, yet I cannot banish it."
"Don't annoy me by expressing it, if =
you
please. I have some penetration and experience, and I respect and pity Miss
Muir heartily. This dislike of yours may be the cause of her late melanchol=
y,
hey, Gerald?" And Sir John looked suspiciously at his nephew.
Anxious to avert the rising storm, Coventry
said hastily as he turned away, "I've neither time nor inclination to
discuss the matter now, sir, but will be careful not to offend again. I'll =
take
your message to Bella, so good-bye for an hour, Uncle."
And Coventry went his way through the park,
thinking within himself, The dear old gentleman is getting fascinated, like
poor Ned. How the deuce does the girl do it? Lady Howard's daughter, yet ne=
ver
told us; I don't understand that.
At home he found a party of young friends,=
who
hailed with delight the prospect of a revel at the Hall. An hour later, the
blithe company trooped into the great saloon, where preparations had already
been made for a dramatic evening.
Good Sir John was in his element, for he w=
as
never so happy as when his house was full of young people. Several persons =
were
chosen, and in a few moments the curtains were withdrawn from the first of
these impromptu tableaux. A swarthy, darkly bearded man lay asleep on a tig=
er skin,
in the shadow of a tent. Oriental arms and drapery surrounded him; an antiq=
ue
silver lamp burned dimly on a table where fruit lay heaped in costly dishes,
and wine shone redly in half-emptied goblets. Bending over the sleeper was a
woman robed with barbaric splendor. One hand turned back the embroidered sl=
eeve
from the arm which held a scimitar; one slender foot in a scarlet sandal was
visible under the white tunic; her purple mantle swept down from snowy
shoulders; fillets of gold bound her hair, and jewels shone on neck and arm=
s.
She was looking over her shoulder toward the entrance of the tent, with a
steady yet stealthy look, so effective that for a moment the spectators held
their breath, as if they also heard a passing footstep.
"Who is it?" whispered Lucia, for
the face was new to her.
"Jean Muir," answered Coventry, =
with
an absorbed look.
"Impossible! She is small and fair,&q=
uot;
began Lucia, but a hasty "Hush, let me look!" from her cousin
silenced her.
Impossible as it seemed, he was right
nevertheless; for Jean Muir it was. She had darkened her skin, painted her
eyebrows, disposed some wild black locks over her fair hair, and thrown suc=
h an
intensity of expression into her eyes that they darkened and dilated till t=
hey
were as fierce as any southern eyes that ever flashed. Hatred, the deepest =
and
bitterest, was written on her sternly beautiful face, courage glowed in her
glance, power spoke in the nervous grip of the slender hand that held the
weapon, and the indomitable will of the woman was expressed--even the firm
pressure of the little foot half hidden in the tiger skin.
"Oh, isn't she splendid?" cried
Bella under her breath.
"She looks as if she'd use her sword =
well
when the time comes," said someone admiringly.
"Good night to Holofernes; his fate is
certain," added another.
"He is the image of Sydney, with that
beard on."
"Doesn't she look as if she really ha=
ted
him?"
"Perhaps she does."
Coventry
uttered the last exclamation, for the two which preceded it suggested an
explanation of the marvelous change in Jean. It was not all art: the intense
detestation mingled with a savage joy that the object of her hatred was in =
her
power was too perfect to be feigned; and having the key to a part of her st=
ory,
Coventry felt as if he caught a glimpse of the truth. It was but a glimpse,
however, for the curtain dropped before he had half analyzed the significan=
ce
of that strange face.
"Horrible! I'm glad it's over," =
said
Lucia coldly.
"Magnificent! Encore! Encore!" c=
ried
Gerald enthusiastically.
But
the scene was over, and no applause could recall the actress. Two or three
graceful or gay pictures followed, but Jean was in none, and each lacked the
charm which real talent lends to the simplest part.
"Coventry, you are wanted," call=
ed a
voice. And to everyone's surprise, Coventry went, though heretofore he had
always refused to exert himself when handsome actors were in demand.
"What part am I to spoil?" he as=
ked,
as he entered the green room, where several excited young gentlemen were
costuming and attitudinizing.
"A fugitive cavalier. Put yourself in=
to
this suit, and lose no time asking questions. Miss Muir will tell you what =
to
do. She is in the tableau, so no one will mind you," said the manager =
pro
tem, throwing a rich old suit toward Coventry and resuming the painting of a
moustache on his own boyish face.
A gallant cavalier was the result of Geral=
d's
hasty toilet, and when he appeared before the ladies a general glance of
admiration was bestowed upon him.
"Come along and be placed; Jean is re=
ady
on the stage." And Bella ran before him, exclaiming to her governess,
"Here he is, quite splendid. Wasn't he good to do it?"
Miss Muir, in the charmingly prim and
puritanical dress of a Roundhead damsel, was arranging some shrubs, but tur=
ned
suddenly and dropped the green branch she held, as her eye met the glitteri=
ng
figure advancing toward her.
"You!" she said with a troubled
look, adding low to Bella, "Why did you ask him? I begged you not.&quo=
t;
"He is the only handsome man here, and
the best actor if he likes. He won't play usually, so make the most of
him." And Bella was off to finish powdering her hair for "The
Marriage à la Mode."
"I was sent for and I came. Do you pr=
efer
some other person?" asked Coventry, at a loss to understand the
half-anxious, half-eager expression of the face under the little cap.
It changed to one of mingled annoyance and
resignation as she said, "It is too late. Please kneel here, half behi=
nd
the shrubs; put down your hat, and--allow me--you are too elegant for a
fugitive."
As he knelt before her, she disheveled his
hair, pulled his lace collar awry, threw away his gloves and sword, and half
untied the cloak that hung about his shoulders.
"That is better; your paleness is
excellent--nay, don't spoil it. We are to represent the picture which hangs=
in
the Hall. I need tell you no more. Now, Roundheads, place yourselves, and t=
hen
ring up the curtain."
With a smile, Coventry obeyed her; for the
picture was of two lovers, the young cavalier kneeling, with his arm around=
the
waist of the girl, who tries to hide him with her little mantle, and presses
his head to her bosom in an ecstasy of fear, as she glances back at the
approaching pursuers. Jean hesitated an instant and shrank a little as his =
hand
touched her; she blushed deeply, and her eyes fell before his. Then, as the
bell rang, she threw herself into her part with sudden spirit. One arm half
covered him with her cloak, the other pillowed his head on the muslin kerch=
ief
folded over her bosom, and she looked backward with such terror in her eyes
that more than one chivalrous young spectator longed to hurry to the rescue=
. It
lasted but a moment; yet in that moment Coventry experienced another new
sensation. Many women had smiled on him, but he had remained heart-whole, c=
ool,
and careless, quite unconscious of the power which a woman possesses and kn=
ows
how to use, for the weal or woe of man. Now, as he knelt there with a soft =
arm
about him, a slender waist yielding to his touch, and a maiden heart throbb=
ing against
his cheek, for the first time in his life he felt the indescribable spell of
womanhood, and looked the ardent lover to perfection. Just as his face assu=
med
this new and most becoming aspect, the curtain dropped, and clamorous encor=
es
recalled him to the fact that Miss Muir was trying to escape from his hold,
which had grown painful in its unconscious pressure. He sprang up, half
bewildered, and looking as he had never looked before.
"Again! Again!" called Sir John.=
And
the young men who played the Roundheads, eager to share in the applause beg=
ged
for a repetition in new attitudes.
"A rustle has betrayed you, we have f=
ired
and shot the brave girl, and she lies dying, you know. That will be effecti=
ve;
try it, Miss Muir," said one. And with a long breath, Jean complied.
The curtain went up, showing the lover sti=
ll
on his knees, unmindful of the captors who clutched him by the shoulder, fo=
r at
his feet the girl lay dying. Her head was on his breast, now, her eyes look=
ed
full into his, no longer wild with fear, but eloquent with the love which e=
ven death
could not conquer. The power of those tender eyes thrilled Coventry with a
strange delight, and set his heart beating as rapidly as hers had done. She
felt his hands tremble, saw the color flash into his cheek, knew that she h=
ad
touched him at last, and when she rose it was with a sense of triumph which=
she
found it hard to conceal. Others thought it fine acting; Coventry tried to
believe so; but Lucia set her teeth, and, as the curtain fell on that second
picture, she left her place to hurry behind the scenes, bent on putting an =
end
to such dangerous play. Several actors were complimenting the mimic lovers.
Jean took it merrily, but Coventry, in spite of himself, betrayed that he w=
as excited
by something deeper than mere gratified vanity.
As Lucia appeared, his manner changed to i=
ts
usual indifference; but he could not quench the unwonted fire of his eyes, =
or
keep all trace of emotion out of his face, and she saw this with a sharp pa=
ng. "I
have come to offer my help. You must be tired, Miss Muir. Can I relieve
you?" said Lucia hastily.
"Yes, thank you. I shall be very glad=
to
leave the rest to you, and enjoy them from the front."
So with a sweet smile Jean tripped away, a=
nd
to Lucia's dismay Coventry followed.
"I want you, Gerald; please stay,&quo=
t;
she cried.
"I've done my part--no more tragedy f=
or
me tonight." And he was gone before she could entreat or command.
There was no help for it; she must stay an=
d do
her duty, or expose her jealousy to the quick eyes about her. For a time she
bore it; but the sight of her cousin leaning over the chair she had left and
chatting with the governess, who now filled it, grew unbearable, and she di=
spatched
a little girl with a message to Miss Muir.
"Please, Miss Beaufort wants you for
Queen Bess, as you are the only lady with red hair. Will you come?"
whispered the child, quite unconscious of any hidden sting in her words.
"Yes, dear, willingly though I'm not
stately enough for Her Majesty, nor handsome enough," said Jean, rising
with an untroubled face, though she resented the feminine insult.
"Do you want an Essex? I'm all dressed
for it," said Coventry, following to the door with a wistful look.
"No, Miss Beaufort said you were not to come. She doesn't want =
you both
together," said the child decidedly.
Jean gave him a significant look, shrugged=
her
shoulders, and went away smiling her odd smile, while Coventry paced up and
down the hall in a curious state of unrest, which made him forgetful of
everything till the young people came gaily out to supper.
"Come, bonny Prince Charlie, take me
down, and play the lover as charmingly as you did an hour ago. I never thou=
ght
you had so much warmth in you," said Bella, taking his arm and drawing=
him
on against his will.
"Don't be foolish, child. Where
is--Lucia?"
Why he checked Jean's name on his lips and
substituted another's, he could not tell; but a sudden shyness in speaking =
of
her possessed him, and though he saw her nowhere, he would not ask for her.=
His
cousin came down looking lovely in a classical costume; but Gerald scarcely=
saw
her, and, when the merriment was at its height, he slipped away to discover=
what
had become of Miss Muir.
Alone in the deserted drawing room he found
her, and paused to watch her a moment before he spoke; for something in her
attitude and face struck him. She was leaning wearily back in the great cha=
ir
which had served for a throne. Her royal robes were still unchanged, though=
the
crown was off and all her fair hair hung about her shoulders. Excitement an=
d exertion
made her brilliant, the rich dress became her wonderfully, and an air of
luxurious indolence changed the meek governess into a charming woman. She
leaned on the velvet cushions as if she were used to such support; she play=
ed
with the jewels which had crowned her as carelessly as if she were born to =
wear
them; her attitude was full of negligent grace, and the expression of her f=
ace
half proud, half pensive, as if her thoughts were bittersweet.
One would know she was wellborn to see her
now. Poor girl, what a burden a life of dependence must be to a spirit like
hers! I wonder what she is thinking of so intently. And Coventry indulged in
another look before he spoke.
"Shall I bring you some supper, Miss
Muir?"
"Supper!" she ejaculated, with a
start. "Who thinks of one's body when one's soul is--" She stopped
there, knit her brows, and laughed faintly as she added, "No, thank yo=
u. I
want nothing but advice, and that I dare not ask of anyone."
"Why not?"
"Because I have no right."
"Everyone has a right to ask help,
especially the weak of the strong. Can I help you? Believe me, I most heart=
ily
offer my poor services."
"Ah, you forget! This dress, the borr=
owed
splendor of these jewels, the freedom of this gay evening, the romance of t=
he
part you played, all blind you to the reality. For a moment I cease to be a
servant, and for a moment you treat me as an equal."
It was true; he had forgotten. That soft, reproachful g=
lance
touched him, his distrust melted under the new charm, and he answered with =
real
feeling in voice and face, "I treat you as an equal because you are one; and when I offered help, it is=
not
to my sister's governess alone, but to Lady Howard's daughter."
"Who told you that?" she demande=
d,
sitting erect.
"My uncle. Do not reproach him. It sh=
all
go no further, if you forbid it. Are you sorry that I know it?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I will not be pitied!" =
And
her eyes flashed as she made a half-defiant gesture.
"Then, if I may not pity the hard fate
which has befallen an innocent life, may I admire the courage which meets
adverse fortune so bravely, and conquers the world by winning the respect a=
nd
regard of all who see and honor it?"
Miss Muir averted her face, put up her han=
d,
and answered hastily, "No, no, not that! Do not be kind; it destroys t=
he
only barrier now left between us. Be cold to me as before, forget what I am,
and let me go on my way, unknown, unpitied, and unloved!"
Her voice faltered and failed as the last =
word
was uttered, and she bent her face upon her hand. Something jarred upon
Coventry in this speech, and moved him to say, almost rudely, "You need
have no fears for me. Lucia will tell you what an iceberg I am."
"Then Lucia would tell me wrong. I ha=
ve
the fatal power of reading character; I know you better than she does, and I
see--" There she stopped abruptly.
"What? Tell me and prove your
skill," he said eagerly.
Turning, she fixed her eyes on him with a
penetrating power that made him shrink as she said slowly, "Under the =
ice
I see fire, and warn you to beware lest it prove a volcano."
For a moment he sat dumb, wondering at the
insight of the girl; for she was the first to discover the hidden warmth of=
a
nature too proud to confess its tender impulses, or the ambitions that slept
till some potent voice awoke them. The blunt, almost stern manner in which =
she warned
him away from her only made her more attractive; for there was no conceit or
arrogance in it, only a foreboding fear emboldened by past suffering to be
frank. Suddenly he spoke impetuously:
"You are right! I am not what I seem,=
and
my indolent indifference is but the mask under which I conceal my real self=
. I
could be as passionate, as energetic and aspiring as Ned, if I had any aim =
in life.
I have none, and so I am what you once called me, a thing to pity and
despise."
"I never said that!" cried Jean
indignantly.
"Not in those words, perhaps; but you
looked it and thought it, though you phrased it more mildly. I deserved it,=
but
I shall deserve it no longer. I am beginning to wake from my disgraceful
idleness, and long for some work that shall make a man of me. Why do you go=
? I
annoy you with my confessions. Pardon me. They are the first I ever made; t=
hey shall
be the last."
"No, oh no! I am too much honored by =
your
confidence; but is it wise, is it loyal to tell me your hopes and aims? Has not Miss
Beaufort the first right to be your confidante?"
Coventry drew back, looking intensely anno=
yed,
for the name recalled much that he would gladly have forgotten in the novel
excitement of the hour. Lucia's love, Edward's parting words, his own reser=
ve
so strangely thrown aside, so difficult to resume. What he would have said =
was checked
by the sight of a half-open letter which fell from Jean's dress as she moved
away. Mechanically he took it up to return it, and, as he did so, he recogn=
ized
Sydney's handwriting. Jean snatched it from him, turning pale to the lips as
she cried, "Did you read it? What did you see? Tell me, tell me, on yo=
ur
honor!"
"On my honor, I saw nothing but this
single sentence, 'By the love I bear you, believe what I say.' No more, as =
I am
a gentleman. I know the hand, I guess the purport of the letter, and as a
friend of Sydney, I earnestly desire to help you, if I can. Is this the mat=
ter
upon which you want advice?"
"Yes."
"Then let me give it?"
"You cannot, without knowing all, and=
it
is so hard to tell!"
"Let me guess it, and spare you the p=
ain
of telling. May I?" And Coventry waited eagerly for her reply, for the
spell was still upon him.
Holding the letter fast, she beckoned him =
to
follow, and glided before him to a secluded little nook, half boudoir, half
conservatory. There she paused, stood an instant as if in doubt, then looke=
d up
at him with confiding eyes and said decidedly, "I will do it; for, str=
ange
as it may seem, you are the only person to whom I can speak. You know Sydney, you have
discovered that I am an equal, you have offered your help. I accept it; but=
oh,
do not think me unwomanly! Remember how alone I am, how young, and how much=
I
rely upon your sincerity, your sympathy!"
"Speak freely. I am indeed your
friend." And Coventry sat down beside her, forgetful of everything but=
the
soft-eyed girl who confided in him so entirely.
Speaking rapidly, Jean went on, "You =
know
that Sydney loved me, that I refused him and went away. But you do not know
that his importunities nearly drove me wild, that he threatened to rob me o=
f my
only treasure, my good name, and that, in desperation, I tried to kill myse=
lf.
Yes, mad, wicked as it was, I did long to end the life which was, at best, =
a burden,
and under his persecution had become a torment. You are shocked, yet what I=
say
is the living truth. Lady Sydney will confirm it, the nurses at the hospital
will confess that it was not a fever which brought me there; and here, thou=
gh
the external wound is healed, my heart still aches and burns with the shame=
and
indignation which only a proud woman can feel."
She paused and sat with kindling eyes, glo=
wing
cheeks, and both hands pressed to her heaving bosom, as if the old insult
roused her spirit anew. Coventry said not a word, for surprise, anger,
incredulity, and admiration mingled so confusedly in his mind that he forgo=
t to
speak, and Jean went on, "That wild act of mine convinced him of my
indomitable dislike. He went away, and I believed that this stormy love of =
his
would be cured by absence. It is not, and I live in daily fear of fresh ent=
reaties,
renewed persecution. His mother promised not to betray where I had gone, bu=
t he
found me out and wrote to me. The letter I asked you to take to Lady Sydney=
was
a reply to his, imploring him to leave me in peace. You failed to deliver i=
t,
and I was glad, for I thought silence might quench hope. All in vain; this =
is a
more passionate appeal than ever, and he vows he will never desist from his
endeavors till I give another man the right to protect me. I can do this--I am sorely tempted to do =
it,
but I rebel against the cruelty. I love my freedom, I have no wish to marry=
at
this man's bidding. What can I do? How cart I free myself? Be my friend, and
help me!"
Tears streamed down her cheeks, sobs choked
her words, and she clasped her hands imploringly as she turned toward the y=
oung
man in all the abandonment of sorrow, fear, and supplication. Coventry foun=
d it
hard to meet those eloquent eyes and answer calmly, for he had no experienc=
e in
such scenes and knew not how to play his part. It is this absurd dress and =
that
romantic nonsense which makes me feel so unlike myself, he thought, quite
unconscious of the dangerous power which the dusky room, the midsummer warm=
th
and fragrance, the memory of the "romantic nonsense," and, most of
all, the presence of a beautiful, afflicted woman had over him. His usual
self-possession deserted him, and he could only echo the words which had ma=
de
the strongest impression upon him:
"You can do this, you are tempted to do it. =
Is Ned
the man who can protect you?"
"No" was the soft reply.
"Who then?"
"Do not ask me. A good and honorable =
man;
one who loves me well, and would devote his life to me; one whom once it wo=
uld
have been happiness to marry, but now--"
There her voice ended in a sigh, and all h=
er
fair hair fell down about her face, hiding it in a shining veil.
"Why not now? This is a sure and spee=
dy
way of ending your distress. Is it impossible?"
In spite of himself, Gerald leaned nearer,
took one of the little hands in his, and pressed it as he spoke, urgently,
compassionately, nay, almost tenderly. From behind the veil came a heavy si=
gh,
and the brief answer, "It is impossible."
"Why, Jean?"
She flung her hair back with a sudden gest=
ure,
drew away her hand, and answered, almost fiercely, "Because I do not l=
ove
him! Why do you torment me with such questions? I tell you I am in a sore
strait and cannot see my way. Shall I deceive the good man, and secure peac=
e at
the price of liberty and truth? Or shall I defy Sydney and lead a life of d=
read?
If he menaced my life, I should not fear; but he menaces that which is dear=
er
than life--my good name. A look, a word can tarnish it; a scornful smile, a
significant shrug can do me more harm than any blow; for I am a
woman--friendless, poor, and at the mercy of his tongue. Ah, better to have
died, and so have been saved the bitter pain that has come now!"
She sprang up, clasped her hands over her
head, and paced despairingly through the little room, not weeping, but wear=
ing
an expression more tragical than tears. Still feeling as if he had suddenly
stepped into a romance, yet finding a keen pleasure in the part assigned hi=
m,
Coventry threw himself into it with spirit, and heartily did his best to
console the poor girl who needed help so much. Going to her, he said as imp=
etuously
as Ned ever did, "Miss Muir--nay, I will say Jean, if that will comfort
you--listen, and rest assured that no harm shall touch you if I can ward it
off. You are needlessly alarmed. Indignant you may well be, but, upon my li=
fe,
I think you wrong Sydney. He is violent, I know, but he is too honorable a =
man
to injure you by a light word, an unjust act. He did but threaten, hoping to
soften you. Let me see him, or write to him. He is my friend; he will liste=
n to
me. Of that I am sure."
"Be sure of nothing. When a man like
Sydney loves and is thwarted in his love, nothing can control his headstrong
will. Promise me you will not see or write to him. Much as I fear and despi=
se
him, I will submit, rather than any harm should befall you--or your brother.
You promise me, Mr. Coventry?"
He hesitated. She clung to his arm with
unfeigned solicitude in her eager, pleading face, and he could not resist i=
t.
"I promise; but in return you must
promise to let me give what help I can; and, Jean, never say again that you=
are
friendless."
"You are so kind! God bless you for i=
t.
But I dare not accept your friendship; she will not permit it, and I have no
right to mar her peace."
"Who will not permit it?" he
demanded hotly.
"Miss
Beaufort."
"Hang Miss Beaufort!" exclaimed
Coventry, with such energy that Jean broke into a musical laugh, despite her
trouble. He joined in it, and, for an instant they stood looking at one ano=
ther
as if the last barrier were down, and they were friends indeed. Jean paused
suddenly, with the smile on her lips, the tears still on her cheek, and mad=
e a
warning gesture. He listened: the sound of feet mingled with calls and laug=
hter
proved that they were missed and sought.
"That laugh betrayed us. Stay and meet
them. I cannot." And Jean darted out upon the lawn. Coventry followed;=
for
the thought of confronting so many eyes, so many questions, daunted him, an=
d he
fled like a coward. The sound of Jean's flying footsteps guided him, and he
overtook her just as she paused behind a rose thicket to take breath.
"Fainthearted knight! You should have
stayed and covered my retreat. Hark! they are coming! Hide! Hide!" she
panted, half in fear, half in merriment, as the gay pursuers rapidly drew
nearer.
"Kneel down; the moon is coming out a=
nd
the glitter of your embroidery will betray you," whispered Jean, as th=
ey
cowered behind the roses.
"Your arms and hair will betray you.
'Come under my plaiddie,' as the song says." And Coventry tried to make
his velvet cloak cover the white shoulders and fair locks.
"We are acting our parts in reality n=
ow.
How Bella will enjoy the thing when I tell her!" said Jean as the nois=
es
died away.
"Do not tell her," whispered
Coventry.
"And why not?" she asked, lookin=
g up
into the face so near her own, with an artless glance.
"Can you not guess why?"
"Ah,
you are so proud you cannot bear to be laughed at." "It is not that. It is because I do n=
ot
want you to be annoyed by silly tongues; you have enough to pain you without
that. I am your friend, now, and I do my best to prove it." "So kind, so kind! How can I thank
you?" murmured Jean. And she involuntarily nestled closer under the cl=
oak
that sheltered both. Neither
spoke for a moment, and in the silence the rapid beating of two hearts was
heard. To drown the sound, Coventry said softly, "Are you frightened?&=
quot; "No, I like it," she answered, as
softly, then added abruptly, "But why do we hide? There is nothing to
fear. It is late. I must go. You are kneeling on my train. Please rise.&quo=
t; "Why in such haste? This flight and
search only adds to the charm of the evening. I'll not get up yet. Will you
have a rose, Jean?" "No, I will not. Let me go, Mr. Coven=
try,
I insist. There has been enough of this folly. You forget yourself." She spoke imperiously, flung off the cloak,
and put him from her. He rose at once, saying, like one waking suddenly fro=
m a
pleasant dream, "I do indeed forget myself." Here the sound of voices broke on them, ne=
arer
than before. Pointing to a covered walk that led to the house, he said, in =
his
usually cool, calm tone, "Go in that way; I will cover your retreat.&q=
uot;
And turning, he went to meet the merry hunters. Half an hour later, when the party broke u=
p,
Miss Muir joined them in her usual quiet dress, looking paler, meeker, and
sadder than usual. Coventry saw this, though he neither looked at her nor
addressed her. Lucia saw it also, and was glad that the dangerous girl had
fallen back into her proper place again, for she had suffered much that nig=
ht.
She appropriated her cousin's arm as they went through the park, but he was=
in
one of his taciturn moods, and all her attempts at conversation were in vai=
n.
Miss Muir walked alone, singing softly to herself as she followed in the du=
sk.
Was Gerald so silent because he listened to that fitful song? Lucia thought=
so,
and felt her dislike rapidly deepening to hatred. When the young friends were gone, and the
family were exchanging good-nights among themselves, Jean was surprised by
Coventry's offering his hand, for he had never done it before, and whisperi=
ng,
as he held it, though Lucia watched him all the while, "I have not giv=
en
my advice, yet." "Thanks, I no longer need it. I have
decided for myself." "May I ask how?" "To brave my enemy." "Good! But what decided you so
suddenly?" "The
finding of a friend." And with a grateful glance she was gone.
Chapter 6 -
"If you please, Mr. Coventry, did you=
get
the letter last night?" were the first words that greeted the "yo=
ung
master" as he left his room next morning.
"What letter, Dean? I don't remember
any," he answered, pausing, for something in the maid's manner struck =
him
as peculiar.
"It came just as you left for the Hal=
l,
sir. Benson ran after you with it, as it was marked 'Haste.' Didn't you get=
it,
sir?" asked the woman, anxiously.
"Yes, but upon my life, I forgot all
about it till this minute. It's in my other coat, I suppose, if I've not lo=
st
it. That absurd masquerading put everything else out of my head." And
speaking more to himself than to the maid, Coventry turned back to look for=
the
missing letter.
Dean remained where she was, apparently bu=
sy
about the arrangement of the curtains at the hall window, but furtively
watching meanwhile with a most unwonted air of curiosity.
"Not there, I thought so!" she
muttered, as Coventry impatiently thrust his hand into one pocket after
another. But as she spoke, an expression of amazement appeared in her face,=
for
suddenly the letter was discovered.
"I'd have sworn it wasn't there! I do=
n't
understand it, but she's a deep one, or I'm much deceived." And Dean s=
hook
her head like one perplexed, but not convinced.
Coventry uttered an exclamation of
satisfaction on glancing at the address and, standing where he was, tore op=
en
the letter.
Dear C:
I'm off to Baden. Come and join me, then
you'll be out of harm's way; for if you fall in love with J.M. (and you can=
't
escape if you stay where she is), you will incur the trifling inconvenience=
of
having your brains blown out by
Yours truly, F.R. Sydney
"The man is mad!" ejaculated
Coventry, staring at the letter while an angry flush rose to his face.
"What the deuce does he mean by writing to me in that style? Join him-=
-not
I! And as for the threat, I laugh at it. Poor Jean! This headstrong fool se=
ems
bent on tormenting her. Well, Dean, what are you waiting for?" he
demanded, as if suddenly conscious of her presence.
"Nothing, sir; I only stopped to see =
if
you found the letter. Beg pardon, sir."
And she was moving on when Coventry asked,
with a suspicious look, "What made you think it was lost? You seem to =
take
an uncommon interest in my affairs today."
"Oh dear, no, sir. I felt a bit anxio=
us, Benson
is so forgetful, and it was me who sent him after you, for I happened to see
you go out, so I felt responsible. Being marked that way, I thought it migh=
t be
important so I asked about it."
"Very well, you can go, Dean. It's all
right, you see."
"I'm not so sure of that," mutte=
red
the woman, as she curtsied respectfully and went away, looking as if the le=
tter
had not been found.
Dean was Miss Beaufort's maid, a grave,
middle-aged woman with keen eyes and a somewhat grim air. Having been long =
in
the family, she enjoyed all the privileges of a faithful and favorite serva=
nt.
She loved her young mistress with an almost jealous affection. She watched =
over
her with the vigilant care of a mother and resented any attempt at interfer=
ence
on the part of others. At first she had pitied and liked Jean Muir, then di=
strusted
her, and now heartily hated her, as the cause of the increased indifference=
of
Coventry toward his cousin. Dean knew the depth of Lucia's love, and though=
no
man, in her eyes, was worthy of her mistress, still, having honored him with
her regard, Dean felt bound to like him, and the late change in his manner
disturbed the maid almost as much as it did the mistress. She watched Jean
narrowly, causing that amiable creature much amusement but little annoyance=
, as
yet, for Dean's slow English wit was no match for the subtle mind of the
governess. On the preceding night, Dean had been sent up to the Hall with
costumes and had there seen something which much disturbed her. She began to
speak of it while undressing her mistress, but Lucia, being in an unhappy m=
ood,
had so sternly ordered her not to gossip that the tale remained untold, and=
she
was forced to bide her tune.
Now I'll see how she looks after it; though there's not =
much
to be got out of her face, the deceitful hussy, thought Dean, marching down=
the
corridor and knitting her black brows as she went.
"Good morning, Mrs. Dean. I hope you =
are
none the worse for last night's frolic. You had the work and we the play,&q=
uot;
said a blithe voice behind her; and turning sharply, she confronted Miss Mu=
ir.
Fresh and smiling, the governess nodded with an air of cordiality which wou=
ld
have been irresistible with anyone but Dean.
"I'm quite well, thank you, miss,&quo=
t;
she returned coldly, as her keen eye fastened on the girl as if to watch the
effect of her words. "I had a good rest when the young ladies and
gentlemen were at supper, for while the maids cleared up, I sat in the 'lit=
tle
anteroom.'"
"Yes, I saw you, and feared you'd take
cold. Very glad you didn't. How is Miss Beaufort? She seemed rather poorly =
last
night" was the tranquil reply, as Jean settled the little frills about=
her
delicate wrists. The cool question was a return shot for Dean's hint that s=
he
had been where she could oversee the interview between Coventry and Miss Mu=
ir.
"She
is a bit tired, as any =
lady would be after such an evening. Peo=
ple
who are used to play-acting wouldn't mind it, perhaps, but Miss
Beaufort don't enjoy ro=
mps as much as some do."
The emphasis upon certain words made Dean's
speech as impertinent as she desired. But Jean only laughed, and as Coventr=
y's
step was heard behind them, she ran downstairs, saying blandly, but with a
wicked look, "I won't stop to thank you now, lest Mr. Coventry should =
bid
me good-morning, and so increase Miss Beaufort's indisposition."
Dean's eyes flashed as she looked after the
girl with a wrathful face, and went her way, saying grimly, "I'll bide=
my
time, but I'll get the better of her yet."
Fancying himself quite removed from "=
last
night's absurdity," yet curious to see how Jean would meet him, Covent=
ry
lounged into the breakfast room with his usual air of listless indifference=
. A
languid nod and murmur was all the reply he vouchsafed to the greetings of =
cousin,
sister, and governess as he sat down and took up his paper.
"Have you had a letter from Ned?"
asked Bella, looking at the note which her brother still held.
"No" was the brief answer.
"Who then? You look as if you had
received bad news."
There was no reply, and, peeping over his =
arm,
Bella caught sight of the seal and exclaimed, in a disappointed tone, "=
;It
is the Sydney crest. I don't care about the note now. Men's letters to each
other are not interesting."
Miss Muir had been quietly feeding one of
Edward's dogs, but at the name she looked up and met Coventry's eyes, color=
ing
so distressfully that he pitied her. Why he should take the trouble to cover
her confusion, he did not stop to ask himself, but seeing the curl of Lucia=
's
lip, he suddenly addressed her with an air of displeasure, "Do you know
that Dean is getting impertinent? She presumes too much on her age and your=
indulgence,
and forgets her place."
"What has she done?" asked Lucia
coldly.
"She troubles herself about my affairs
and takes it upon herself to keep Benson in order."
Here Coventry told about the letter and the
woman's evident curiosity.
"Poor Dean, she gets no thanks for
reminding you of what you had forgotten. Next time she will leave your lett=
ers
to their fate, and perhaps it will be as well, if they have such a bad effe=
ct
upon your temper, Gerald."
Lucia
spoke calmly, but there was an angry color in her cheek as she rose and left
the room. Coventry looked much annoyed, for on Jean's face he detected a fa=
int
smile, half pitiful, half satirical, which disturbed him more than his cous=
in's
insinuation. Bella broke the awkward silence by saying, with a sigh, "=
Poor
Ned! I do so long to hear again from him. I thought a letter had come for s=
ome
of us. Dean said she saw one bearing his writing on the hall table
yesterday."
"She seems to have a mania for inspec=
ting
letters. I won't allow it. Who was the letter for, Bella?" said Covent=
ry,
putting down his paper.
"She wouldn't or couldn't tell, but
looked very cross and told me to ask you."
"Very odd! I've had none," began
Coventry.
"But I had one several days ago. Will=
you
please read it, and my reply?" And as she spoke, Jean laid two letters
before him.
"Certainly not. It would be dishonora=
ble
to read what Ned intended for no eyes but your own. You are too scrupulous =
in
one way, and not enough so in another, Miss Muir." And Coventry offered
both the letters with an air of grave decision, which could not conceal the
interest and surprise he felt.
"You are right. Mr. Edward's note
So urgently she spoke, so wistfully she
looked, that he could not refuse and, going to the window, read the letter.=
It
was evidently an answer to a passionate appeal from the young lover, and was
written with consummate skill. As he read, Gerald could not help thinking, =
If
this girl writes in this way to a man whom she does not love, with what a w=
orld
of power and passion would she write to one whom she did love. And this tho=
ught
kept returning to him as his eye went over line after line of wise argument,
gentle reproof, good counsel, and friendly regard. Here and there a word, a
phrase, betrayed what she had already confessed, and Coventry forgot to ret=
urn
the letter, as he stood wondering who was the man whom Jean loved.
The sound of Bella's voice recalled him, f=
or
she was saying, half kindly, half petulantly, "Don't look so sad, Jean.
Ned will outlive it, I dare say. You remember you said once men never died =
of
love, though women might. In his one note to me, he spoke so beautifully of
you, and begged me to be kind to you for his sake, that I try to be with al=
l my
heart, though if it was anyone but you, I really think I should hate them f=
or
making my dear boy so unhappy."
"You are too kind, Bella, and I often
think I'll go away to relieve you of my presence; but unwise and dangerous =
as
it is to stay, I haven't the courage to go. I've been so happy here." =
And
as she spoke, Jean's head dropped lower over the dog as it nestled to her
affectionately.
Before Bella could utter half the loving w=
ords
that sprang to her lips, Coventry came to them with all languor gone from f=
ace
and mien, and laying Jean's letter before her, he said, with an undertone of
deep feeling in his usually emotionless voice, "A right womanly and
eloquent letter, but I fear it will only increase the fire it was meant to =
quench.
I pity my brother more than ever now."
"Shall I send it?" asked Jean,
looking straight up at him, like one who had entire reliance on his judgmen=
t.
"Yes, I have not the heart to rob him=
of
such a sweet sermon upon self-sacrifice. Shall I post it for you?"
"Thank
you; in a moment." And with a grateful look, Jean dropped her eyes.
Producing her little purse, she selected a penny, folded it in a bit of pap=
er,
and then offered both letter and coin to Coventry, with such a pretty air of
business, that he could not control a laugh.
"So you won't be indebted to me for a
penny? What a proud woman you are, Miss Muir."
"I am; it's a family failing." A=
nd
she gave him a significant glance, which recalled to him the memory of who =
she
was. He understood her feeling, and liked her the better for it, knowing th=
at
he would have done the same had he been in her place. It was a little thing,
but if done for effect, it answered admirably, for it showed a quick insigh=
t into
his character on her part, and betrayed to him the existence of a pride in =
which
he sympathized heartily. He stood by Jean a moment, watching her as she bur=
nt
Edward's letter in the blaze of the spirit lamp under the urn.
"Why do you do that?" he asked
involuntarily.
"Because it is my duty to forget"
was all her answer.
"Can you always forget when it become=
s a
duty?"
"I wish I could! I wish I could!"=
;
She spoke passionately, as if the words br=
oke
from her against her will, and, rising hastily, she went into the garden, a=
s if
afraid to stay.
"Poor, dear Jean is very unhappy about
something, but I can't discover what it is. Last night I found her crying o=
ver
a rose, and now she runs away, looking as if her heart was broken. I'm glad
I've got no lessons."
"What kind of a rose?" asked
Coventry from behind his paper as Bella paused.
"A lovely white one. It must have come
from the Hall; we have none like it. I wonder if Jean was ever going to be
married, and lost her lover, and felt sad because the flower reminded her of
bridal roses."
Coventry made no reply, but felt himself
change countenance as he recalled the little scene behind the rose hedge, w=
here
he gave Jean the flower which she had refused yet taken. Presently, to Bell=
a's
surprise, he flung down the paper, tore Sydney's note to atoms, and rang for
his horse with an energy which amazed her.
"Why, Gerald, what has come over you?=
One
would think Ned's restless spirit had suddenly taken possession of you. What
are you going to do?"
"I'm going to work" was the
unexpected answer, as Coventry turned toward her with an expression so rare=
ly seen
on his fine face.
"What has waked you up all at once?&q=
uot;
asked Bella, looking more and more amazed.
"You did," he said, drawing her
toward him.
"I! When? How?"
"Do you remember saying once that ene=
rgy
was better than beauty in a man, and that no one could respect an idler?&qu=
ot;
"I never said anything half so sensib=
le
as that. Jean said something like it once, I believe, but I forgot. Are you
tired of doing nothing, at last, Gerald?"
"Yes, I neglected my duty to Ned, til= l he got into trouble, and now I reproach myself for it. It's not too late to do other neglected tasks, so I'm going at them with a will. Don't say anything about it to anyone, and don't laugh at me, for I'm in earnest, Bell."<= o:p>
"I know you are, and I admire and love
you for it, my dear old boy," cried Bella enthusiastically, as she thr=
ew
her arms about his neck and kissed him heartily. "What will you do
first?" she asked, as he stood thoughtfully smoothing the bright head =
that
leaned upon his shoulder, with that new expression still clear and steady in
his face.
"I'm going to ride over the whole est=
ate,
and attend to things as a master should; not leave it all to Bent, of whom =
I've
heard many complaints, but have been too idle to inquire about them. I shal=
l consult
Uncle, and endeavor to be all that my father was in his time. Is that a wor=
thy
ambition, dear?"
"Oh, Gerald, let me tell Mamma. It wi=
ll
make her so happy. You are her idol, and to hear you say these things, to s=
ee
you look so like dear Papa, would do more for her spirits than all the doct=
ors
in England."
"Wait till I prove what my resolution=
is
worth. When I have really done something, then I'll surprise Mamma with a
sample of my work."
"Of course you'll tell Lucia?"
"Not on any account. It is a little
secret between us, so keep it till I give you leave to tell it."
"But Jean will see it at once; she kn=
ows
everything that happens, she is so quick and wise. Do you mind her
knowing?"
"I don't see that I can help it if sh=
e is
so wonderfully gifted. Let her see what she can, I don't mind her. Now I'm
off." And with a kiss to his sister, a sudden smile on his face, Coven=
try
sprang upon his horse and rode away at a pace which caused the groom to sta=
re
after him in blank amazement.
Nothing more was seen of him till dinnerti=
me,
when he came in so exhilarated by his brisk ride and busy morning that he f=
ound
some difficulty in assuming his customary manner, and more than once astoni=
shed
the family by talking animatedly on various subjects which till now had alw=
ays
seemed utterly uninteresting to him. Lucia was amazed, his mother delighted,
and Bella could hardly control her desire to explain the mystery; but Jean =
took
it very calmly and regarded him with the air of one who said, "I
understand, but you will soon tire of it." This nettled him more than =
he
would confess, and he exerted himself to silently contradict that prophecy.=
"Have you answered Mr. Sydney's
letter?" asked Bella, when they were all scattered about the drawing r=
oom
after dinner.
"No," answered her brother, who =
was
pacing up and down with restless steps, instead of lounging near his beauti=
ful
cousin.
"I ask because I remembered that Ned =
sent
a message for him in my last note, as he thought you would know Sydney's
address. Here it is, something about a horse. Please put it in when you wri=
te,"
and Bella laid the note on the writing table nearby.
"I'll send it at once and have done w=
ith
it," muttered Coventry and, seating himself, he dashed off a few lines,
sealed and sent the letter, and then resumed his march, eyeing the three yo=
ung
ladies with three different expressions, as he passed and repassed. Lucia s=
at
apart, feigning to be intent upon a book, and her handsome face looked almo=
st stern
in its haughty composure, for though her heart ached, she was too proud to =
own
it. Bella now lay on the sofa, half asleep, a rosy little creature, as
unconsciously pretty as a child. Miss Muir sat in the recess of a deep wind=
ow,
in a low lounging chair, working at an embroidery frame with a graceful
industry pleasant to see. Of late she had worn colors, for Bella had been
generous in gifts, and the pale blue muslin which flowed in soft waves about
her was very becoming to her fair skin and golden hair. The close braids we=
re
gone, and loose curls dropped here and there from the heavy coil wound arou=
nd
her well-shaped head. The tip of one dainty foot was visible, and a petulant
little gesture which now and then shook back the falling sleeve gave glimps=
es of
a round white arm. Ned's great hound lay nearby, the sunshine flickered on =
her
through the leaves, and as she sat smiling to herself, while the dexterous
hands shaped leaf and flower, she made a charming picture of all that is mo=
st
womanly and winning; a picture which few men's eyes would not have liked to
rest upon.
Another chair stood near her, and as Coven=
try
went up and down, a strong desire to take it possessed him. He was tired of=
his
thoughts and wished to be amused by watching the changes of the girl's
expressive face, listening to the varying tones of her voice, and trying to
discover the spell which so strongly attracted him in spite of himself. More
than once he swerved from his course to gratify his whim, but Lucia's prese=
nce
always restrained him, and with a word to the dog, or a glance from the win=
dow,
as pretext for a pause, he resumed his walk again. Something in his cousin's
face reproached him, but her manner of late was so repellent that he felt no
desire to resume their former familiarity, and, wishing to show that he did=
not
consider himself bound, he kept aloof. It was a quiet test of the power of =
each
woman over this man; they instinctively felt it, and both tried to conquer.=
Lucia
spoke several times, and tried to speak frankly and affably; but her manner=
was
constrained, and Coventry, having answered politely, relapsed into silence.=
Jean
said nothing, but silently appealed to eye and ear by the pretty picture she
made of herself, the snatches of song she softly sang, as if forgetting that
she was not alone, and a shy glance now and then, half wistful, half merry,
which was more alluring than graceful figure or sweet voice. When she had
tormented Lucia and tempted Coventry long enough, she quietly asserted her
supremacy in a way which astonished her rival, who knew nothing of the secr=
et
of her birth, which knowledge did much to attract and charm the young man. =
Letting
a ball of silk escape from her lap, she watched it roll toward the promenad=
er,
who caught and returned it with an alacrity which added grace to the trifli=
ng
service. As she took it, she said, in the frank way that never failed to win
him, "I think you must be tired; but if exercise is necessary, employ =
your
energies to some purpose and put your mother's basket of silks in order. Th=
ey
are in a tangle, and it will please her to know that you did it, as your
brother used to do."
"Hercules at the distaff," said
Coventry gaily, and down he sat in the long-desired seat. Jean put the bask=
et
on his knee, and as he surveyed it, as if daunted at his task, she leaned b=
ack,
and indulged in a musical little peal of laughter charming to hear. Lucia s=
at
dumb with surprise, to see her proud, indolent cousin obeying the commands =
of a
governess, and looking as if he heartily enjoyed it. In ten minutes she was=
as
entirely forgotten as if she had been miles away; for Jean seemed in her
wittiest, gayest mood, and as she now treated the "young master" =
like
an equal, there was none of the former meek timidity. Yet often her eyes fe=
ll,
her color changed, and the piquant sallies faltered on her tongue, as Coven=
try
involuntarily looked deep into the fine eyes which had once shone on him so
tenderly in that mimic tragedy. He could not forget it, and though neither
alluded to it, the memory of the previous evening seemed to haunt both and =
lend
a secret charm to the present moment. Lucia bore this as long as she could,=
and
then left the room with the air of an insulted princess; but Coventry did n=
ot,
and Jean feigned not to see her go. Bella was fast asleep, and before he kn=
ew
how it came to pass, the young man was listening to the story of his compan=
ion's
life. A sad tale, told with wonderful skill, for soon he was absorbed in it.
The basket slid unobserved from his knee, the dog was pushed away, and, lea=
ning
forward, he listened eagerly as the girl's low voice recounted all the
hardships, loneliness, and grief of her short life. In the midst of a touch=
ing
episode she started, stopped, and looked straight before her, with an intent
expression which changed to one of intense contempt, and her eye turned to
Coventry's, as she said, pointing to the window behind him, "We are
watched."
"By whom?" he demanded, starting=
up
angrily.
"Hush, say nothing, let it pass. I am
used to it."
"But I am not, and I'll not submit to=
it.
Who was it, Jean?" he answered hotly.
She smiled significantly at a knot of
rose-colored ribbon, which a little gust was blowing toward them along the
terrace. A black frown darkened the young man's face as he sprang out of the
long window and went rapidly out of sight, scrutinizing each green nook as =
he
passed. Jean laughed quietly as she watched him, and said softly to herself=
, with
her eyes on the fluttering ribbon, "That was a fortunate accident, and=
a
happy inspiration. Yes, my dear Mrs. Dean, you will find that playing the s=
py
will only get your mistress as well as yourself into trouble. You would not=
be
warned, and you must take the consequences, reluctant as I am to injure a
worthy creature like yourself."
Soon Coventry was heard returning. Jean
listened with suspended breath to catch his first words, for he was not alo=
ne.
"Since you insist that it was you and=
not
your mistress, I let it pass, although I still have my suspicions. Tell Miss
Beaufort I desire to see her for a few moments in the library. Now go, Dean,
and be careful for the future, if you wish to stay in my house."
The maid retired, and the young man came in
looking both ireful and stern.
"I wish I had said nothing, but I was
startled, and spoke involuntarily. Now you are angry, and I have made fresh
trouble for poor Miss Lucia. Forgive me as I forgive her, and let it pass. I
have learned to bear this surveillance, and pity her causeless jealousy,&qu=
ot;
said Jean, with a self-reproachful air.
"I will forgive the dishonorable act,=
but
I cannot forget it, and I intend to put a stop to it. I am not betrothed to=
my
cousin, as I told you once, but you, like all the rest, seem bent on believ=
ing
that I am. Hitherto I have cared too little about the matter to settle it, =
but
now I shall prove beyond all doubt that I am free."
As he uttered the last word, Coventry cast=
on
Jean a look that affected her strangely. She grew pale, her work dropped on=
her
lap, and her eyes rose to his, with an eager, questioning expression, which
slowly changed to one of mingled pain and pity, as she turned her face away,
murmuring in a tone of tender sorrow, "Poor Lucia, who will comfort
her?"
For a moment Coventry stood silent, as if
weighing some fateful purpose in his mind. As Jean's rapt sigh of compassion
reached his ear, he had echoed it within himself, and half repented of his
resolution; then his eye rested on the girl before him looking so lonely in=
her
sweet sympathy for another that his heart yearned toward her. Sudden fire s=
hot into
his eye, sudden warmth replaced the cold sternness of his face, and his ste=
ady
voice faltered suddenly, as he said, very low, yet very earnestly, "Je=
an,
I have tried to love her, but I cannot. Ought I to deceive her, and make my=
self
miserable to please my family?"
"She is beautiful and good, and loves=
you
tenderly; is there no hope for her?" asked Jean, still pale, but very
quiet, though she held one hand against her heart, as if to still or hide i=
ts
rapid beating.
"None," answered Coventry.
"But can you not learn to love her? Y=
our
will is strong, and most men would not find it a hard task."
"I cannot, for something stronger tha=
n my
own will controls me."
"What is that?" And Jean's dark =
eyes
were fixed upon him, full of innocent wonder.
His fell, and he said hastily, "I dare
not tell you yet."
"Pardon! I should not have asked. Do =
not
consult me in this matter; I am not the person to advise you. I can only say
that it seems to me as if any man with an empty heart would be glad to have=
so
beautiful a woman as your cousin."
"My heart is not empty," began
Coventry, drawing a step nearer, and speaking in a passionate voice.
"Jean, I must speak; hear me. I cannot love my co=
usin,
because I love you."
"Stop!" And Jean sprang up with a
commanding gesture. "I will not hear you while any promise binds you to
another. Remember your mother's wishes, Lucia's hopes, Edward's last words,
your own pride, my humble lot. You forget yourself, Mr. Coventry. Think well
before you speak, weigh the cost of this act, and recollect who I am before=
you
insult me by any transient passion, any false vows."
"I have thought, I do weigh the cost,=
and
I swear that I desire to woo you as humbly, honestly as I would any lady in=
the
land. You speak of my pride. Do I stoop in loving my equal in rank? You spe=
ak
of your lowly lot, but poverty is no disgrace, and the courage with which y=
ou
bear it makes it beautiful. I should have broken with Lucia before I spoke,=
but
I could not control myself. My mother loves you, and will be happy in my ha=
ppiness.
Edward must forgive me, for I have tried to do my best, but love is
irresistible. Tell me, Jean, is there any hope for me?"
He had seized her hand and was speaking
impetuously, with ardent face and tender tone, but no answer came, for as J=
ean
turned her eloquent countenance toward him, full of maiden shame and timid
love, Dean's prim figure appeared at the door, and her harsh voice broke the
momentary silence, saying, sternly, "Miss Beaufort is waiting for you,
sir."
"Go, go at once, and be kind, for my
sake, Gerald," whispered Jean, far he stood as if deaf and blind to
everything but her voice, her face.
As she drew his head down to whisper, her
cheek touched his, and regardless of Dean, he kissed it, passionately,
whispering back, "My little Jean! For your sake I can be anything.&quo=
t;
"Miss Beaufort is waiting. Shall I say
you will come, sir?" demanded Dean, pale and grim with indignation.
"Yes,
yes, I'll come. Wait for me in the garden, Jean." And Coventry hurried
away, in no mood for the interview but anxious to have it over.
As the door closed behind him, Dean walked=
up
to Miss Muir, trembling with anger, and laying a heavy hand on her arm, she
said below her breath, "I've been expecting this, you artful creature.=
I
saw your game and did my best to spoil it, but you are too quick for me. You
think you've got him. There you are mistaken; for as sure as my name is Hes=
ter Dean,
I'll prevent it, or Sir John shall."
"Take your hand away and treat me with
proper respect, or you will be dismissed from this house. Do you know who I
am?" And Jean drew herself up with a haughty air, which impressed the
woman more deeply than her words. "I am the daughter of Lady Howard an=
d,
if I choose it, can be the wife of Mr. Coventry."
Dean drew back amazed, yet not convinced.
Being a well-trained servant, as well as a prudent woman, she feared to
overstep the bounds of respect, to go too far, and get her mistress as well=
as
herself into trouble. So, though she still doubted Jean, and hated her more
than ever, she controlled herself. Dropping a curtsy, she assumed her usual=
air
of deference, and said, meekly, "I beg pardon, miss. If I'd known, I s=
hould
have conducted myself differently, of course, but ordinary governesses make=
so
much mischief in a house, one can't help mistrusting them. I don't wish to
meddle or be overbold, but being fond of my dear young lady, I naturally ta=
ke
her part, and must say that Mr. Coventry has not acted like a gentleman.&qu=
ot;
"Think what you please, Dean, but I
advise you to say as little as possible if you wish to remain. I have not
accepted Mr. Coventry yet, and if he chooses to set aside the engagement his
family made for him, I think he has a right to do so. Miss Beaufort would
hardly care to marry him against his will, because he pities her for her
unhappy love," and with a tranquil smile, Miss Muir walked away.
"She will tell Sir John, will she? Th=
en I
must be before her, and hasten events. It will be as well to have all sure
before there can be any danger. My poor Dean, you are no match for me, but =
you
may prove annoying, nevertheless."
These thoughts passed through Miss Muir's =
mind
as she went down the hall, pausing an instant at the library door, for the
murmur of voices was heard. She caught no word, and had only time for an
instant's pause as Dean's heavy step followed her. Turning, Jean drew a cha=
ir before
the door, and, beckoning to the woman, she said, smiling still, "Sit h=
ere
and play watchdog. I am going to Miss Bella, so you can nod if you will.&qu=
ot;
"Thank you, miss. I will wait for my
young lady. She may need me when this hard time is over." And Dean sea=
ted
herself with a resolute face.
Jean laughed and went on; but her eyes gle=
amed
with sudden malice, and she glanced over her shoulder with an expression wh=
ich
boded ill for the faithful old servant.
"I've got a letter from Ned, and here=
is
a tiny note for you," cried Bella as Jean entered the boudoir. "M=
ine
is a very odd, hasty letter, with no news in it, but his meeting with Sydne=
y. I
hope yours is better, or it won't be very satisfactory."
As Sydney's name passed Bella's lips, all =
the
color died out of Miss Muir's face, and the note shook with the tremor of h=
er
hand. Her very lips were white, but she said calmly, "Thank you. As you
are busy, I'll go and read my letter on the lawn." And before Bella co=
uld
speak, she was gone.
Hurrying to a quiet nook, Jean tore open t=
he
note and read the few blotted lines it contained.
I have seen Sydney; he has told me all; an=
d,
hard as I found it to believe, it was impossible to doubt, for he has
discovered proofs which cannot be denied. I make no reproaches, shall deman=
d no
confession or atonement, for I cannot forget that I once loved you. I give =
you
three days to find another home, before I return to tell the family who you=
are.
Go at once, I beseech you, and spare me the pain of seeing your disgrace.
Slowly, steadily she read it twice over, t=
hen
sat motionless, knitting her brows in deep thought. Presently she drew a lo=
ng
breath, tore up the note, and rising, went slowly toward the Hall, saying to
herself, "Three days, only three days! Can it be accomplished in so sh=
ort
a time? It shall be, if wit and will can do it, for it is my last chance. If
this fails, I'll not go back to my old life, but end all at once."
Setting her teeth and clenching her hands,=
as
if some memory stung her, she went on through the twilight, to find Sir John
waiting to give her a hearty welcome.
"You look tired, my dear. Never mind =
the
reading tonight; rest yourself, and let the book go," he said kindly,
observing her worn look.
"Thank you, sir. I am tired, but I'd
rather read, else the book will not be finished before I go."
"Go, child! Where are you going?"
demanded Sir John, looking anxiously at her as she sat down.
"I will tell you by-and-by, sir."
And opening the book, Jean read for a little while.
But the usual charm was gone; there was no
spirit in the voice of the reader, no interest in the face of the listener,=
and
soon he said, abruptly, "My dear, pray stop! I cannot listen with a
divided mind. What troubles you? Tell your friend, and let him comfort
you."
As if the kind words overcame her, Jean
dropped the book, covered up her face, and wept so bitterly that Sir John w=
as
much alarmed; for such a demonstration was doubly touching in one who usual=
ly
was all gaiety and smiles. As he tried to soothe her, his words grew tender,
his solicitude full of a more than paternal anxiety, and his kind heart
overflowed with pity and affection for the weeping girl. As she grew calmer=
, he
urged her to be frank, promising to help and counsel her, whatever the affl=
iction
or fault might be.
"Ah, you are too kind, too generous! =
How
can I go away and leave my one friend?" sighed Jean, wiping the tears =
away
and looking up at him with grateful eyes.
"Then you do care a little for the old
man?" said Sir John with an eager look, an involuntary pressure of the
hand he held.
Jean turned her face away, and answered, v=
ery
low, "No one ever was so kind to me as you have been. Can I help caring
for you more than I can express?"
Sir John was a little deaf at times, but he
heard that, and looked well pleased. He had been rather thoughtful of late,=
had
dressed with unusual care, been particularly gallant and gay when the young
ladies visited him, and more than once, when Jean paused in the reading to =
ask
a question, he had been forced to confess that he had not been listening; t=
hough,
as she well knew, his eyes had been fixed upon her. Since the discovery of =
her
birth, his manner had been peculiarly benignant, and many little acts had
proved his interest and goodwill. Now, when Jean spoke of going, a panic se=
ized
him, and desolation seemed about to fall upon the old Hall. Something in her
unusual agitation struck him as peculiar and excited his curiosity. Never h=
ad
she seemed so interesting as now, when she sat beside him with tearful eyes,
and some soft trouble in her heart which she dared not confess.
"Tell me everything, child, and let y=
our
friend help you if he can." Formerly he said "father" or
"the old man," but lately he always spoke of himself as her
"friend."
"I will tell you, for I have no one e=
lse
to turn to. I must go away because Mr. Coventry has been weak enough to love
me."
"What, Gerald?" cried Sir John,
amazed.
"Yes; today he told me this, and left=
me
to break with Lucia; so I ran to you to help me prevent him from disappoint=
ing
his mother's hopes and plans."
Sir John had started up and paced down the=
room,
but as Jean paused he turned toward her, saying, with an altered face,
"Then you do not love him? Is it possible?"
"No, I do not love him," she
answered promptly.
"Yet he is all that women usually find
attractive. How is it that you have escaped, Jean?"
"I love someone else" was the
scarcely audible reply.
Sir John resumed his seat with the air of a
man bent on getting at a mystery, if possible.
"It will be unjust to let you suffer =
for
the folly of these boys, my little girl. Ned is gone, and I was sure that
Gerald was safe; but now that his turn has come, I am perplexed, for he can=
not
be sent away."
"No, it is I who must go; but it seem=
s so
hard to leave this safe and happy home, and wander away into the wide, cold
world again. You have all been too kind to me, and now separation breaks my
heart."
A sob ended the speech, and Jean's head we=
nt
down upon her hands again. Sir John looked at her a moment, and his fine old
face was full of genuine emotion, as he said slowly, "Jean, will you s=
tay
and be a daughter to the solitary old man?"
"No, sir" was the unexpected ans=
wer.
"And why not?" asked Sir John,
looking surprised, but rather pleased than angry.
"Because I could not be a daughter to
you; and even if I could, it would not be wise, for the gossips would say y=
ou
were not old enough to be the adopted father of a girl like me. Sir John, y=
oung
as I am, I know much of the world, and am sure that this kind plan is
impractical; but I thank you from the bottom of my heart."
"Where will you go, Jean?" asked=
Sir
John, after a pause.
"To London, and try to find another
situation where I can do no harm."
"Will it be difficult to find another
home?" "Yes. I cannot ask Mrs. Coventry to recommend me, when I h=
ave
innocently brought so much trouble into her family; and Lady Sydney is gone=
, so
I have no friend."
"Except John Coventry. I will arrange=
all
that. When will you go, Jean?"
"Tomorrow."
"So soon!" And the old man's voi=
ce
betrayed the trouble he was trying to conceal.
Jean had grown very calm, but it was the
calmness of desperation. She had hoped that the first tears would produce t=
he
avowal for which she waited. It had not, and she began to fear that her last
chance was slipping from her. Did the old man love her? If so, why did he n=
ot speak?
Eager to profit by each moment, she was on the alert for any hopeful hint, =
any
propitious word, look, or act, and every nerve was strung to the utmost.
"Jean, may I ask one question?" =
said
Sir John.
"Anything of me, sir."
"This man whom you love--can he not h=
elp
you?"
"He could if he knew, but he must
not."
"If he knew what? Your present
trouble?"
"No. My love."
"He does not know this, then?"
"No, thank heaven! And he never
will."
"Why not?"
"Because I am too proud to own it.&qu=
ot;
"He loves you, my child?"
"I do not know--I dare not hope it,&q=
uot;
murmured Jean.
"Can I not help you here? Believe me,=
I
desire to see you safe and happy. Is there nothing I can do?"
"Nothing, nothing."
"May I know the name?"
"No! No! Let me go; I cannot bear this
questioning!" And Jean's distressful face warned him to ask no more.
"Forgive me, and let me do what I may.
Rest here quietly. I'll write a letter to a good friend of mine, who will f=
ind
you a home, if you leave us."
As Sir John passed into his inner study, J= ean watched him with despairing eyes and wrung her hands, saying to herself, Has all my skill deserted me when I need it most? How can I make him understand= , yet not overstep the bounds of maiden modesty? He is so blind, so timid, or so = dull he will not see, and time is going fast. What shall I do to open his eyes?<= o:p>
Her own eyes roved about the room, seeking=
for
some aid from inanimate things, and soon she found it. Close behind the cou=
ch
where she sat hung a fine miniature of Sir John. At first her eye rested on=
it
as she contrasted its placid comeliness with the unusual pallor and disquie=
t of
the living face seen through the open door, as the old man sat at his desk
trying to write and casting covert glances at the girlish figure he had left
behind him. Affecting unconsciousness of this, Jean gazed on as if forgetfu=
l of
everything but the picture, and suddenly, as if obeying an irresistible
impulse, she took it down, looked long and fondly at it, then, shaking her
curls about her face, as if to hide the act, pressed it to her lips and see=
med
to weep over it in an uncontrollable paroxysm of tender grief. A sound star=
tled
her, and like a guilty thing, she turned to replace the picture; but it dro=
pped
from her hand as she uttered a faint cry and hid her face, for Sir John stoo=
d
before her, with an expression which she could not mistake.
"Jean, why did you do that?" he
asked, in an eager, agitated voice.
No answer, as the girl sank lower, like one
overwhelmed with shame. Laying his hand on the bent head, and bending his o=
wn,
he whispered, "Tell me, is the name John Coventry?"
Still no answer, but a stifled sound betra=
yed
that his words had gone home.
"Jean, shall I go back and write the
letter, or may I stay and tell you that the old man loves you better than a
daughter?"
She did not speak, but a little hand stole=
out
from under the falling hair, as if to keep him. With a broken exclamation he
seized it, drew her up into his arms, and laid his gray head on her fan: on=
e,
too happy for words. For a moment Jean Muir enjoyed her success; then, fear=
ing lest
some sudden mishap should destroy it, she hastened to make all secure. Look=
ing
up with well-feigned timidity and half-confessed affection, she said softly,
"Forgive me that I could not hide this better. I meant to go away and
never tell it, but you were so kind it made the parting doubly hard. Why did
you ask such dangerous questions? Why did you look, when you should have be=
en
writing my dismissal?"
"How could I dream that you loved me,
Jean, when you refused the only offer I dared make? Could I be presumptuous=
enough
to fancy you would reject young lovers for an old man like me?" asked =
Sir
John, caressing her.
"You are not old, to me, but everythi=
ng I
love and honor!" interrupted Jean, with a touch of genuine remorse, as
this generous, honorable gentleman gave her both heart and home, unconsciou=
s of
deceit. "It is I who am presumptuous, to dare to love one so far above=
me.
But I did not know how dear you were to me till I felt that I must go. I ou=
ght
not to accept this happiness. I am not worthy of it; and you will regret yo=
ur kindness
when the world blames you for giving a home to one so poor, and plain, and
humble as I."
"Hush, my darling. I care nothing for=
the
idle gossip of the world. If you are happy here, let tongues wag as they wi=
ll.
I shall be too busy enjoying the sunshine of your presence to heed anything
that goes on about me. But, Jean, you are sure you love me? It seems incred=
ible
that I should win the heart that has been so cold to younger, better men th=
an
I."
"Dear Sir John, be sure of this, I lo=
ve you
truly. I will do my best to be a good wife to you, and prove that, in spite=
of
my many faults, I possess the virtue of gratitude."
If he had known the strait she was in, he
would have understood the cause of the sudden fervor of her words, the inte=
nse thankfulness
that shone in her face, the real humility that made her stoop and kiss the =
generous
hand that gave so much. For a few moments she enjoyed and let him enjoy the
happy present, undisturbed. But the anxiety which devoured her, the danger
which menaced her, soon recalled her, and forced her to wring yet more from=
the
unsuspicious heart she had conquered.
"No need of letters now," said S=
ir
John, as they sat side by side, with the summer moonlight glorifying all the
room. "You have found a home for life; may it prove a happy one."=
"It is not mine yet, and I have a str=
ange
foreboding that it never will be," she answered sadly.
"Why, my child?"
"Because I have an enemy who will try=
to
destroy my peace, to poison your mind against me, and to drive me out from =
my
paradise, to suffer again all I have suffered this last year."
"You mean that mad Sydney of whom you
told me?"
"Yes. As soon as he hears of this good
fortune to poor little Jean, he will hasten to mar it. He is my fate; I can=
not
escape him, and wherever he goes my friends desert me; for he has the power=
and
uses it for my destruction. Let me go away and hide before he comes, for,
having shared your confidence, it will break my heart to see you distrust a=
nd
turn from me, instead of loving and protecting."
"My poor child, you are superstitious=
. Be
easy. No one can harm you now, no one would dare attempt it. And as for my
deserting you, that will soon be out of my power, if I have my way."
"How, dear Sir John?" asked Jean,
with a flutter of intense relief at her heart, for the way seemed smoothing
before her.
"I will make you my wife at once, if I
may. This will free you from Gerald's love, protect you from Sydney's
persecution, give you a safe home, and me the right to cherish and defend w=
ith
heart and hand. Shall it be so, my child?"
"Yes; but oh, remember that I have no
friend but you! Promise me to be faithful to the last--to believe in me, to
trust me, protect and love me, in spite of all misfortunes, faults, and
follies. I will be true as steel to you, and make your life as happy as it
deserves to be. Let us promise these things now, and keep the promises unbr=
oken
to the end."
Her solemn air touched Sir John. Too honor=
able
and upright himself to suspect falsehood in others, he saw only the natural=
impulse
of a lovely girl in Jean's words, and, taking the hand she gave him in both=
of
his, he promised all she asked, and kept that promise to the end. She pause=
d an
instant, with a pale, absent expression, as if she searched herself, then
looked up clearly in the confiding face above her, and promised what she
faithfully performed in afteryears.
"When shall it be, little sweetheart?=
I
leave all to you, only let it be soon, else some gay young lover will appea=
r,
and take you from me," said Sir John, playfully, anxious to chase away=
the
dark expression which had stolen over Jean's face.
"Can you keep a secret?" asked t=
he
girl, smiling up at him, all her charming self again.
"Try me."
"I will. Edward is coming home in thr=
ee
days. I must be gone before he comes. Tell no one of this; he wishes to
surprise them. And if you love me, tell nobody of your approaching marriage=
. Do
not betray that you care for me until I am really yours. There will be such=
a
stir, such remonstrances, explanations, and reproaches that I shall be worn
out, and run away from you all to escape the trial. If I could have my wish=
, I
would go to some quiet place tomorrow and wait till you come for me. I know=
so
little of such things, I cannot tell how soon we may be married; not for so=
me
weeks, I think."
"Tomorrow, if we like. A special lice=
nse
permits people to marry when and where they please. My plan is better than
yours. Listen, and tell me if it can be carried out. I will go to town
tomorrow, get the license, invite my friend, the Reverend Paul Fairfax, to
return with me, and tomorrow evening you come at your usual time, and, in t=
he
presence of my discreet old servants, make me the happiest man in England. =
How
does this suit you, my little Lady Coventry?"
The plan which seemed made to meet her end=
s,
the name which was the height of her ambition, and the blessed sense of saf=
ety
which came to her filled Jean Muir with such intense satisfaction that tear=
s of
real feeling stood in her eyes, and the glad assent she gave was the truest=
word
that had passed her lips for months.
"We will go abroad or to Scotland for=
our
honeymoon, till the storm blows over," said Sir John, well knowing that
this hasty marriage would surprise or offend all his relations, and feeling=
as
glad as Jean to escape the first excitement.
"To Scotland, please. I long to see my
father's home," said Jean, who dreaded to meet Sydney on the continent=
.
They talked a little longer, arranging all
things, Sir John so intent on hurrying the event that Jean had nothing to do
but give a ready assent to all his suggestions. One fear alone disturbed he=
r.
If Sir John went to town, he might meet Edward, might hear and believe his
statements. Then all would be lost. Yet this risk must be incurred, if the
marriage was to be speedily and safely accomplished; and to guard against t=
he meeting
was Jean's sole care. As they went through the park--for Sir John insisted =
upon
taking her home--she said, clinging to his arm:
"Dear friend, bear one thing in mind,
else we shall be much annoyed, and all our plans disarranged. Avoid your
nephews; you are so frank your face will betray you. They both love me, are
both hot-tempered, and in the first excitement of the discovery might be
violent. You must incur no danger, no disrespect for my sake; so shun them =
both
till we are safe--particularly Edward. He will feel that his brother has
wronged him, and that you have succeeded where he failed. This will irritat=
e him,
and I fear a stormy scene. Promise to avoid both for a day or two; do not
listen to them, do not see them, do not write to or receive letters from th=
em.
It is foolish, I know; but you are all I have, and I am haunted by a strange
foreboding that I am to lose you."
Touched and flattered by her tender
solicitude, Sir John promised everything, even while he laughed at her fear=
s.
Love blinded the good gentleman to the peculiarity of the request; the nove=
lty,
romance, and secrecy of the affair rather bewildered though it charmed him;=
and
the knowledge that he had outrivaled three young and ardent lovers gratified
his vanity more than he would confess. Parting from the girl at the garden
gate, he turned homeward, feeling like a boy again, and loitered back, humm=
ing
a love lay, quite forgetful of evening damps, gout, and the five-and-fifty
years which lay so lightly on his shoulders since Jean's arms had rested th=
ere.
She hurried toward the house, anxious to escape Coventry; but he was waiting
for her, and she was forced to meet him.
"How could you linger so long, and ke=
ep
me in suspense?" he said reproachfully, as he took her hand and tried =
to
catch a glimpse of her face in the shadow of her hat brim. "Come and r=
est
in the grotto. I have so much to say, to hear and enjoy."
"Not now; I am too tired. Let me go in
and sleep. Tomorrow we will talk. It is damp and chilly, and my head aches =
with
all this worry." Jean spoke wearily, yet with a touch of petulance, and
Coventry, fancying that she was piqued at his not coming for her, hastened =
to
explain with eager tenderness.
"My poor little Jean, you do need res=
t.
We wear you out, among us, and you never complain. I should have come to br=
ing
you home, but Lucia detained me, and when I got away I saw my uncle had
forestalled me. I shall be jealous of the old gentleman, if he is so devote=
d.
Jean, tell me one thing before we part; I am free as air, now, and have a r=
ight
to speak. Do you love me? Am I the happy man who has won your heart? I dare=
to
think so, to believe that this telltale face of yours has betrayed you, and=
to
hope that I have gained what poor Ned and wild Sydney have lost."
"Before I answer, tell me of your
interview with Lucia. I have a right to know," said Jean.
Coventry hesitated, for pity and remorse w=
ere
busy at his heart when he recalled poor Lucia's grief. Jean was bent on hea=
ring
the humiliation of her rival. As the young man paused, she frowned, then li=
fted
up her face wreathed in softest smiles, and laying her hand on his arm, she
said, with most effective emphasis, half shy, half fond, upon his name, &qu=
ot;Please
tell me, Gerald!"
He could not resist the look, the touch, t=
he
tone, and taking the little hand in his, he said rapidly, as if the task was
distasteful to him, "I told her that I did not, could not love her; th=
at I
had submitted to my mother's wish, and, for a time, had felt tacitly bound =
to
her, though no words had passed between us. But now I demanded my liberty,
regretting that the separation was not mutually desired."
"And she--what did she say? How did s=
he
bear it?" asked Jean, feeling in her own woman's heart how deeply Luci=
a's
must have been wounded by that avowal.
"Poor girl! It was hard to bear, but =
her
pride sustained her to the end. She owned that no pledge tied me, fully
relinquished any claim my past behavior had seemed to have given her, and
prayed that I might find another woman to love me as truly, tenderly as she=
had
done. Jean, I felt like a villain; and yet I never plighted my word to her,
never really loved her, and had a perfect right to leave her, if I would.&q=
uot;
"Did she speak of me?"
"Yes."
"What did she say?"
"Must I tell you?"
"Yes, tell me everything. I know she
hates me and I forgive her, knowing that I should hate any woman whom you loved."
"Are you jealous, dear?"
"Of you, Gerald?" And the fine e=
yes
glanced up at him, full of a brilliancy that looked like the light of love.=
"You make a slave of me already. How =
do
you do it? I never obeyed a woman before. Jean, I think you are a witch.
Scotland is the home of weird, uncanny creatures, who take lovely shapes for
the bedevilment of poor weak souls. Are you one of those fair deceivers?&qu=
ot;
"You are complimentary," laughed=
the
girl. "I am a witch, and one day my disguise wi=
ll
drop away and you will see me as I am, old, ugly, bad and lost. Beware of m=
e in
time. I've warned you. Now love me at your peril."
Coventry had paused as he spoke, and eyed =
her
with an unquiet look, conscious of some fascination which conquered yet bro=
ught
no happiness. A feverish yet pleasurable excitement possessed him; a reckle=
ss
mood, making him eager to obliterate the past by any rash act, any new expe=
rience
which his passion brought. Jean regarded him with a wistful, almost woeful
face, for one short moment; then a strange smile broke over it, as she spok=
e in
a tone of malicious mockery, under which lurked the bitterness of a sad tru=
th.
Coventry looked half bewildered, and his eye went from the girl's mysterious
face to a dimly lighted window, behind whose curtains poor Lucia hid her ac=
hing
heart, praying for him the tender prayers that loving women give to those w=
hose
sins are all forgiven for love's sake. His heart smote him, and a momentary
feeling of repulsion came over him, as he looked at Jean. She saw it, felt =
angry,
yet conscious of a sense of relief; for now that her own safety was so near=
ly
secured, she felt no wish to do mischief, but rather a desire to undo what =
was
already done, and be at peace with all the world. To recall him to his
allegiance, she sighed and walked on, saying gently yet coldly, "Will =
you
tell me what I ask before I answer your question, Mr. Coventry?"
"What Lucia said of you? Well, it was
this. 'Beware of Miss Muir. We instinctively distrusted her when we had no
cause. I believe in instincts, and mine have never changed, for she has not
tried to delude me. Her art is wonderful; I feel yet cannot explain or dete=
ct
it, except in the working of events which her hand seems to guide. She has
brought sorrow and dissension into this hitherto happy family. We are all c=
hanged,
and this girl has done it. Me she can harm no further; you she will ruin, if
she can. Beware of her in tune, or you win bitterly repent your blind
infatuation!'"
"And what answer did you make?"
asked Jean, as the last words came reluctantly from Coventry's lips.
"I told her that I loved you in spite=
of
myself, and would make you my wife in the face of all opposition. Now, Jean,
your answer."
"Give me three days to think of it. G=
ood
night." And gliding from him, she vanished into the house, leaving him=
to
roam about half the night, tormented with remorse, suspense, and the old
distrust which would return when Jean was not there to banish it by her art=
.
All the next day, Jean was in a state of t=
he
most intense anxiety, as every hour brought the crisis nearer, and every ho=
ur
might bring defeat, for the subtlest human skill is often thwarted by some
unforeseen accident. She longed to assure herself that Sir John was gone, b=
ut
no servants came or went that day, and she could devise no pretext for send=
ing
to glean intelligence. She dared not go herself, lest the unusual act should
excite suspicion, for she never went till evening. Even had she determined =
to
venture, there was no time, for Mrs. Coventry was in one of her nervous sta=
tes,
and no one but Miss Muir could amuse her; Lucia was ill, and Miss Muir must
give orders; Bella had a studious fit, and Jean must help her. Coventry
lingered about the house for several hours, but Jean dared not send him, le=
st
some hint of the truth might reach him. He had ridden away to his new duties
when Jean did not appear, and the day dragged on wearisomely. Night came at
last, and as Jean dressed for the late dinner, she hardly knew herself when=
she
stood before her mirror, excitement lent such color and brilliancy to her c=
ountenance.
Remembering the wedding which was to take place that evening, she put on a
simple white dress and added a cluster of white roses in bosom and hair. She
often wore flowers, but in spite of her desire to look and seem as usual,
Bella's first words as she entered the drawing room were "Why, Jean, h=
ow
like a bride you look; a veil and gloves would make you quite complete!&quo=
t;
"You forget one other trifle, Bell,&q=
uot;
said Gerald, with eyes that brightened as they rested on Miss Muir.
"What is that?" asked his sister=
.
"A bridegroom."
Bella looked to see how Jean received this,
but she seemed quite composed as she smiled one of her sudden smiles, and
merely said, "That trifle will doubtless be found when the time comes.=
Is
Miss Beaufort too ill for dinner?"
"She begs to be excused, and said you
would be willing to take her place, she thought."
As innocent Bella delivered this message, =
Jean
glanced at Coventry, who evaded her eye and looked ill at ease.
A little remorse will do him good, and pre=
pare
him for repentance after the grand coup , she said to herself, and was
particularly gay at dinnertime, though Coventry looked often at Lucia's emp=
ty
seat, as if he missed her. As soon as they left the table, Miss Muir sent B=
ella
to her mother; and, knowing that Coventry would not linger long at his wine=
, she
hurried away to the Hall. A servant was lounging at the door, and of him she
asked, in a tone which was eager in spite of all efforts to be calm, "=
Is
Sir John at home?"
"No, miss, he's just gone to town.&qu=
ot;
"Just gone! When do you mean?" c=
ried
Jean, forgetting the relief she felt in hearing of his absence in surprise =
at
his late departure.
"He went half an hour ago, in the last
train, miss."
"I thought he was going early this
morning; he told me he should be back this evening."
"I believe he did mean to go, but was
delayed by company. The steward came up on business, and a load of gentlemen
called, so Sir John could not get off till night, when he wasn't fit to go,
being worn out, and far from well."
"Do you think he will be ill? Did he =
look
so?" And as Jean spoke, a thrill of fear passed over her, lest death
should rob her of her prize.
"Well, you know, miss, hurry of any k=
ind
is bad for elderly gentlemen inclined to apoplexy. Sir John was in a worry =
all
day, and not like himself. I wanted him to take his man, but he wouldn't; a=
nd
drove off looking flushed and excited like. I'm anxious about him, for I kn=
ow something
is amiss to hurry him off in this way."
"When will he be back, Ralph?"
"Tomorrow noon, if possible; at night,
certainly, he bid me tell anyone that called."
"Did he leave no note or message for =
Miss
Coventry, or someone of the family?"
"No, miss, nothing."
"Thank you." And Jean walked bac=
k to
spend a restless night and rise to meet renewed suspense.
The morning seemed endless, but noon came =
at
last, and under the pretense of seeking coolness in the grotto, Jean stole =
away
to a slope whence the gate to the Hall park was visible. For two long hours=
she
watched, and no one came. She was just turning away when a horseman dashed
through the gate and came galloping toward the Hall. Heedless of everything=
but
the uncontrollable longing to gain some tidings, she ran to meet him, feeli=
ng
assured that he brought ill news. It was a young man from the station, and =
as
he caught sight of her, he drew bridle, looking agitated and undecided.
"Has anything happened?" she cri=
ed
breathlessly.
"A dreadful accident on the railroad,
just the other side of Croydon. News telegraphed half an hour ago,"
answered the man, wiping his hot face.
"The noon train? Was Sir John in it?
Quick, tell me all!"
"It was that train, miss, but whether=
Sir
John was in it or not, we don't know; for the guard is killed, and everythi=
ng
is in such confusion that nothing can be certain. They are at work getting =
out
the dead and wounded. We heard that Sir John was expected, and I came up to
tell Mr. Coventry, thinking he would wish to go down. A train leaves in fif=
teen
minutes; where shall I find him? I was told he was at the Hall."
"Ride on, ride on! And find him if he=
is
there. I'll run home and look for him. Lose no time. Ride! Ride!" And
turning, Jean sped back like a deer, while the man tore up the avenue to ro=
use
the Hall.
Coventry was there, and went off at once,
leaving both Hall and house in dismay. Fearing to betray the horrible anxie=
ty
that possessed her, Jean shut herself up in her room and suffered untold
agonies as the day wore on and no news came. At dark a sudden cry rang thro=
ugh
the house, and Jean rushed down to learn the cause. Bella was standing in t=
he
hall, holding a letter, while a group of excited servants hovered near her.=
"What is it?" demanded Miss Muir,
pale and steady, though her heart died within her as she recognized Gerald's
handwriting. Bella gave her the note, and hushed her sobbing to hear again =
the
heavy tidings that had come.
Dear Bella:
Uncle is safe; he did not go in the noon
train. But several persons are sure that Ned was there. No trace of him as =
yet,
but many bodies are in the river, under the ruins of the bridge, and I am d=
oing
my best to find the poor lad, if he is there. I have sent to all his haunts=
in
town, and as he has not been seen, I hope it is a false report and he is sa=
fe
with his regiment. Keep this from my mother till we are sure. I write you,
because Lucia is ill. Miss Muir will comfort and sustain you. Hope for the
best, dear.
Yours, G.C.
Those who watched Miss Muir as she read th=
ese
words wondered at the strange expressions which passed over her face, for t=
he
joy which appeared there as Sir John's safety was made known did not change=
to grief
or horror at poor Edward's possible fate. The smile died on her lips, but h=
er
voice did not falter, and in her downcast eyes shone an inexplicable look of
something like triumph. No wonder, for if this was true, the danger which
menaced her was averted for a time, and the marriage might be consummated
without such desperate haste. This sad and sudden event seemed to her the
mysterious fulfilment of a secret wish; and though startled she was not dau=
nted
but inspirited, for fate seemed to favor her designs. She did comfort Bella,
control the excited household, and keep the rumors from Mrs. Coventry all t=
hat dreadful
night.
At dawn Gerald came home exhausted, and
bringing no tiding of the missing man. He had telegraphed to the headquarte=
rs
of the regiment and received a reply, stating that Edward had left for Lond=
on the
previous day, meaning to go home before returning. The fact of his having b=
een
at the London station was also established, but whether he left by the trai=
n or
not was still uncertain. The ruins were still being searched, and the body
might yet appear.
"Is Sir John coming at noon?" as=
ked
Jean, as the three sat together in the rosy hush of dawn, trying to hope
against hope.
"No, he had been ill, I learned from
young Gower, who is just from town, and so had not completed his business. I
sent him word to wait till night, for the bridge won't be passable till the=
n.
Now I must try and rest an hour; I've worked all night and have no strength
left. Call me the instant any messenger arrives."
With that Coventry went to his room, Bella
followed to wait on him, and Jean roamed through house and grounds, unable =
to
rest. The morning was far spent when the messenger arrived. Jean went to
receive his tidings, with the wicked hope still lurking at her heart.
"Is he found?" she asked calmly,=
as
the man hesitated to speak.
"Yes, ma'am."
"You are sure?"
"I am certain, ma'am, though some won=
't
say till Mr. Coventry comes to look."
"Is he alive?" And Jean's white =
lips
trembled as she put the question.
"Oh no, ma'am, that warn't possible,
under all them stones and water. The poor young gentleman is so wet, and
crushed, and torn, no one would know him, except for the uniform, and the w=
hite
hand with the ring on it."
Jean sat down, very pale, and the man
described the finding of the poor shattered body. As he finished, Coventry =
appeared,
and with one look of mingled remorse, shame, and sorrow, the elder brother =
went
away, to find and bring the younger home. Jean crept into the garden like a
guilty thing, trying to hide the satisfaction which struggled with a woman'=
s natural
pity, for so sad an end for this brave young life.
"Why waste tears or feign sorrow when=
I
must be glad?" she muttered, as she paced to and fro along the terrace.
"The poor boy is out of pain, and I am out of danger."
She got no further, for, turning as she sp=
oke,
she stood face to face with Edward! Bearing no mark of peril on dress or
person, but stalwart and strong as ever, he stood there looking at her, with
contempt and compassion struggling in his face. As if turned to stone, she
remained motionless, with dilated eyes, arrested breath, and paling cheek. =
He
did not speak but watched her silently till she put out a trembling hand, a=
s if
to assure herself by touch that it was really he. Then he drew back, and as=
if
the act convinced as fully as words, she said slowly, "They told me you
were dead."
"And you were glad to believe it. No,=
it
was my comrade, young Courtney, who unconsciously deceived you all, and lost
his life, as I should have done, if I had not gone to Ascot after seeing him
off yesterday."
"To Ascot?" echoed Jean, shrinki=
ng
back, for Edward's eye was on her, and his voice was stern and cold.
"Yes; you know the place. I went ther=
e to
make inquiries concerning you and was well satisfied. Why are you still
here?"
"The three days are not over yet. I h=
old
you to your promise. Before night I shall be gone; till then you will be
silent, if you have honor enough to keep your word."
"I have." Edward took out his wa=
tch
and, as he put it back, said with cool precision, "It is now two, the
train leaves for London at half-past six; a carriage will wait for you at t=
he
side door. Allow me to advise you to go then, for the instant dinner is ove=
r I
shall speak." And with a bow he went into the house, leaving Jean near=
ly
suffocated with a throng of contending emotions.
For a few minutes she seemed paralyzed; but
the native energy of the woman forbade utter despair, till the last hope was
gone. Frail as that now was, she still clung to it tenaciously, resolving to
win the game in defiance of everything. Springing up, she went to her room,
packed her few valuables, dressed herself with care, and then sat down to w=
ait.
She heard a joyful stir below, saw Coventry come hurrying back, and from a =
garrulous
maid learned that the body was that of young Courtney. The uniform being the
same as Edward's and the ring, a gift from him, had caused the men to belie=
ve
the disfigured corpse to be that of the younger Coventry. No one but the ma=
id
came near her; once Bella's voice called her, but some one checked the girl,
and the call was not repeated. At five an envelope was brought her, directe=
d in
Edward's hand, and containing a check which more than paid a year's salary.=
No word
accompanied the gift, yet the generosity of it touched her, for Jean Muir h=
ad
the relics of a once honest nature, and despite her falsehood could still
admire nobleness and respect virtue. A tear of genuine shame dropped on the
paper, and real gratitude filled her heart, as she thought that even if all
else failed, she was not thrust out penniless into the world, which had no =
pity
for poverty.
As the clock struck six, she heard a carri=
age
drive around and went down to meet it. A servant put on her trunk, gave the
order, "To the station, James," and she drove away without meeting
anyone, speaking to anyone, or apparently being seen by anyone. A sense of
utter weariness came over her, and she longed to lie down and forget. But t=
he
last chance still remained, and till that failed, she would not give up.
Dismissing the carriage, she seated herself to watch for the quarter-past-s=
ix
train from London, for in that Sir John would come if he came at all that n=
ight.
She was haunted by the fear that Edward had met and told him. The first gli=
mpse
of Sir John's frank face would betray the truth. If he knew all, there was =
no
hope, and she would go her way alone. If he knew nothing, there was yet time
for the marriage; and once his wife, she knew she was safe, because for the
honor of his name he would screen and protect her.
Up rushed the train, out stepped Sir John,=
and
Jean's heart died within her. Grave, and pale, and worn he looked, and lean=
ed
heavily on the arm of a portly gentleman in black. The Reverend Mr. Fairfax,
why has he come, if the secret is out? thought Jean, slowly advancing to me=
et
them and fearing to read her fate in Sir John's face. He saw her, dropped h=
is friend's
arm, and hurried forward with the ardor of a young man, exclaiming, as he
seized her hand with a beaming face, a glad voice, "My little girl! Did
you think I would never come?"
She could not answer, the reaction was too
strong, but she clung to him, regardless of time or place, and felt that her
last hope had not failed. Mr. Fairfax proved himself equal to the occasion.
Asking no questions, he hurried Sir John and Jean into a carriage and stepp=
ed
in after them with a bland apology. Jean was soon herself again, and, having
told her fears at his delay, listened eagerly while he related the various =
mishaps
which had detained him.
"Have you seen Edward?" was her
first question.
"Not yet, but I know he has come, and
have heard of his narrow escape. I should have been in that train, if I had=
not
been delayed by the indisposition which I then cursed, but now bless. Are y=
ou
ready, Jean? Do you repent your choice, my child?"
"No, no! I am ready, I am only too ha=
ppy to
become your wife, dear, generous Sir John," cried Jean, with a glad
alacrity, which touched the old man to the heart, and charmed the Reverend =
Mr.
Fairfax, who concealed the romance of a boy under his clerical suit.
They reached the Hall. Sir John gave order=
s to
admit no one and after a hasty dinner sent for his old housekeeper and his
steward, told them of his purpose, and desired them to witness his marriage.
Obedience had been the law of their lives, and Master could do nothing wron=
g in
their eyes, so they played their parts willingly, for Jean was a favorite a=
t the
Hall. Pale as her gown, but calm and steady, she stood beside Sir John,
uttering her vows in a clear tone and taking upon herself the vows of a wife
with more than a bride's usual docility. When the ring was fairly on, a smi=
le
broke over her face. When Sir John kissed and called her his "little
wife," she shed a tear or two of sincere happiness; and when Mr. Fairf=
ax
addressed her as "my lady," she laughed her musical laugh, and
glanced up at a picture of Gerald with eyes full of exultation. As the serv=
ants
left the room, a message was brought from Mrs. Coventry, begging Sir John to
come to her at once.
"You will not go and leave me so
soon?" pleaded Jean, well knowing why he was sent for.
"My darling, I must." And in spi=
te
of its tenderness, Sir John's manner was too decided to be withstood.
"Then I shall go with you," cried
Jean, resolving that no earthly power should part them.
When the first excitement of Edward's retu=
rn
had subsided, and before they could question him as to the cause of this
unexpected visit, he told them that after dinner their curiosity should be
gratified, and meantime he begged them to leave Miss Muir alone, for she had
received bad news and must not be disturbed. The family with difficulty res=
trained
their tongues and waited impatiently. Gerald confessed his love for Jean and
asked his brother's pardon for betraying his trust. He had expected an
outbreak, but Edward only looked at him with pitying eyes, and said sadly,
"You too! I have no reproaches to make, for I know what you will suffer
when the truth is known."
"What do you mean?" demanded
Coventry.
"You will soon know, my poor Gerald, =
and
we will comfort one another."
Nothing more could be drawn from Edward ti=
ll
dinner was over, the servants gone, and all the family alone together. Then
pale and grave, but very self-possessed, for trouble had made a man of him,=
he
produced a packet of letters, and said, addressing himself to his brother, =
"Jean
Muir has deceived us all. I know her story; let me tell it before I read her
letters."
"Stop! I'll not listen to any false t=
ales
against her. The poor girl has enemies who belie her!" cried Gerald,
starting up.
"For the honor of the family, you mus=
t listen,
and learn what fools she has made of us. I can prove what I say, and convin=
ce
you that she has the art of a devil. Sit still ten minutes, then go, if you
will."
Edward spoke with authority, and his broth=
er
obeyed him with a foreboding heart.
"I met Sydney, and he begged me to be=
ware
of her. Nay, listen, Gerald! I know she has told her story, and that you
believe it; but her own letters convict her. She tried to charm Sydney as s=
he
did us, and nearly succeeded in inducing him to marry her. Rash and wild as=
he
is, he is still a gentleman, and when an incautious word of hers roused his=
suspicions,
he refused to make her his wife. A stormy scene ensued, and, hoping to
intimidate him, she feigned to stab herself as if in despair. She did wound
herself, but failed to gain her point and insisted upon going to a hospital=
to
die. Lady Sydney, good, simple soul, believed the girl's version of the sto=
ry,
thought her son was in the wrong, and when he was gone, tried to atone for =
his
fault by finding Jean Muir another home. She thought Gerald was soon to mar=
ry
Lucia, and that I was away, so sent her here as a safe and comfortable
retreat."
"But, Ned, are you sure of all this? =
Is
Sydney to be believed?" began Coventry, still incredulous.
"To convince you, I'll read Jean's
letters before I say more. They were written to an accomplice and were
purchased by Sydney. There was a compact between the two women, that each
should keep the other informed of all adventures, plots and plans, and share
whatever good fortune fell to the lot of either. Thus Jean wrote freely, as=
you
shall judge. The letters concern us alone. The first was written a few days
after she came.
"Dear Hortense: "Another failure.
Sydney was more wily than I thought. All was going well, when one day my ol=
d fault
beset me, I took too much wine, and I carelessly owned that I had been an
actress. He was shocked, and retreated. I got up a scene, and gave myself a
safe little wound, to frighten him. The brute was not frightened, but coolly
left me to my fate. I'd have died to spite him, if I dared, but as I didn't=
, I lived
to torment him. As yet, I have had no chance, but I will not forget him. His
mother is a poor, weak creature, whom I could use as I would, and through h=
er I
found an excellent place. A sick mother, silly daughter, and two eligible s=
ons.
One is engaged to a handsome iceberg, but that only renders him more
interesting in my eyes,
rivalry adds so much to the charm of one's conquests. Well, my dear, I went,
got up in the meek style, intending to do the pathetic; but before I saw the
family, I was so angry I could hardly control myself. Through the indolence=
of
Monsieur the young master, no carriage
was sent for me, and I intend he shall atone for that rudeness by-and-by. T=
he
younger son, the mother, and the girl received me patronizingly, and I
understood the simple souls at once. Monsieur (as I shall call him, as names
are unsafe) was unapproachable, and took no pains to conceal his dislike of=
governesses.
The cousin was lovely, but detestable with her pride, her coldness, and her=
very
visible adoration of Monsieur, who let her worship him, like an inanimate i=
dol
as he is. I hated them both, of course, and in return for their insolence s=
hall
torment her with jealousy, and teach him how to woo a woman by making his h=
eart
ache. They are an intensely proud family, but I can humble them all, I thin=
k,
by captivating the sons, and when they have committed themselves, cast them
off, and marry the old uncle, whose title
takes my fancy." "She never wrote that! It is impossible. A woman
could not do it," cried Lucia indignantly, while Bella sat bewildered =
and
Mrs. Coventry supported herself with salts and fan. Coventry went to his
brother, examined the writing, and returned to his seat, saying, in a tone =
of suppressed
wrath, "She did write it. I posted some of those letters myself. Go on,
Ned." "I made myself useful and agreeable to the amiable ones, an=
d overheard
the chat of the lovers. It did not suit me, so I fainted away to stop it, a=
nd
excite interest in the provoking pair. I thought I had succeeded, but Monsi=
eur
suspected me and showed me that he did. I forgot my meek role and gave him a
stage look. It had a good effect, and I shall try it again. The man is well
worth winning, but I prefer the title, and as the uncle is a hale, handsome
gentleman, I can't wait for him to die, though Monsieur is very charming, w=
ith
his elegant languor, and his heart so fast asleep no woman has had power to=
wake
it yet. I told my story, and they believed it, though I had the audacity to=
say
I was but nineteen, to talk Scotch, and bashfully confess that Sydney wishe=
d to
marry me. Monsieur knows S. and evidently suspects something. I must watch =
him
and keep the truth from him, if possible. "I was very miserable that n=
ight
when I got alone. Something in the atmosphere of this happy home made me wi=
sh I
was anything but what I am. As I sat there trying to pluck up my spirits, I
thought of the days when I was lovely and young, good and gay. My glass sho=
wed
me an old woman of thirty, for my false locks were off, my paint gone, and =
my
face was without its mask. Bah! how I hate sentiment! I drank your health f=
rom
your own little flask, and went to bed to dream that I was playing Lady
Tartuffe--as I am. Adieu, more soon."=
No one spoke as Edward
paused, and taking up another letter, he read on: "My Dear Creature: "=
;All
goes well. Next day I began my task, and having caught a hint of the charac=
ter
of each, tried my power over them. Early in the morning I ran over to see t=
he
Hall. Approved of it highly, and took the first step toward becoming its
mistress, by piquing the curiosity and flattering the pride of its master. =
His
estate is his idol; I praised it with a few artless compliments to himself,=
and
he was charmed. The cadet of the family adores horses. I risked my neck to =
pet
his beast, and he was charmed. The little girl is romantic about flowers; I
made a posy and was sentimental, and she was charmed. The fair icicle loves=
her
departed mamma, I had raptures over an old picture, and she thawed. Monsieu=
r is
used to being worshipped. I took no notice of him, and by the natural
perversity of human nature, he began to take notice of me. He likes music; =
I
sang, and stopped when he'd listened long enough to want more. He is lazily
fond of being amused; I showed him my skill, but refused to exert it in his
behalf. In short, I gave him no peace till he began to wake up. In order to=
get
rid of the boy, I fascinated him, and he was sent away. Poor lad, I rather =
liked
him, and if the title had been nearer would have married him. "Many th=
anks
for the honor." And Edward's lip curled with intense scorn. But Gerald=
sat
like a statue, his teeth set, his eyes fiery, his brows bent, waiting for t=
he
end. "The passionate boy nearly killed his brother, but I turned the a=
ffair
to good account, and bewitched Monsieur by playing nurse, till Vashti (the
icicle) interfered. Then I enacted injured virtue, and kept out of his way,
knowing that he would miss me, I mystified him about S. by sending a letter=
where
S. would not get it, and got up all manner of soft scenes to win this proud
creature. I get on well and meanwhile privately fascinate Sir J. by being
daughterly and devoted. He is a worthy old man, simple as a child, honest a=
s the
day, and generous as a prince. I shall be a happy woman if I win him, and y=
ou
shall share my good fortune; so wish me success. "This is the third, a=
nd
contains something which will surprise you," Edward said, as he lifted
another paper. "Hortense: "I've done what I once planned to do on=
another
occasion. You know my handsome, dissipated father married a lady of rank for
his second wife. I never saw Lady H----d but once, for I was kept out of th=
e way.
Finding that this good Sir J. knew something of her when a girl, and being =
sure
that he did not know of the death of her little daughter, I boldly said I w=
as
the child, and told a pitiful tale of my early life. It worked like a charm=
; he
told Monsieur, and both felt the most chivalrous compassion for Lady Howard=
's
daughter, though before they had secretly looked down on me, and my real po=
verty
and my lowliness. That boy pitied me with an honest warmth and never waited=
to
learn my birth. I don't forget that and shall repay it if I can. Wishing to
bring Monsieur's affair to a
successful crisis, I got up a theatrical evening and was in my element. One
little event I must tell you, because I committed an actionable offense and=
was
nearly discovered. I did not go down to supper, knowing that the moth would
return to flutter about the candle, and preferring that the fluttering shou=
ld
be done in private, as Vashti's jealousy is getting uncontrollable. Passing=
through
the gentlemen's dressing room, my quick eye caught sight of a letter lying
among the costumes. It was no stage affair, and an odd sensation of fear ran
through me as I recognized the hand of S. I had feared this, but I believe =
in
chance; and having found the letter, I examined it. You know I can imitate
almost any hand. When I read in this paper the whole story of my affair with
S., truly told, and also that he had made inquiries into my past life and d=
iscovered
the truth, I was in a fury. To be so near success and fail was terrible, an=
d I
resolved to risk everything. I opened the
letter by means of a heated knife blade under the seal, therefore the envel=
ope
was perfect; imitating S.'s hand, I penned a few lines in his hasty style,
saying he was at Baden, so that if Monsieur answered, the reply would not r=
each
him, for he is in London, it seems. This letter I put into the pocket whence
the other must have fallen, and was just congratulating myself on this narr=
ow
escape, when Dean, the maid of Vashti, appeared as if watching me. She had =
evidently
seen the letter in my hand, and suspected something. I took no notice of he=
r,
but must be careful, for she is on the watch.
After this the evening closed with strictly private theatricals, in which
Monsieur and myself were the only actors. To make sure that he received my
version of the story first, I told him a romantic story of S.'s persecution,
and he believed it. This I followed up by a moonlight episode behind a rose
hedge, and sent the young gentleman home in a half-dazed condition. What fo=
ols
men are!" "She is right!" muttered
Coventry, who had flushed scarlet with shame and anger, as his folly became
known and Lucia listened in
astonished silence. "Only one more, and my distasteful task will be ne=
arly
over," said Edward, unfolding the last of the papers. "This is no=
t a
letter, but a copy of one written three nights ago. Dean boldly ransacked J=
ean
Muir's desk while she was at the Hall, and, fearing to betray the deed by k=
eeping
the letter, she made a hasty copy which she gave me today, begging me to sa=
ve
the family from disgrace. This makes the chain complete. Go now, if you wil=
l,
Gerald. I would gladly spare you the pain of hearing this." "I wi=
ll
not spare myself; I deserve it. Read on," replied Coventry, guessing w=
hat
was to follow and nerving himself to hear it. Reluctantly his brother read
these lines: "The enemy has surrendered! Give me joy, Hortense; I can =
be
the wife of this proud monsieur, if I will. Think what an honor for the div=
orced
wife of a disreputable actor. I laugh at the farce and enjoy it, for I only
wait till the prize I desire is fairly mine, to turn and reject this lover =
who
has proved himself false to brother, mistress, and his own conscience. I re=
solved
to be revenged on both, and I have kept my word. For my sake he cast off the
beautiful woman who truly loved him; he forgot his promise to his brother, =
and
put by his pride to beg of me the worn-out heart that is not worth a good m=
an's
love. Ah well, I am satisfied, for Vashti has suffered the sharpest pain a
proud woman can endure, and will feel another pang when I tell her that I s=
corn
her recreant lover, and give him back to her, to deal with as she will.&quo=
t; Coventry
started from his seat with a fierce exclamation, but Lucia
bowed her face upon her hands, weeping, as if the pang had been sharper
than even Jean foresaw. "Send for Sir John! I am mortally afraid of th=
is
creature. Take her away; do something to her. My poor Bella, what a compani=
on
for you! Send for Sir John at once!" cried Mrs. Coventry incoherently,=
and
clasped her daughter in her arms, as if Jean Muir would burst in to annihil=
ate
the whole family. Edward alone was calm. "I have already sent, and whi=
le
we wait, let me finish this story. It is
true that Jean is the daughter of Lady Howard's husband, the pretended
clergyman, but really a worthless man who married her for her money. Her own
child died, but this girl, having beauty, wit and a bold spirit, took her f=
ate
into her own hands, and became an actress. She married an actor, led a reck=
less
life for some years; quarrelled with her husband, was divorced, and went to
Paris; left the stage, and tried to support herself as governess and compan=
ion.
You know how she fared with the Sydneys, how she has duped us, and but for =
this
discovery would have duped Sir John. I was in time to prevent this, thank
heaven. She is gone; no one knows the truth but Sydney and ourselves; he wi=
ll
be silent, for his own sake; we will be for ours, and leave this dangerous =
woman
to the fate which will surely overtake her." "Thank you, it has
overtaken her, and a very happy one she finds it." A soft voice uttered
the words, and an apparition appeared at the door, which made all start and
recoil with amazement--Jean Muir leaning on the arm of Sir John. "How =
dare
you return?" began Edward, losing the self-control so long preserved.
"How dare you insult us by coming back to enjoy the mischief you have =
done?
Uncle, you do not know that woman!" "Hush, boy, I will not listen=
to
a word, unless you remember where you are," said Sir John with a
commanding gesture. "Remember your promise: love me, forgive me, prote=
ct
me, and do not listen to their accusations," whispered Jean, whose qui=
ck eye
had discovered the letters. "I will; have no fears, my child," he=
answered,
drawing her nearer as he took his accustomed place before the fire, always
lighted when Mrs. Coventry was down. Gerald, who had been pacing the room
excitedly, paused behind Lucia's chair as if to shield her from insult; Bel=
la
clung to her mother; and Edward, calming himself by a strong effort, handed=
his
uncle the letters, saying briefly, "Look at those, sir, and let them
speak." "I will look at nothing, hear nothing, believe nothing wh=
ich
can in any way lessen my respect and affection for this young lady. She has=
prepared
me for this. I know the enemy who is unmanly enough to belie and threaten h=
er.
I know that you both are unsuccessful lovers, and this explains your unjust,
uncourteous treatment now. We all have committed faults and follies. I free=
ly
forgive Jean hers, and desire to know nothing of them from your lips. If sh=
e has
innocently offended, pardon it for my sake, and forget the past." &quo=
t;But,
Uncle, we have proofs that this woman is not what she seems. Her own letters
convict her. Read them, and do not blindly deceive yourself," cried
Edward, indignant at his uncle's words. A low laugh startled them all, and =
in an
instant they saw the cause of it. While Sir John spoke, Jean had taken the
letters from the hand which he had put behind him, a favorite gesture of hi=
s,
and, unobserved, had dropped them on the fire. The mocking laugh, the sudden
blaze, showed what had been done. Both young men sprang forward, but it was=
too
late; the proofs were ashes, and Jean Muir's bold, bright eyes defied them,=
as she
said, with a disdainful little gesture. "Hands off, gentlemen! You may
degrade yourselves to the work of detectives, but I am not a prisoner yet. =
Poor
Jean Muir you might harm, but Lady Coventry is beyond your reach." &qu=
ot;Lady
Coventry!" echoed the dismayed family, in varying tones of incredulity,
indignation, and amazement. "Aye, my dear and honored wife," said=
Sir
John, with a protecting arm about the slender figure at his side; and in the
act, the words, there was a tender dignity that touched the listeners with =
pity
and respect for the deceived man. "Receive her as such, and for my sak=
e,
forbear all further accusation," he continued steadily. "I know w=
hat
I have done. I
have no fear that I shall repent it. If I am blind, let me remain so till t=
ime
opens my eyes. We are going away for a little while, and when we return, let
the old life return again, unchanged, except that Jean makes sunshine for m=
e as
well as for you." No one spoke, for no one knew what to say. Jean broke
the silence, saying coolly, "May I ask how those letters came into your
possession?" "In tracing out your past life, Sydney found your fr=
iend
Hortense. She was poor, money bribed her, and your letters were given up to=
him
as soon as received. Traitors are always betrayed in the end," replied=
Edward sternly. Jean shrugged her shoulders, and shot a glance at Gerald,
saying with her significant smile, "Remember that, monsieur, and allow=
me
to hope that in wedding you will be happier than in wooing. Receive my cong=
ratulations,
Miss Beaufort, and let me beg of you to follow my example, if you would keep
your lovers." Here all the sarcasm passed from her voice, the defiance
from her eye, and the one unspoiled attribute which still lingered in this
woman's artful nature shone in her face, as she turned toward Edward and Be=
lla at
their mother's side. "You have been kind to me," she said, with
grateful warmth. "I thank you
or it, and will repay it if I=
can.
To you I will acknowledge that I am not worthy to be this good man's wife, =
and
to you I will solemnly promise to devote my life to his happiness. For his =
sake
forgive me, and let there be peace between us." There was no reply, but
Edward's indignant eyes fell before hers. Bella half put out her hand, and =
Mrs.
Coventry sobbed as if some regret mingled with her resentment. Jean seemed =
to
expect no friendly
demonstration, and to understand that they forbore for Sir John's sake, not=
for
hers, and to accept their contempt as her just punishment. "Come home,=
love,
and forget all this," said her husband, ringing the bell, and eager to=
be
gone. "Lady Coventry's carriage." And as he gave the order, a smi=
le
broke over her face, for the sound assured her that the game was won. Pausi=
ng an
instant on the threshold before she vanished from their sight, she looked
backward, and fixing on Gerald the strange glance he remembered well, she s=
aid
in her penetrating voice, "Is not the last scene better than the first=
?"