Democratic Sentinel, Volume 17, Number 48, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 December 1893 — AT WAR WITH HERSELF. [ARTICLE]

AT WAR WITH HERSELF.

The Story of a Woman’s Atonement, by Charlotte M. Braeme. CHAPTER XXll—Continued. “1 quite expect you will be shocked at me,” said Lady Charnleigh; “but if I am anything ; at all upon the stage I will be a queen—nothing less. I would like very much to wear a queen’s crown and hear myself called ‘your majesty,’ were it only in fun, as the children say. I will be Marie Stuart, Queen of Scotland, and the tableau shall be a room at Holyrood, with the Queen seated, listening to Rizzio.” “May I be Rizzio?” asked Sir Bertram. “No,” she replied, the beautiful face growing grave in a moment —“he was killed.” “Then you do not care whether I am killed or not?” interposed le beau sabreur. “I did not say so, Captain Flemyng, ” replied the fair coquette. “You shall be Rizzio; you shall sit and look at me as though I were indeed your queen. Now we have four good tableaux.” To herself she said, “It is more tiresome to have two lovers than none. How shall I manage to keep peace between them much longer? A scene from ‘The Rival Lovers’ would fit them exactly. ” “Let us copy the‘Black Brunswicker, ” she resumed, aloud; “that will make the most beautiful picture of all, Captain Flemyng. You could be the hero, and Ethel your love; you will do that excellently. Ethel, you remember the attitude of the girl in the picture. She clings to her lover with sudden fear, half-despairing fondness, and yet, it geems to me, with somewhat of pride that he so promptly obeys the call to arms. You can look all that. ” “I could look proud of the bravery of any one I loved, ” confessed Miss Dacre. “We might have a scene from ‘Faust and Marguerite,’ ” put in Sir Bertram. “Yes, the one from the ‘Bride of Lammermoor,’ ” added Lady Charnleigh, “and that, I think, will be sufficient. Shall we ask Beatrice Thornton to join us? She is a magnificent brunette, and will make a variety; we can find some good scenes for her. Sir Bertram, she must accompany you; you will make an excellent contrast; she is dark, with eyes ’as black as midnight,’ and hair like a dusky cloud.” Sir Bertram looked up uneasily. “Do you like such contrasts?” he asked. “I thought harmony was preferable.” “No—a dark-haired lady should marry a fair-haired Saxon,” she replied, mischievously. Captain Flemyng’s face brightened, while Sir Bertram looked considerably depressed. Ethel Dacre admired the perfect balance she kept between them; the most consummate coquette could not have done better.

“What a glorious evening we shall have!” said Lady Charnleigh. “I shall hardly have patience to wait until the times comes. What a beautiful world it is! How fair life is and how happy we are!”

So she thought looking round her, all unconscious that the heart of the beautiful, gentle girl beside her was almost broken with the smart of her hopeless love, and that Captain Flemyng was half mad with jealousy—Sir Bertram happy and without care. A coolness came between the two who had been such close friends; they said nothing, but the intimat 1 friendsnip, the near and dear companionship wfes at an end. A woman's fair face had esme between them; they both loved the young Countess, and were each conscious of the other’s love^ She was not cne to be loved lightly; there was that indescribable charm about her that lured a man's heart from him and gave him no peace. Those who loved her did so with no mean affection; the fair land of England did not hold two nobler men than Sir Berti am Gordon and Captain Flemyng; they were of different types, different characters, but each in his own way somewhat approached perfection; even their faults sprung from virtues. Paul Flemyng was proud, but his pride sprung more from an innate nobility of soul which was intolerant of anything mean than from over-appreciation of himself. Sir Bertram was jealous, but his jealousy sprang rather from his intense loVe than from weak suspicion. He struggled hard with himself. Paul loved her—he felt sure of that—find Paul had already lost that magnificent inheritance of Crown Leighton; was he also to lose his love? Then he thought that such a fancy Was overstrained and morbid, that pady Charnleigh was free to be won, find that they were free to win her; let she one who loved best win. He resolved to take the first opportunity of telling her of his love, and asking her ber to be his wife. “I wish she were poor,” he thought, “that I might prove my love by placing what little I possess at her feet, or that' I wore a king, that I might ask to share my throne. I wish she were not a countess.and a great heiress; yet she will know I love her for her own sake, and not for what she bas.”

After the dinner-party, when Lady Charnleigh had decided what was to be attempted in the way of a grand entertainment, the two gentlemen seldom allowed a day to pass without riding over to Crown Leighton—they had always some proper and legitimate ex.cuse. At one time it was about rehearsals for the charades, or a question about the ball, at another a question concerning invitations. Sir Bertram, having no military duties, had an advantage over his friend; he could ride over in the morning, and Lady Fanshawe always invited him to stay to luncheon: and then he lingered until it was impossible to get back to Weildon in time for dinner. Lady Fanshawe began to see that there was more of design than of accident in this.

“I used to fancy it would he Captain Flemyng,” she said to herself; “but I have a suspicion that Leonie will be Lady Gordon after all.” The young countess herself began to have a kind of conviction that Sir Bertram Gordon would never feel happy away from Crown Leighton. Perhaps it was the welcome certainty that made her treat him with such coy, sweet reserve. He could never find her alone —Miss Dacre or Lady Fanshawe was always with her. He exhausted his ingenuity in finding excuses to take her from them, but she invariably defeated his purpose. Perhaps she wished to enjoy to its full extent that which is the happiest time in a woman's life—when she knows that she is loved, but no word of that love has been spoken. CHATTER XXIII. There was great excitement in the county when the invitations for Lady Charnloigh’s ball were sent out. “That was just as it should be. ” people said. “Crown Leighton had always been the center of hospitality; old times were being renewed.” Tradespeople in the quiet little town of Weildon wore more cheerful faoss;. it made all the difference in the world to them whether Crown Leighton was tenanted or not. Rumor told of the wonderful preparations that were being made. In the

western wing, among the state-rooms, was a large and magnificent bali-room. By Lady Charnleigh’s orders a largo conservatory had been added to it, and now she desired that one of the state saloons adjoining should be transformed into a theater. “I like theatricals,” she said, when Lady Fanshawe made some slight remonstrances. “I may just as well have a theater now as in a year’s time. I shall often have charade parties, and I intend the stage to be a perfect little biiou. I may just as well amuse myself in this way as in others, auntie.” Lady Fanshawe yielded, knowing how true her words were. “That life cannot be a very worthy one, Leonie, whose only business is amusement. ”

“There will be time enough for graver thoughts when I grow older,” said the girl. “Let me enjoy my youth. ” Sir Bertram took great interest in the erection of the theater; he was able to suggest many improvements which would never have occurred to one so inexperienced as Lady Charnleigh. She watched the progress of the alterations with great attention.

“What happy hours we shall spend here!” she said to Miss Dacre, one morning. “I do pot think any country house without a theater can be called complete. ” Miss Dacre made some polite reply, and then looked up in surprise, for Lady Charnleigh's clear, soft, musical laugh rang through the x-oom. “I was just thinking, Ethel, that I spoke as though I had baon a countess all my life. I never saw a country house until a year ago. ” Contrast between the past and present often amused her for a few minutes, and then her heai’t would give a great hound of satisfaction at remembering how brilliant and beautiful the present was.

“Here is Sir Bertram,” said Ethel, one morning, as she stood at the window of the broakfast-room. “I should fancy his horse knows the way to Crown Leighton.” They had just risen from the breakfast table; a most significant smile crossed Lady Fanshaw’s face, while Lady Charnleigh turned away lest her vivid blushes should be seen. Ethel went after her.

“Leonie, here is Sir Bertram. " “He is very welcome,” said the young heiress, with serene composure. “So I imagine, ” rejoined Ethel, with a smile.

Lady Charnleigh was obliged to look up when he entered the room, and on her lover’s face the girl read a look of determinat'on; she knew at once that her trifling was at an end, that she could put him off no longer, that he had come that day expressly to be hoard, and that she must hear him. She read all this in a hundred different ways. The proud head was thrown back with more kingly grace and dignity, the frank, handsome face was determined, the eyes wore grave and calm. Leonie, Lady Charnleigh, would trifle with her lover no more. She watched him as he crossed the room to speak to Lady Fanshawe. How handsome he looked—a grand Saxon king, so proud, so frank, so different from everyone else—and ho loved her! Her heart beat when he came to her and said:

“Lady Charnleigh, I have come over to see you to-day for a very special reason; you will find live minutes for me, I hope?” “Certainly,” she replied, and she proceeded at once to make such arrangements as would keep Ethel near her. The light of her happiness dazzled her —the moment she had longed for, yet dreaded, had come, and she would fain have delayed it; her emotion frightened her—she was glad with a happiness that almost terrified her.

First of all she asked him to go with Miss Dacre to see how the theater was progrossing; gravely and courteously he obeyed her, but his eyes, as thoy lingered on her, said: “Do not think to escape me—you must hear what I have to say.” Then she was invisible until the bell rang for luncheon, when she entered the dining-room with a serene, smiling face, as though she had never thought of such a thing as driving a lover to distraction. After luncheon visitors came, and, though she might have dismissed them, she lingered talking to them and showing her new conservatories, until Sir Bertram almost lost patience. The bell rang for dinner, and yet he had said no word to her. As he went through the hall he said:

“Lady Charnleigh, pray remember that you have given me your promise for a five minutes’ interview; do not forget.” She had not forgotten; she had simply not dared to look at the gleam of sunlight that had fallen at her feet. Her eyes drooped, a lovely blush overspread her face, her lip quivered slightly. “1 will try to remember,” she said. So he waited patiently through.the long hour of dinner. In all his after life he never forgot how lovely she then looked. She never met his glance when he spoke to her—a color like the blush of a damask rose flushed her face; she never voluntarily addressed him, yet he felt no fear. He had once admired a dress of pale blue silk profusely trimmed with rich whits lace, and she wore it this evening. He had admired her most when the rich golden-brown hair lay in Bhining abundance on her graceful shoulders, and this evening it was dressed in the fashion he admired. She wore also a suite of magnificent pearls, worth a king's ransom. The shy, half-timid manner was something new, and it enhanced her beauty as the presence of mess improves the beauty of the rose. Dinner was over at length, and Sir Bertram quickly followed the ladies into the drawing-room; the young Countess’ heart gave a great bound, the golden light grew more dazzling. She must look at it soon. The evening was more than beautiful. The tjunbeams were warm and bright, the western wind was filled with the fr;.grant breath of a thousand flowers, while magnolias yielded their rare odor, and the queenly rose 3, and the tall, stetely lilies gleamed -in the sunlight; the birds were singing, and the water from the fountains fell with musical ripple more beautiful than any other Earthly sound. Lady Charnleigh had gone to the piano, Sir Bertram followed her.

“Lady Charleigh,” he said,“do not the fragrance and beauty outside tempt you? Will you come" and hear what the birds are singing about?” Pie fancied he had left no loop-hole of escape; but she said: “Yes, with pleasure; the grounds are much more pleasant than these warm rooms. Ethel, will you join us?” And Miss Dacre, all unconscious of Sir Bertram's plans, stood up; but he was determined —Lady Charnleigh had trifled with him for the last time. He went up to Miss Dacre, his frank face graver than she had ever'seen it. “Dear Miss Dacre,” he said, in a low voice, “will you kindly decline Lady Charnleigh's invitation? I want to speak to her alone. ” Ethel laughed. “Most certainly I will, Sir Bertram. Lady Charnleigh,” she added, “I will finish my book, I think, and join you in the grounds afterward.” The Countess of Charnleigh and Sir Bertram Gordon went through the

lnng window that opened on to the lawn. The fair earth seemed to be flushed with color and beauty. Close to them was a rosery, where roses of every kind were in full bloom; behind them th« pale lilies stood in great sheaves, and magnolias raised thoip stately heads, and a grove of flowering ; limes led to the woods. The sun shone and the birds sang, 1 but never a word did she utter. Ho ! walked in silence by her side until they i had reached a secluded spot, and then ho said:

“How cruel you have been to mo, Lady Charnleigh! How you have tortured me! You must have known how long I have been waiting to say a few words to you.” “I am not fond of either oruolty or of torture,” returned the fair countess, evasively.

“Indeed, you must be. You must have read my heart's desire on my face; you must know that I love you so dearly that my love is eating my very life away—yet you would not give mo a chance to tell you; you have tortured me, Lady Charnleign. and you know it; now you must be additionally kind to atone for it. Leonie. I want to tell you something.” He took her hand in his, and she made no attempt to elude that firm grasp. “Come here,” he said, and he led her to a mossy bank. “Oh, Leonie, when a man's heart is quite full, it is very hard to find words. ” She sat down, wondering whethor the world hold ether joy so groat as hers; wondering whother other lives had been so supremely blessed. Sir Bertram half sat, half knelt at her feet.

“Leonie, I want to tell that I love you; that I have loved you from tho first moment I saw you. I want to tell you that my life is in your hands; that I love you with an attention so mighty in its strength, so powerful, that my whole life is merged in it. lam bald to toll you so, sweet. I know that fur better men than I have knelt at your feet to ask for the priceless gift of your lovo, but no one can love you as I do, Leonie. Will you trust your life to me, mj queen? I will make it as happy as a summer dream.” Sho listened to him, her heart boating fast, every pulse swolling with strange, new-born gladness, but she made no reply. |TO HE CONTINUED. |