Democratic Sentinel, Volume 17, Number 50, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 December 1893 — AT WAS WITH HERSELF. [ARTICLE]

AT WAS WITH HERSELF.

The Story of a Woman s Atonement, by Charlotte M. Braeme. ) - CHAPTER XXl—Continued. “It seems to me,” she thought, with « happy smile, “that even the flowers know he is coming. I am sure those rose are more fragrant, and the lilies more brilliant. I can see their golden hearts.* She buried her face amid the cool, de sp lily-cups—she was as one bewitched with the charm of her own happiness—until Lady Fanshawe, struck by her manner, ventured to remonstrate. “Dear Lady Charnleigh, are you not wanting in that great charm of all well-bred women—pertcct repose?" Repose while the leaves were whispering to the summer wind, while the bees and butterflies coquetted with the flowers, while her own heart was beating with delight that knew no words, every pulse and nerve thrilling! Lady Charnleigh laughed aloud. “I am not conducting myself as a countess should,” she said. “I had forgotten all about what you call the dignity of my position, auntie; I only remembered that I was, without exception, the happiest girl in the wide world. It is time to dress, Ethel,” she added, turning to Miss Dacre. “I want you to look bewitching—l want le beau sabreur to fall in love with you.” She spoke lightly and never saw the death-like pallor that came over the sweet face. “He has done something of the kind already, Leonie, but it is with you, not with me.”

“A fact which would show that he had neither taste nor sense, if it were true, ” laughed Lady Charnlei gh. “Let me advise you as to what dress you should wear, Ethel. Stand quite still, and I will study you. ” She made a pretty picture, standing with a studious expression on her face, her finger laid on her lips. She could not be silent for long. “What dreamy, poetic beauty yours is, Ethel! How strange that you should be so like the ‘Elaine’ we saw at the exhibition! The painter must, have known you.” “I do not think so,” said Mis 3 Dacre. “You remind me of starlight, and—oh, Ethel, how beautiful the starlight is, how calm, serene, and holy, yet giving one a vivid idea of hidden fire!” “You began to speak of my dress,” observed Miss Dacre, patiently; “and you have already reached the stars. When will you be on earth again?” “I shall never behave like a countess. 'A true ladv of rank,’ says auntie, ‘should be known by her dignified silence and repose.’ Your dress, Ethel, must be black lace over white silk with silver flowers; you will personify starlight then.” But her own toilet vyas not so easily decided upon. That evening Lady Charnleigh was difficult to please. At last she chose a bewitching costume of pale sea-green silk, half covered with rich white lace, and looped up with white water-lilies; a small lily nestled in the coils of her fair hair; and with this dress, recherche and poetical, Lady Charnleigh wore a suit of magnificent emeralds.

An hour later and Lady Charnleigh sat at the head of the table. Perhaps her servants wondered why for these two gentlemen she had ordered the service of gold plate, which was usually reserved for state occasions. She knefv she would have paid to few others the honor she paid to Sir Bertram. She had received him with gracious words and kindly smiles; with them she sought to hide the vague, happy emotion that filled her heart. Paul Flemyng saw the bright blushes on the glad young face, and tried to believe they were for him. “You have some grand old pictures, I am told, Lady Charnleigh,” said Sir Bertram; “may I ask you to show them to me?” “Nothing would please me better,” Bhe said; “after dinner we will go through the gallery. Ethel, you are always talking of pictures—will you join us with Capt. Flemyng? I like the gallery better than any part of Crown Leighton.” So after dinner they went. Lady Fanshawe declined to accompany them. “You must know every picture well, considering the time you spend among them, Lady Charnleigh,” she said. And one or two of her hearers were quite as well pleased that she should remain where she was. Few private mansions in England could boast of a picture gallery so magnificent as that of Grown Leighton. It was large, lofty and. superbly decorated. In some places the walls are inlaid with mirrors; the ceilings had been painted by Le Brun; the windows formed deep bays that were carpeted with crimson cloth; and Sir Bertram, who had an artist’s eye for color, thought he had never seen a fairer picture .than that of Lady Charnleigh, with her robes of green silk and lace sweeping the floor. How well the artistic, picturesque dress suited her! How royally beautiful she looked in those shining emeralds!

“You will be my cicerone,” he said. “I suppose Captain Flemyng knows all the glories of Crown Leighton.” The girl turned to the young soldier with a look of genuine frankness and Regret on her face. “You are generous not to hate me,” Bhe said, "when you see all that I have robbed you of. ” “You have given me more than you have taken from me,” he returned; and both look and words were so much pain to Ethel Dane. There was no lack of conversation among the four; they were all art-lov-ers; they knew most of the world’s famous pictures; they could criticise and compare. Leonie, Lady Charnleigh, showed perhaps the greatest and most cultivated taste. They lingered long in the gallery, while the western sunbeams came through the long windows and lighted up the gorgeous colors on the wall; they lingered as the young and happy do, with laughing words and bright, tender thoughts. They reached the end of the gallery at last, and came to a door half hidden by the velvet curtain that hung over it. “That is a room I have never yet entered,” said Lady Charnleigh; “shall we go in now?” “What is it? A boudoir—a study? It is just the place for an artist’s studio, ” said Sir Bertram. “It was the favorite room of the late Lord Charnleigh,” observed the young Countess. “Mrs. Fearon tells me he used to lock himself in there, and afterward come out looking so sad and sorrowful.” “The secret of such lives as his is always a tragedy,” said Paul Flemyng to Ethel. “I have often thought that the late lord of Crown Leighton had some sorrow the vorld knew nothing of." It was Paul Flemyng who opened the door, and Lady Charnleigh drew back with a little shudder, the color fading from her brilliant face. “1 have such a horrible fancy," she said, with a nervous attempt at laughter; “it is when I go in I shall find the late Earl sitting in his chair with stony faoe and set eyes.”

“You uiay enter safely, Lady Charnleigh,” responded Paul; “the rpom is quite empty. Yet it looked as though it had been recently used. ” “I gave orders that nothing here should be touched," said the Countess; “It seemed a kind of desecration to enter the place. ” There was a book on the table, a table drawn near the fireplace, a paper knife still resting on an uncut journal. “How strangely silent the place is! How different from the rest of the house!” said Lady Charnleigh, with a sigh. “Come away—l feel as though the room were haunted.” She turned away, but her attention was drawn to Captain Flemyng. He was standing before picture apparently engrossed by it. She called him by name; he did not hear. She moved forward and. touched him on the arm, and was startled when he turned round to find his eyes full of tears. She looked at the picture; it was of a young and beautiful girl, with sad, tender eyes and a lovely mouth. A grave, noble face it was, with a veil of sadness on it—a picture that had in it a certain pathos. Underneath, in faint characters, were written the words, “Loved and Lost.” Lady Charnleigh looked first at the picture, and then at the young soldier; there was a certain resemblance in the features that struck her. “Who is . it, Captain Flemyng?” she asked, in a low voice. “That is a portrait of my mother,” he replied. “How comes it that it is hidden away here?” “ ‘Loved and lost,’ ” quoted Lady Charnleigh—“what dees it mean? Who loved and who lost her?” “I do not know,” replied Captain Flemyng. “Pray parden me, Lady Charnleigh; I did not know that you had a picture of my mother. I loved her so dearly.” “Are you sure it is your mother?" she asked.

“As sure as I am of my own existence; she always had the same sad, tender eyes, and when she smiled there was something sad in her smile. Those eyes have the same look now—do you not notice it?” Sir Bertram and Miss Dacre had joined them, and were listening to him in wonder. “A portrait of your mother here?” questioned Miss Dacre. “That seems strange, Captain Flemyng. ” “I loved her so much,” he said again; “and she died when I was quite young. Lady Charnleigh, will you grant me a great favor?”

“You know I will before you ask it, * she replied. “Permit me to have this copied. It shall be most carefully preserved. * “You shall have the original if you will, I shall be quite content with the copy.” “You are very kind to me,” he said, “but I will not agree to that. You have a superstitious feeling about this room; I have the same about this picture. I should not like to take it away —it belongs to the room. ” “ ‘Loved and lost!’ ” murmured the young countess. “What sorrowful words! There is a story contained in them —a sad story, too. What do they •mean?”

The brilliant tint had faded from her; she had grown very pale and sorrowful, the violet eyes were dim with tears —her whole aspect was changed. Sir Betram looked anxiously at her. “You are too imaginative, Lady Charnleigh,” he said. “Come away; you are growing sad and sorrowful. Come out into the sunshine. ” Without a word she followed him. They went through the corridor at the end of the gallery, out on the western terrace, where the flowers were all in brilliant bloom. Paul and Ethel followed them. There, where the sun shone and the song of the birds filled the perfumed air, Lady Charnleigh was soon herself again. The exquisite roseleaf flash stole back, the light came into her eye 3. “I have an idea,” she said. “What do you think, Ethel? Shall we have a grand fete and ball here- at Crown Leighton, and illuminate these grounds and gardens—a fete that will last from sunset to sunrise, and delight everybody?” . “I should like it very much,” responded Miss Dacre. The two gentlemen agreed with her. “Captain Flemyng and you, Sir Bertram, must come over to help me; it will be my first grand entertainment. Shall we begin with charades? -1 am so fond of charades; and we could get up such really magnificent ones. What do you say?” “It would be delightful," said Sir Bertram, thinking of the rehearsals and the number of times that he should see Lady Charnleigh. “What a simple, charming nature she has!” remarked Sir Bertram to himself, with a smile. “She was weeping only a few minutes since, her heart full of pity; now she is laughing at the idea of a ball. She is a perfect Undine —half grave, haljLgay—half child, half woman—wholly charming. He raised his eyes in time to see the green silk and white water-lilies vanish .between the trees. “We may as well follow,” said Paul Flemyng. “Lady Charnleigh is all anxiety to put her scheme at once into train; she has gone without doubt to arrange the day for the ball. ”

CHAPTER XXII. “I really ought to inaugurate my reign by a grand festivity,” said Lady Charnleigh. “I like to do everything en reine; if I give a ball, it shall be one to be remembered.” They were sitting in the drawingroom, and the young countess looked radiantly lovely by the light of the soft glowing lamp. They were discussing the great event. “You have but to will and dictate,” said Sir Bertram; “we shall all be pleased to obey. ” “Suppose,” she continued, thoughtfully, “that we commence with a din-ner-party—no, that will not do—no one under forty cares about dinner, and this party shall be for the young and light-hearted. We might begin with charades and tableaux —people always enjoy them; and then at ten o’clock we could have a grand procession to the ball-room, where we might dance until morning. What do you think of that program. Ethel?” “It will be very pleasant,” said Miss Dacre. She had teen watching the bright, animated expression on the girl's face, and the devoted attention of both gentlemen to her “How could I hope to charm while she is near?” she asked herself. “She is so lovely, so gay;, every moment develops a new charm in her. Compared with her I am as a moth beside a butterfly.” Yet there was no envy in her heart; her admiration for the young countess was sincere and ardent; she did not know that there were people who would have, preferred her quiet, spirituelle loveliness to the radiant beauty of Lady Charnleigh. “Well, that is agreed upon,” said the mistress of Crown Leighton. “We must have some good tableaux and some excellent charades; and we cannot do tetter than discuss now what the tableaux shall be. There are four of us here—let us each suggest a scene from some great novel, poem, or play.” “That is a wide field, Lady Charnleigh," said Paul Flemyng; “there are 90 ® an y great poems and plays.” “But we each have our favorites, and

can choose from them, Sir Bertram, you shall have the first choice. Ethel and I will hear what suggest first.” “1 think one of the plays I like Wat is the ‘Lady'of Lyons,’ T ’ said Sir Bertram; “we could have a very effective tableau from that, Lady Charnleigh—the scene where the pretended prince describes his palace by the lane oi Como. It is a lovely picture; the fair Paulina, with her golden hair falling round her, listening with rapt attention on her lover’s arm. You would make a beautiful Paulina, Lady Charnleigh. ”

"But who is to be my prince?” she asked, yvith a blush and a smile. “1 should be most happy,” began Sir Bertram, but Paul Flemyng interrupted him. "The Prince must be dark, and you are fair, Bertram. If you will permit me, Lady Charnleigh, I will place myself at your disposal. ” She was disappointed, but smiled graciously. Captain Flemyng thought to himself that he had won a great viotory over his rival, for ouch he began to perceive Sir Bertram was. “Now it is your turn Captain Flemyng,” said the countess. “One of the most effective I ever saw was a tableau representing Romeo and Juliet in a friar’s cell. ”

“Ethel shall be Juliet,” put in Lady Charnleigh. “No," said Miss Dacre; “Juliet was a bright, radiant beauty. You would look the character much better than I should, Lady Charnleigh.” “Let it be so then," returned the countess. “Who is to be my Romeo?” “Romeo was fair,” said Sir Bertram, quickly; “permit me to hold the distinguished office, Lady Charnleigh?” She smiled to hide the happiness which the bare idea gave her. “Those will be two good scenes," she said. “Now, Ethel?” “I am puzzled, ” confessed Miss Dacre; “there are so many grand poems. ” “You remember the picture of Elaine, Ethel; nothing would suit you so well as that. She was watching Sir Lancelot ride away. You could assume that expression of unutterable, hopeless love; besides, your features resemble Elaine’s as depicted on the canvas.” Miss Dacre smiled. One observing her keenly might have seen how wistful and tinged with pain that smile was.

“You will make mo believe that I am Elaine, if you talk so much to me of her, Leonie.” “Nay,” said Captain Flemyng, “it will never be your fate, Ethel, to die of a hopeless love.” The fair, spirituelle face grew a shade paler. “I hoj e not,” she rejoined, quiety. “It would bo a terrible love that would make me lose my hold on life. It is your turn now, Leonie. What do you suggest? I think that I shall like to be Elaine.” ]TO BE CONTINUED. |