Dora Thorne - Charlotte Mary Brame (autobiographies to read TXT) 📗

afterward, when the leaves had become yellow and dry, the rose was found.

They remained in the conservatory a few minutes, and then went back to the ball room.

"Every waltz must be mine now," said Lord Airlie. "And, Beatrice, I shall speak to Lord Earle tonight. Are you willing?"

Yes, she was willing. It was very pleasant to be taken possession of so completely. It was pleasant to find a will stronger than her own. She did not care how soon all the world knew that she loved him. The only thing she wondered at was why he should be so unspeakably happy.


Chapter XXX


Beatrice never recollected how the ball ended; to her it was one long trance of happiness. She heard the music, the murmur of voices, as though in a dream. There were times when everything seemed brighter than usual--that was when Lord Airlie stood by her side. Her heart was filled with unutterable joy.

It was strange, but in that hour of happiness she never even thought of Hugh Fernely; the remembrance of him never once crossed her mind. Nothing marred the fullness of her content.

She stood by Lord Earle's side as guest after guest came up to say adieu. She saw Lord Airlie waiting for her father.

"Lord Earle will be engaged for some time, I fear," he said; "I must see him tonight. Beatrice, promise me you will not go to rest until your father has given us his consent."

She could not oppose him. When girls like Beatrice Earle once learn to love, there is something remarkable in the complete abandonment of their will. She would fain have told him, with gay, teasing words, that he had won concession enough for one night; as it was, she simply promised to do as he wished.

Lord Earle received the parting compliments of his guests, wondering at the same time why Lord Airlie kept near him and seemed unwilling to lose sight of him. The happy moment arrived when the last carriage rolled away, and the family at Earlescourt were left alone. Lady Earle asked the two young girls to go into her room for half an hour to "talk over the ball." Lionel, sorry the evening was over, retired to his room; then Hubert Airlie went to Lord Earle and asked if he might speak with him for ten minutes.

"Will it not do tomorrow?" inquired Ronald, smiling, as he held up his watch. "See, it is past three o'clock."

"No," replied Lord Airlie; "I could not pass another night in suspense."

"Come with me, then," said the master of Earlescourt, as he led the way to the library, where the lamps were still alight.

"Now, what is it?" he asked, good-humoredly, turning to the excited, anxious lover.

"Perhaps I ought to study my words," said Lord Airlie; "but I can not. Lord Earle, I love your daughter Beatrice. Will you give her to me to be my wife?"

"Sooner than to any one else in the world," replied Ronald. "Is she willing?"

"I think so," was the answer, Lord Airlie's heart thrilling with happiness as he remembered her words.

"Let us see," said Lord Earle. He rang the bell, and sent for his daughter.

Lord Airlie never forgot the beautiful, blushing face half turned from him as Beatrice entered the room.

"Beatrice," said her father, clasping her in his arms, "is this true? Am I to give you to Lord Airlie?"

"If you please, papa," she whispered.

"I do please," he cried. "Hubert, I give you a treasure beyond all price. You may judge of my daughter's love from her own word. I know it has never been given to any one but you. You are my daughter's first lover, and her first love. You may take her to your heart, well satisfied that she has never cared for any one else. It is true, Beatrice, is it not?"

"Yes," she said, faltering for a moment as, for the first time, she remembered Hugh.

"Tomorrow," continued Lord Earle, "we will talk of the future; we are all tired tonight. You will sleep in peace, Airlie, I suppose?"

"If I sleep at all," he replied.

"Well, you understand clearly that, had the choice rested with me I should have selected you from all others to take charge of my Beatrice," said Lord Earle. "Do not wait to thank me. I have a faint idea of how much a grateful lover has to say. Good night."

* * * * *


"What is it, Beatrice?" asked Lillian, as the two sisters stood alone in the bright little dressing room.

"I can hardly tell you in sober words," she replied. "Lord Airlie has asked me to be his wife--his wife; and oh, Lily, I love him so dearly!"

Pride and dignity all broke down; the beautiful face was laid upon Lillian's shoulder, and Beatrice wept happy tears.

"I love him so, Lily," she went on; "but I never thought he cared for me. What have I ever done that I should be so happy?"

The moonbeams never fell upon a sweeter picture than these fair young sisters; Lillian's pure, spirituelle face bent over Beatrice.

"I love him, Lily," she continued, "for himself. He is a king among men. Who is so brave, so generous, so noble? If he were a beggar, I should care just as much for him."

Lillian listened and sympathized until the bright, dark eyes seemed to grow weary; then she bade her sister goodnight, and went to her own room.

Beatrice Earle was alone at last--alone with her happiness and love. It seemed impossible that her heart and brain could ever grow calm or quiet again. It was all in vain she tried to sleep. Lord Airlie's face, his voice, his words haunted her.

She rose, and put on a pretty pink dressing gown. The fresh air, she thought, would make her sleep, so she opened the long window gently, and looked out.

The night was still and clear; the moon hung over the dark trees; floods of silvery light bathed the far-off lake, the sleeping flowers, and the green grass. There was a gentle stir amid the branches; the leaves rustled in the wind; the blue, silent heavens above bright and calm. The solemn beauty of the starlit sky and the hushed murmur appealed to her. Into the proud, passionate heart there came some better, nobler thoughts. Ah, in the future that lay so brilliant and beautiful before her she would strive to be good, she would be true and steadfast, she would think more of what Lily loved and spoke about at times. Then her thoughts went back to her lover, and that happy half hour in the rose garden. From her window she could see it--the moon shone full upon it. The moonlight was a fair type of her life that was to be, bright, clear, unshadowed. Even as the thought shaped itself in her mind, a shadow fell among the trees. She looked, and saw the figure of a tall man walking down the path that divided the little garden from the shrubbery. He stood still there, gazing long and earnestly at the windows of the house, and then went out into the park, and disappeared.

She was not startled. A passing wonder as to who it might be struck her. Perhaps it was one of the gamekeepers or gardeners, but she did not think much about it. A shadow in the moonlight did not frighten her.

Soon the cool, fresh air did its work; the bright, dark eyes grew tired in real earnest, and at length Beatrice retired to rest.

The sun was shining brightly when she awoke. By her side lay a fragrant bouquet of flowers, the dew-drops still glistening upon them, and in their midst a little note which said:

"Beatrice, will you come into the garden for a few minutes before breakfast, just to tell me all that happened last night was not a dream?"

She rose quickly. Over her pretty morning-dress she threw a light shawl, and went down to meet Lord Airlie.

"It was no dream," she said, simply, holding out her hand in greeting to him.

"Dear Beatrice, how very good of you!" replied Lord Airlie; adding presently: "we have twenty minutes before the breakfast bell will ring; let us make the best of them."

The morning was fresh, fair, and calm, a soft haze hanging round the trees.

"Beatrice," said Lord Airlie, "you see the sun shining there in the high heavens. Three weeks ago I should have thought it easier for that same sun to fall than for me to win you. I can scarcely believe that my highest ideal of woman is realized. It was always my ambition to marry some young girl who had never loved any one before me. You never have. No man ever held your hand as I hold it now, no man ever kissed your face as I kissed it last night."

As he spoke, a burning flush covered her face. She remembered Hugh Fernely. He loved her better for the blush, thinking how pure and guileless she was.

"I fear I shall be a very jealous lover," he continued. "I shall envy everything those beautiful eyes rest upon. Will you ride with me this morning? I want to talk to you about Lynnton--my home, you know. You will be Lady Airlie of Lynnton, and no king will be so proud as I shall."

The breakfast bell rang at last. When Beatrice entered the room, Lady Earle went up to her.

"Your papa has told me the news," she said. "Heaven bless you, and make you happy, dear child!"

Lionel Dacre guessed the state of affairs, and said but little. The chief topic of conversation was the ball, interspersed by many conjectures on the part of Lord Earle as to why the post-bag was so late.

It did not arrive until breakfast was ended. Lord Earle distributed the letters; there were three for Lord Airlie, one to Lady Earle from Dora, two for Lionel, none for Lillian. Lord Earle held in his hand a large common blue envelope.

"Miss Beatrice Earle," he said; "from Brookfield. What large writing! The name was evidently intended to be seen."

Beatrice took the letter carelessly from him; the handwriting was quite unknown to her; she knew no one in Brookfield, which was the nearest post-town--it was probably some circular, some petition for charity, she thought. Lord Airlie crossed the room to speak to her, and she placed the letter carelessly in the pocket of her dress, and in a few minutes forgot all about it.

Lord Airlie was waiting; the horses had been ordered for an early hour. Beatrice ran upstairs to put on her riding habit, and never gave a thought to the letter.

It was a pleasant ride; in the after-days she looked back upon it as one of the brightest hours she had ever known. Lord Airlie told her all about