Democratic Sentinel, Volume 17, Number 42, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 November 1893 — AT WAR WITH HERSELF. [ARTICLE]

AT WAR WITH HERSELF.

The Story of a Woman’s Atonement, by Charlotte M. Braeme. CHAPTER XII. May, with its blossoms and flowers, bad come at last. Lady Charnleigh and Lady F&nshawe bad taken possession of the magnificent mansion in Belgravia, which the late Lord Charnleigh had beautified' and decorated in the most superior fashion. He had lavished a small fortuno on it, and, in its way, it was as luxurious as a palace. The first few days of their stay we.'e occupied in procuring dresses and jewels. Lady Charnleigh was introduced to Madame Berton, who looked a gravely, and then proznired that she wfigld to full justice to the radiant young beauty. “I can foresee a perfect whirlpool of gayety,” said Lady Fanshawe, as she looked at the number of cards of invitation; “you must be careful, Leonie, not to lose your roses in London.” But the girl was looking at the numerous invitations with a glorious smile on her face. “Oh, auntie,” she cried, clasping her hands, “is it not glorious? I long for the time. You say others tire. I never shall. It seems to me that I shall be young and gay and liglit-hearted forever.” And then Lady Fanshawe bethought herself that it was useless to preach, for experience is the great teacher, and the lovely, bright, hopeful girl would soon discover the truth for herself; so, from a number of cards she selected one. “Lady Charnleigh,” she said, “you must accept this one. It is an invitation to the Duchess of Rockhampton’s ball; it is always the best of the season and it always takes place after the Drawing-room. ” “And that will be my first ball,” said the girl, laughingly—“the key to the golden land, the entrance to an earthly paradise! I wish it wore to-ni^ht— I dislike waiting so long for anything.” Long afterward people talked of that drawing-room and the lovely young countess that drew all eyes and won ail hearts. She was magnificently dressed; her costume was of the richest white silk, covered with silver net, and embroidered with silver flowers. With this she wore the far-famed Charnleigh diamonds. Young and old all agreed that no fairer debutante had ever appeared even at that Court, where fair and graceful women abound. “I hope,” she said to Lady Fanshawe, when they had reached home, and were resting in the cool, fragrant boudoir—“l hope I acquitted myself to your satisfaction. I tried to remember all you had told me.” “I have nothing more to teach you, Leonie; you are une grande dame now launched on the great world. Every one was charmed with you; I never saw a more complete success. ” “Then I should be happy, ” said the Countess, with that peculiar smile which Lady Fanshawe never quite understood.

“Now rest. I shall not let you stir until it is time for the ball. You must look your brightest and best, Lady Charnleigh, for, although her Grace of Rockhampton is very popular, half the people there will nave gone to see you.” When Lady Fanshawe saw her charge dressed that evening for the ball, she allowed to herself that she was perfect. The costume again was of white and silver, so appropriate always to fair and youthful beauty; the silver net was fastened with sprays of white heath, and the bouquet she carried was of her favorite flowers —sweet, white daphnes. The Charnleigh diamonds adorned the golden head, carried with such queenly grace; they rose and fell like points of flame on the white breast, and one superb bracelet gleamed on the rounded arm. The lovely face was radiant in its youth and hope; it had a flush like the daintiest color of a roseleaf; no stars were ever brighter than her eyes. The unstudied perfect grace of the whole figure was something to wonder at. She stood before the mirror in silence, and then, turning suddenly to Lady Fanshawe, she said: “Do you know what forebodings are, auntie?" “Weaknesses in which no sensible person ever indulges,” was the grave reply. “Sometimes they are more than that. I have a foreb:ding, auntie —a kind of presentiment that something is going to happen to-night.” “Something will happen; you will be very much admired, Leonie —nothing more than that.” “See, auntie, my hand trembles—l never saw my hand tremble before; and my heart beats, yet it is not from fear.” “You are excited with this morning’s brilliant success, Leonie.” “Is that all?” she murmured. “I feel as though I were on the threshold of another world. It cannot be all fancy and imagination. What can happen to me? Nothing, for I have all I want.” She repeated these words as they drove through the sweet May night to Rcckhampton House “Nothing can happen to me—l have all I want. ”

CHAPTER XIII. Leonie, Countess of Charnleigh, was queen of the ball. Fair women were present, but none so fair as she. The Duchess of Rockhampton was anxious to give a most cordial welcome to her beautiful young guest. The former was considered—and justly so—the proudest and most exclusive woman in London. Yet she set herself to please Lady Charnleigh. She introduced her noblest guests to her; she brought her son, the heir of the house, Lord Falcon, to her; and people whispered that it would not be displeasing to her grace if the young lord should eventually win the fair heiress. His grace of Rockhampton—who seldom wasted many minutes in talking to ladies —seemed enchanted with her. To those who understood such things it was very evident that a ducal coronet might in time fall to the lot of Leonie, Lady Charnleigh. Everything was so novel to her that her thoughts did not run much either on love or lovers. To look at that most lovely aud radiant face was enough to make one happy. Sweetest smiles rippled over the peaceful lips; the violet eyes shone like stars. She enjoyed herself, and was not ashamed of showing it. Lord Falcon was unwilling to leave her. “I have never found a ball so pleasant as this,” he said to her, and she looked at him with a smile. “In all probabilty I shall never find anothef so pleasant; it is my first.” There came an interval between the dances. “Have you seen the ferns grouped in the dining-room?” he asked her. No, she had not seen them, and Lord Falcon, only too happy to have her to himself for a few minutes, led the way. “My dear mother has but One decided mania,” he said, as they walked through the broad, fragrant, brilliantly lighted corridor; “and that is for ferns. I do not care for them, but she sees something wonderful in them, and

is supposed to have the finest collection in England; some of the best and most wonderful are grouped here. The duchess wished to make the world envious, I suppose." The dining-room was lighted with innumerable wax tapers, which threw a soft, pearly light: and Leonie, standing among the ferns, made a lovely picture. At the other end of the room she saw a gentleman standing before a picture; ho was evidently admiring or criticising it. Sometimes the grand statuesque attitude of that tall, stately figure struck her with admiration; he turned suddenly, and she saw a kingly Saxon head with fair clustering hair, and a fair, frank, handsome face. It was Ah® handsomest face, she thought to herself, that she had ever seen—such a face as worn m love and children trust, full of loyalty, of noble simplicity—a face that could be as tender as a woman’s, yet stern apd severe waen need should bo. With her quick fanciful imagination Lady Charnleigh made all men heroes. A sudden desire seized her that the light of that face should be turned upon hofi, and then she became conscious that Lord Falcon had been speaking to her for soma time, and her face flushed. “I crave pardon, Lady Charnleigh; if your thoughts aro really so far away that you cannot hear, I will not intrude.” “Pray pardon me,” she said. She was just going to add, “Who is that gentleman?" when she paused. It would not do to let Lord Falcon know how entirely her mind had been occupied with a stranger while he was by her side. Leonie, Lady Charnleigh, was growing worldly wise. She was saved all further wonder by the stranger’s suddenly catching a glimpse of Lord Falcon, upon which he came forward quickly, and the greeting between the two was warm and cordial. Then Lord Falcon introduced Sir Bertram Gordon to the Countess of Charnleigh, and a new lifedrama was begun. The grand Saxon head, with its clustering hair, was bent over her, and Leonie’s face grew warm as two keen, clear eyes frankly met her own. “I have heard so much and go often of you, Lady Charnleigh, that it gives me the greatest delight to meet you.” She was accustomed to compliments, but something in the ring of his voice told her he was speaking truth. Suddenly the soft, sweet strains of the “So daten Lieder” floated through the open doors. Lord Falcon looked at his companion. “Lady Charnleigh, if I were fond of quotations I could use one now— ‘ With thee conversing, I forget all time.’ I am engaged for this dance to Miss Hylton, and it has begun—what shall I do?” “Hasten to atone for your forgetfulness.” “And you?” he said. Sir Bertram at once stepped forward. “If Lady Charnley will accept my escort, I shall feel most honored.” Her face flushed again, her hand trembled as it touched his arm. “What is coming to me?" thought the girl, impatiently. “Surely lam not growing nervous and awkward.” “Are you engaged for this waltz?” asked Sir Bertram, suddenly. And the next moment, as it seemed to her, she was floating round the room on the wings of a zephyr. The strong arm clasped her, the handsome Saxon face was bending over her. What was it came so suddenly from his eyes to hers? A sweet, subtle something that she could not understand. Suddenly the sweet face grow pale; the vague, dreamy happiness was so great that it became painful. “You are tired, Lady Charnleigh,” said Sir Bertram; “you have grown very pale. Will you leave this warm room? I will find you a cool seat among the flowers.” She took his arm. Her senses were all in a whirl; she would have mechanically done anything he told her. So” they walked on in silence, all tremulous with happiness too sweet for words; , and, as they went, the music appeared to grow softer, the lights brighter, the flowers more fair. It was but the dawn of love, and they were unconscious of it. They went through the long suit of brilliantly lighted rooms; then they heard the ripple of fountains, and Sir Bertram said:

“You will find that ten minutes here among the flowers will refresh you, Lady Charnleigh. ” He placed a seat for her near a large stand of fragrant white daphnes. She looked at him with a smile. “Did you guess that these were my favorite flowers?” she asked. “No,” he replied promptly. “Well,” confessed the young heiress, “I love the daphnes—they are full of poetry. The tame has associations that I cannot explain, or even understand; and the perfume says more to me than the perfume of any other flower.” He was leaning against the white marble fountain, looking earnestly at her radiant, lovely face. “I wish I were a daphne,” he said. “Then I should gather you and wear you, and then you would die, ” she returned. “Happy in such a death! You would not throw me away, though, when I was dead—would you?” “Of what use is a faded flower?” she asked, laughingly. “I shall never see a daphne again without thinking of you," he said, and there fell upon them a golden silence more eloquent than words. The ripple of the fountains, mingled with the distant sound of musie, the fragrance of the odorous blossoms, the soft pearly light from the lamps, halfhidden in the green foliage, formed a poem in themselves. What was coming to her? She who had bright, frank words for every one, whose smiles were easily won, who had never known fear, timidity,.or shyness, could not raise her fair flushed face, dared not raise her eyes and look at her companion, and yet she felt and knew in some vague way that her silence told him more than words could have done. He was quite content to stand there and drink in the beauty of that marvelous face, to watch the play of those exquisite features, the light and shade, the sweet girlish shrinking, the pretty shy embarrassment—he would have been quite content to watch that picture and forget everything else. But he bethought himself at last: he must speak; it seemed hardly courteous to stand in silent, mute admiration before a lady for whose least word men contended as for a prize. “I think the waltz is over,” she said. “We must go; I am engaged for the next.” Yet she would have given the world to remain. “Your kindness makes me bold, Lady Charnleigh,” he said; “I refuse to go until you have granted me a favor. ” “What is it?” she asked. “Will you give me a daphne—nay, not one* of those growing there, but one from your bouquet? They have been in your hand, you have sighed over them, and that makes them more i precious. Will you give me one?” She hesitated for a minute, and then took the flower he asked for and gave it to him. He kissed it reverently. “I shall keep that until I die,” he said, “and then it shall be buried with me.”

There was the sound of approaching footsteps, with the rustle of silken robes, and the next moment her grace of Rockhampton had joined them. “My dear Lady Charnleigh, I am glad you have found time to rest;” and then her quick eyes noted the flower in Sir Bertram’s hand, and a frown disturbed the calm serenity of her face. “I am sorry you are tired," she continued, laying one hand caressingly on the young girl’s shoulder, “but I cannot allow my ballroom to lose its fairest ornament. I have had several inquiries put to mo about you." Sir Bertram saw that he was de trop. Lord Falcon came and stood by his mother’s side; there was no further opportunity for the baronet to speak. “You promised me ono quadrille, Lady Charnleigh,” said Sir Bertram, as he went away—and it seemed to her that the light and fragrance went with him. She tried to forget him while she listened to Lord Falcon, but her hoart was still beating with that new-found happiness for which sho know no name. The remainder of tho evening passed like a dream: the homage offered to her, the countless compliments that she received v the music, the light, the flowers, were all part of a confused dream, from which she did not awaken until Sir Bertram came to claim her hand for the promised quadrille. She saw the white daphne in his coat, and she kept her eyes averted from him. He lingered by her side until the carriage was called, and tlion Lord Falcon joined them. There was a a slight contention without words between the two gentlemen as to who should conduct Lady Charnleigh to her carriage, but Sir Bertram won; her last word, her last smile was for him, and she drove away with the memory of his face haunting her. An hour later and Lady Charnleigh was seated before her sumptuous toi-let-table, her wealth of golden hair,all unbound, falling around him. She had laid aside her magnificent dress and costly jewels, the white daphnes had been carefully placed in a vase of water, and, dressed in a white negligee, she looked even more beautiful than in full dress. She must have been tired, but no sleep came to her. Sho opened her window and looked out at tho stars gleaming in the blue sky; the night wind was whispering in the trees; it was heavy with tho dewy fragrance of mignonette. “If we lived in days of magic, I should say he had east a spell upon mo," she said to herself; “I cannot forget him.” Never once during that long reverie did she think of Lord Fa'.oou. Right well she loved rank, position and wealth —had a ducal coronet no charm for her? She only remembered Sir Bertram, his looks, his words. She kissod the fair white daphnes for his sako, and then blushed at what she had done. The last words which she remembered that night were those she had used herself—“ What can marriage give mo?” ITO BE CONTINUED.]