Dora Thorne [116]
you I will tell Lionel every word honorably myself, and he will love you doubly. Could you do this for me?"
"It is not fair to him--he has a right to my confidence--it is not fair to myself, Beatrice."
"One of us must be sacrificed," returned her sister. "If myself, the sacrifice will last my life--will cause my death; if you, it will last, at the most, only three or four weeks. I will write to Lionel on my wedding day."
"Why trust him then and not now?" asked Lillian.
"Because, once married to Lord Airlie, I shall have no fear. Three or four weeks of happiness are not so much to give up for your own sister, Lily. I will say no more. I leave it for you to decide."
"Nay, do not do that," said Lillian, in great distress. "I could not clear myself at your expense"--a fact which Beatrice understood perfectly well.
"Then let the matter rest," said her sister; "some day I shall be able to thank you for all you have done for me--I can not now. On my wedding day I will tell Lionel Dacre that the girl he loves is the truest, the noblest, the dearest in the world."
"It is against my better judgment," returned Lillian.
"It is against my conscience, judgment, love, everything," added Beatrice; "but it will save me from cruel ruin and sorrow; and it shall not hurt you, Lily--it shall bring you good, not harm. Now, try to forget it. He will not know how to atone to you for this. Think of your happiness when he returns."
She drew the golden head down upon her shoulder, and with the charm that never failed, she talked and caressed her sister until she had overcome all objections.
But during the long hours of that night a fair head tossed wearily to and fro on its pillow--a fair face was stained with bitter tears. Lionel Dacre lingered, half hoping that even at the last she would come and bid him stay because she wished to tell him all.
But the last moment came, and no messenger from Lillian brought the longed-for words. He passed out from the Hall. He could not refrain from looking once at the window of her room, but the blind was closely drawn. He little knew or dreamed how and why he would return.
Thursday morning dawned bright and beautiful, as though autumn wished to surpass the glories or summer. Beatrice had not told Lillian when she was going to meet Hugh, partly because she dreaded her sister's anxiety, partly because she did not wish any one to know how long she might be with him; for Beatrice anticipated a painful interview, although she felt sure of triumph in the end.
Lillian was ill and unable to rise; unused to emotion, the strain upon her mind had been too great. When Lady Helena listened to her maid's remarks and went up to see her granddaughter, she forbade her to get up, and Lillian, suffering intensely, was only too pleased to obey.
The breakfast party was a very small one. Lord Earle was absent; he had gone to Holte. Lady Helena hurried away to sit with Lillian. Lord Airlie had been smiling very happily over a mysterious little packet that had come by post. He asked Beatrice if she would go out with him--he had something to show her. They went out into the park, intending to return in time for luncheon.
The morning was bright and calm. Something of the warmth and beauty of the summer lingered still, although the ground was strewn with fallen leaves.
Lord Airlie and Beatrice sat at the foot of the grand old cedar tree whence they would see the distant glimmer of the deep, still lake. The birds sang around them, and the sun shone brightly. On the beautiful face of Beatrice Earle her lover read nothing but happiness and love.
"I have something here for you, Beatrice," said Lord Airlie, showing her a little packet--"a surprise. You must thank me by saying that what it contains will be more precious to you than anything else on earth."
She opened the pretty case; within it there lay a fine gold chain of exquisite fashion and a locket of marvelous beauty.
She uttered a little cry of surprise, and raised the present in her hands.
"Now, thank me,"
"It is not fair to him--he has a right to my confidence--it is not fair to myself, Beatrice."
"One of us must be sacrificed," returned her sister. "If myself, the sacrifice will last my life--will cause my death; if you, it will last, at the most, only three or four weeks. I will write to Lionel on my wedding day."
"Why trust him then and not now?" asked Lillian.
"Because, once married to Lord Airlie, I shall have no fear. Three or four weeks of happiness are not so much to give up for your own sister, Lily. I will say no more. I leave it for you to decide."
"Nay, do not do that," said Lillian, in great distress. "I could not clear myself at your expense"--a fact which Beatrice understood perfectly well.
"Then let the matter rest," said her sister; "some day I shall be able to thank you for all you have done for me--I can not now. On my wedding day I will tell Lionel Dacre that the girl he loves is the truest, the noblest, the dearest in the world."
"It is against my better judgment," returned Lillian.
"It is against my conscience, judgment, love, everything," added Beatrice; "but it will save me from cruel ruin and sorrow; and it shall not hurt you, Lily--it shall bring you good, not harm. Now, try to forget it. He will not know how to atone to you for this. Think of your happiness when he returns."
She drew the golden head down upon her shoulder, and with the charm that never failed, she talked and caressed her sister until she had overcome all objections.
But during the long hours of that night a fair head tossed wearily to and fro on its pillow--a fair face was stained with bitter tears. Lionel Dacre lingered, half hoping that even at the last she would come and bid him stay because she wished to tell him all.
But the last moment came, and no messenger from Lillian brought the longed-for words. He passed out from the Hall. He could not refrain from looking once at the window of her room, but the blind was closely drawn. He little knew or dreamed how and why he would return.
Thursday morning dawned bright and beautiful, as though autumn wished to surpass the glories or summer. Beatrice had not told Lillian when she was going to meet Hugh, partly because she dreaded her sister's anxiety, partly because she did not wish any one to know how long she might be with him; for Beatrice anticipated a painful interview, although she felt sure of triumph in the end.
Lillian was ill and unable to rise; unused to emotion, the strain upon her mind had been too great. When Lady Helena listened to her maid's remarks and went up to see her granddaughter, she forbade her to get up, and Lillian, suffering intensely, was only too pleased to obey.
The breakfast party was a very small one. Lord Earle was absent; he had gone to Holte. Lady Helena hurried away to sit with Lillian. Lord Airlie had been smiling very happily over a mysterious little packet that had come by post. He asked Beatrice if she would go out with him--he had something to show her. They went out into the park, intending to return in time for luncheon.
The morning was bright and calm. Something of the warmth and beauty of the summer lingered still, although the ground was strewn with fallen leaves.
Lord Airlie and Beatrice sat at the foot of the grand old cedar tree whence they would see the distant glimmer of the deep, still lake. The birds sang around them, and the sun shone brightly. On the beautiful face of Beatrice Earle her lover read nothing but happiness and love.
"I have something here for you, Beatrice," said Lord Airlie, showing her a little packet--"a surprise. You must thank me by saying that what it contains will be more precious to you than anything else on earth."
She opened the pretty case; within it there lay a fine gold chain of exquisite fashion and a locket of marvelous beauty.
She uttered a little cry of surprise, and raised the present in her hands.
"Now, thank me,"