Dora Thorne [107]
leave all the magnificence I love so dearly, and drag out a weary life at the Elms. Do you think I could brook Lord Earle's angry scorn and Lady Helena's pained wonder? Knowing our father as you know him, do you believe he would pardon me?"
"I do not," replied Lily, sadly.
"That is not all," continued Beatrice. "I might bear anger, scorn, and privation, but, Lily, if this miserable secret is discovered, Lord Airlie will cease to love me. He might have forgiven me if I had told him at first; he would not know that I had lied to him and deceived him. I can not lose him--I can not give him up. For our mother's sake, for my sake, help me, Lily. Do what I have asked!"
"If I do it," said Lillian, "it will give you but a few days' reprieve; it will avail nothing; he will be here again."
"I shall think of some means of escape in a few days," answered Beatrice wistfully. "Something must happen, Lily, fortune could not be so cruel to me; it could not rob me of my love. If I can not free myself, I shall run away. I would rather suffer anything than face Lord Airlie or my father. Say you will help me for my love's sake! Do not let me lose my love!"
"I will help you," said Lillian; "it is against my better judgment--against my idea of right--but I can not refuse you. I will see the man, and give him your letter. Beatrice, let me persuade you. You can not free yourself. I see no way--running away is all nonsense--but to tell Lord Earle and your lover; anything would be better than to live as you do, a drawn sword hanging over your heart. Tell them, and trust to their kindness; at least you will have peace of mind then. They will prevent him from annoying you."
"I can not," she said, and the breath came gasping from her lips. "Lillian, you do not know what Lord Airlie is to me. I could never meet his anger. If ever you love any one you will understand better. He is everything to me. I would suffer any sorrow, even death, rather than see his face turned coldly from me."
She loosened her grasp of Lillian's hands and fell upon the floor, weeping bitterly and passionately. Her sister, bending over her, heard the pitiful words--"My love, my love! I can not lose my love!"
The passionate weeping ceased, and the proud, sad face grew calm and still.
"You can not tell what I have suffered, Lily," she said, humbly. "See, my pride is all beaten down, only those who have had a secret, eating heart and life away, can tell what I have endured. A few more days of agony like this, and I shall be free forever from Hugh Fernely."
Her sister tried to soothe her with gentle words, but they brought no comfort.
"He will be here at nine," she said; "it is six now. I will write my letter. He will be at the shrubbery gate. I will manage so that you shall have time. Give him the note I will write, speak to him for me, tell him I am ill and can not see him. Shall you be frightened?"
"Yes," replied Lillian, gently; "but that will not matter. I must think of you, not of myself."
"You need not fear him," said Beatrice. "Poor Hugh, I could pity him if I did not hate him. Lily, I will thank you when my agony is over; I can not now."
She wrote but a few words, saying she was ill and unable to see him; he must be satisfied, and willing to wait yet a little longer.
She gave the letter to her sister. Lillian's heart ached as she noted the trembling hands and quivering lips.
"I have not asked you to keep my secret, Lily," said Beatrice, sorrowfully.
"There is no need," was the simple reply.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Sir Harry and Lady Laurence dined that day at Earlescourt, and it was nearly nine before the gentlemen, who did not sit long over their wine, came into the drawing room. The evening was somewhat chilly; a bright fire burned in the grate, and the lamps were lighted. Sir Harry sat down to his favorite game of chess with Lady Helena; Lord Earle challenged Lady Laurence to a game at ecarte. The young people were left to themselves.
"In twenty years' time,"
"I do not," replied Lily, sadly.
"That is not all," continued Beatrice. "I might bear anger, scorn, and privation, but, Lily, if this miserable secret is discovered, Lord Airlie will cease to love me. He might have forgiven me if I had told him at first; he would not know that I had lied to him and deceived him. I can not lose him--I can not give him up. For our mother's sake, for my sake, help me, Lily. Do what I have asked!"
"If I do it," said Lillian, "it will give you but a few days' reprieve; it will avail nothing; he will be here again."
"I shall think of some means of escape in a few days," answered Beatrice wistfully. "Something must happen, Lily, fortune could not be so cruel to me; it could not rob me of my love. If I can not free myself, I shall run away. I would rather suffer anything than face Lord Airlie or my father. Say you will help me for my love's sake! Do not let me lose my love!"
"I will help you," said Lillian; "it is against my better judgment--against my idea of right--but I can not refuse you. I will see the man, and give him your letter. Beatrice, let me persuade you. You can not free yourself. I see no way--running away is all nonsense--but to tell Lord Earle and your lover; anything would be better than to live as you do, a drawn sword hanging over your heart. Tell them, and trust to their kindness; at least you will have peace of mind then. They will prevent him from annoying you."
"I can not," she said, and the breath came gasping from her lips. "Lillian, you do not know what Lord Airlie is to me. I could never meet his anger. If ever you love any one you will understand better. He is everything to me. I would suffer any sorrow, even death, rather than see his face turned coldly from me."
She loosened her grasp of Lillian's hands and fell upon the floor, weeping bitterly and passionately. Her sister, bending over her, heard the pitiful words--"My love, my love! I can not lose my love!"
The passionate weeping ceased, and the proud, sad face grew calm and still.
"You can not tell what I have suffered, Lily," she said, humbly. "See, my pride is all beaten down, only those who have had a secret, eating heart and life away, can tell what I have endured. A few more days of agony like this, and I shall be free forever from Hugh Fernely."
Her sister tried to soothe her with gentle words, but they brought no comfort.
"He will be here at nine," she said; "it is six now. I will write my letter. He will be at the shrubbery gate. I will manage so that you shall have time. Give him the note I will write, speak to him for me, tell him I am ill and can not see him. Shall you be frightened?"
"Yes," replied Lillian, gently; "but that will not matter. I must think of you, not of myself."
"You need not fear him," said Beatrice. "Poor Hugh, I could pity him if I did not hate him. Lily, I will thank you when my agony is over; I can not now."
She wrote but a few words, saying she was ill and unable to see him; he must be satisfied, and willing to wait yet a little longer.
She gave the letter to her sister. Lillian's heart ached as she noted the trembling hands and quivering lips.
"I have not asked you to keep my secret, Lily," said Beatrice, sorrowfully.
"There is no need," was the simple reply.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Sir Harry and Lady Laurence dined that day at Earlescourt, and it was nearly nine before the gentlemen, who did not sit long over their wine, came into the drawing room. The evening was somewhat chilly; a bright fire burned in the grate, and the lamps were lighted. Sir Harry sat down to his favorite game of chess with Lady Helena; Lord Earle challenged Lady Laurence to a game at ecarte. The young people were left to themselves.
"In twenty years' time,"