Dora Thorne [110]
believe it," he cried. "I will never believe it from any lips but her own! Not love me! Great Heaven! Do you know you are speaking of the woman who promised to be my wife? If she tells me so, I will believe her."
"She will tell you," said Lillian, "and you must not blame her. Come again when she is well."
"No," returned Hugh Fernely; "I have waited long enough. I am here to see her, and I swear I will not leave until she has spoken to me."
He drew a pencil case from his pocket, and wrote a few lines on the envelope which Beatrice had sent.
"Give that to your sister," he said, softly; "and, Miss Lillian, I thank you for coming to me. You have been very kind and gentle. You have a fair, true face. Never break a man's heart for pastime, or because the long sunny hours hang heavy upon your hands."
"I wish I could say something to comfort you," she said. He held out his hand and she could not refuse hers.
"Goodbye, Miss Lillian! Heaven bless you for your sympathy."
"Goodbye," she returned, looking at the dark, passionate face she was never more to see.
The moon was hidden behind a dense mass of thick clouds. Hugh Fernely walked quickly down the path. Lillian, taking the folded paper, hastened across the gardens. But neither of them saw a tall, erect figure, or a pale, stricken face; neither of them heard Lionel Dacre utter a low cry as the shawl fell from Lillian's golden head.
He had tried over the trio, but it did not please him; he did not want music--he wanted Lillian. Beatrice played badly, too, as though she did not know what she was doing. Plainly enough Lord Airlie wanted him out of the way.
"Where are you going?" asked Beatrice, as he placed the music on the piano.
"To look for a good cigar," he replied. "Neither Airlie nor you need pretend to be polite, Bee, and say you hope I will not leave you." He quitted the drawing room, and went to his own room, where a box of cigars awaited him. He selected one, and went out into the garden to enjoy it. Was it chance that led him to the path by the shrubbery? The wind swayed the tall branches, but there came a lull, and then he heard a murmur of voices. Looking over the hedge, he saw the tall figure of a man, and the slight figure of a young girl shrouded in a black shawl.
"A maid and her sweetheart," said Lionel to himself. "Now that is not precisely the kind of thing Lord Earle would like; still, it is no business of mine."
But the man's voice struck him--it was full of the dignity of true passion. He wondered who he was. He saw the young girl place her hand in his for a moment, and then hasten rapidly away.
He thought himself stricken mad when the black shawl fall and showed in the faint moonlight the fair face and golden hair of Lillian Earle.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
When Lillian re-entered the drawing room, the pretty ormulu clock was chiming half past nine. The chess and card tables were just as she had left them. Beatrice and Lord Airlie were still at the piano. Lionel was nowhere to be seen. She went up to Beatrice and smilingly asked Lord Airlie if he could spare her sister for five minutes.
"Ten, if you wish it," he replied, "but no longer;" and the two sisters walked through the long drawing room into the little boudoir.
"Quick, Lillian," cried Beatrice, "have you seen him? What does he say?"
"I have seen him," she replied; "there is no time now to tell all he said. He sent this note," and Lillian gave the folded paper into her sister's hand, and then clasped both hands in her own.
"Let me tell you, Beatrice darling, before you read it," she said, "that I tried to soften his heart; and I think, if you will see him yourself, and ask for your freedom, you will not ask in vain."
A light that was dazzling as sunshine came into the beautiful face.
"Oh, Lily," she cried, "can it be true? Do not mock me with false hopes; my life seems to tremble in the balance."
"He is not cruel," said Lillian. "I am sorry for him. If you see him I feel sure he will
"She will tell you," said Lillian, "and you must not blame her. Come again when she is well."
"No," returned Hugh Fernely; "I have waited long enough. I am here to see her, and I swear I will not leave until she has spoken to me."
He drew a pencil case from his pocket, and wrote a few lines on the envelope which Beatrice had sent.
"Give that to your sister," he said, softly; "and, Miss Lillian, I thank you for coming to me. You have been very kind and gentle. You have a fair, true face. Never break a man's heart for pastime, or because the long sunny hours hang heavy upon your hands."
"I wish I could say something to comfort you," she said. He held out his hand and she could not refuse hers.
"Goodbye, Miss Lillian! Heaven bless you for your sympathy."
"Goodbye," she returned, looking at the dark, passionate face she was never more to see.
The moon was hidden behind a dense mass of thick clouds. Hugh Fernely walked quickly down the path. Lillian, taking the folded paper, hastened across the gardens. But neither of them saw a tall, erect figure, or a pale, stricken face; neither of them heard Lionel Dacre utter a low cry as the shawl fell from Lillian's golden head.
He had tried over the trio, but it did not please him; he did not want music--he wanted Lillian. Beatrice played badly, too, as though she did not know what she was doing. Plainly enough Lord Airlie wanted him out of the way.
"Where are you going?" asked Beatrice, as he placed the music on the piano.
"To look for a good cigar," he replied. "Neither Airlie nor you need pretend to be polite, Bee, and say you hope I will not leave you." He quitted the drawing room, and went to his own room, where a box of cigars awaited him. He selected one, and went out into the garden to enjoy it. Was it chance that led him to the path by the shrubbery? The wind swayed the tall branches, but there came a lull, and then he heard a murmur of voices. Looking over the hedge, he saw the tall figure of a man, and the slight figure of a young girl shrouded in a black shawl.
"A maid and her sweetheart," said Lionel to himself. "Now that is not precisely the kind of thing Lord Earle would like; still, it is no business of mine."
But the man's voice struck him--it was full of the dignity of true passion. He wondered who he was. He saw the young girl place her hand in his for a moment, and then hasten rapidly away.
He thought himself stricken mad when the black shawl fall and showed in the faint moonlight the fair face and golden hair of Lillian Earle.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
When Lillian re-entered the drawing room, the pretty ormulu clock was chiming half past nine. The chess and card tables were just as she had left them. Beatrice and Lord Airlie were still at the piano. Lionel was nowhere to be seen. She went up to Beatrice and smilingly asked Lord Airlie if he could spare her sister for five minutes.
"Ten, if you wish it," he replied, "but no longer;" and the two sisters walked through the long drawing room into the little boudoir.
"Quick, Lillian," cried Beatrice, "have you seen him? What does he say?"
"I have seen him," she replied; "there is no time now to tell all he said. He sent this note," and Lillian gave the folded paper into her sister's hand, and then clasped both hands in her own.
"Let me tell you, Beatrice darling, before you read it," she said, "that I tried to soften his heart; and I think, if you will see him yourself, and ask for your freedom, you will not ask in vain."
A light that was dazzling as sunshine came into the beautiful face.
"Oh, Lily," she cried, "can it be true? Do not mock me with false hopes; my life seems to tremble in the balance."
"He is not cruel," said Lillian. "I am sorry for him. If you see him I feel sure he will