Democratic Sentinel, Volume 18, Number 1, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 19 January 1894 — AT WAR WITH HERSELF. [ARTICLE]

AT WAR WITH HERSELF.

The Story of a Woman's Atonement, by Charlotte M. Graeme. ** ■ CHAPTER XXVll—Contlnned. She was no countess after ali; the gorgeous fabric of wealth and magnificence had crumbled to nothing beneath her feet. She was no countess — nothing but Leonie Rayner; the grand inheritance of Crown Leighton was not hers, after all: she who had lavished thousands on petty caprices and graceful fancies had not one shilling in the world that was legally her own. “I was so happy," moaned the girl—“l jrm so happy, and now " Then rose before her the dim vista of years when poverty and privation would be her lot—hard work, toil, obsaurily her portion—and this after 6he had reigned queen of the bright, gay world. She was too stunned for tears —no words could describe the chaos of her thoughts, the whirl of her emotion. No longer a countess —no longer the mistress of that superb mansion—no longer a queen- no longer one of the richest heiresses in Kngland, of whose wealth men spoke with wonder. It was as great a fall as woman ever had. Two minutes before she had reached the climax of • magnificence and grandeur, peerless in her radiant beauty, dressed in the robes and jewels of a queon. Now, what was she? An usurper, an intruder, an interloper. She had no right to Crown Leighton—no right to the diamonds that crowned her—no right to the name that had been as music in her ears. A cry of despair escaped her—utter, hopeless despair. “I will kill myself,” she said, in her anguish; “for I never can go back to that life again. ” How long she crouched there, her brain burning and her mind full of dark, confused thoughts, Leonie never knew. A noise upon the stairs aroused her, and she started up. Her first honest impulse was to rush down through the crowd, to tell Paul Flemjng, and to place the will in his hands. That was her first impulse, and she rose to act upon it. As she passed the lrrge mirror, she caught a glimpse of herself, and it frightened her. Was that the radiant, beautiful girl she had seen so short a time before? All the bloom had died from her face, leaving it ghastly white; the violet eyes were dim and wild; the light seemed to her excited fancy to have laded from her jewels. Oh, cruel mockery, that diadem of gems, those queenly robes! She laughed to herself—a harsh, discordant laugh, unpleasant to hear. *1 am no longer a countess. lam penniless, obscure, a paupar, not a queen.* It was surely the sorest blow that could have befallen her. She had loved her position, her magnificence, so well. She had enjoyed them so well —she had graced them so prefectly. “I will go and put this in his hands,” she aaid, “and then I will go straight out from that brilliant crowd—out to cold darkness and death. I have drunk of the wine of life, and cannot taste the lees.”

Whs there a hot breath on her white shoulder, or was it only her fancy? Was there a voice hissing in her ear, or was it a delusion? What was the voioe taying? “Let it be as it is for one night longer. Go down and complete your triumph—go down where men wait for you with honeyed words. Reign queen to-night —to-morrow let poverty come and do its worst. There is no need to make a sensation among ull those people—no need to publish your downfall to-uight.” "Was there a hissing, sharp voice whispering these words, or was it her own fancy? She pushed the diadem and the golden-brown hair from her brow. “Many a woman would have been driven mad by such a shock,” she said to herseif. Then she stood hesitating, with the parchment in her hand. “Shall I take it to him now, or shall I wait until to-morrow? “To-morrow will do,” said the tempter. “What difference can it make? Enjoy your reign a few hours longer—make the most of’the next few hours. Leave it until to-m»rrow.” i “I might just as well wait until tomorrow,” she said, piteously; “it would be bo sad to spoil the fete and turn all Into confusion." Then sudden hot anger flushed in her face and fiamod in her eyes. “I would fain do as Sardanapalus did," she cried—“burnCrown Leighton 1 to the ground, and dio in the ruins. ” Then the fierce hot anger died. “I was bo happy,” she said, despairingly; “Heaven might have lot me keep wnat I believed to be mine. Perhaps I had better take this to Paul at once—it will be less torture than keeping it by me until to-morrow.” She walked toward the door; she saw herself seeking him;' placing the will in his hand, and saluting him by his new title —Earl of Charnleigh. Then came a vivid remembrance of the time when her heart had thrilled with ecstasy at the sound of her title. “I will not be so hasty—l will wait until to-morrow,” she said; “I will enfew hours, and then ” In the anguish of the moment she even forgot her love and the lover who was waiting for her. She took the parchment, hid it in the wardrobe, locked the door, and then slowly descended the stairs. “To-morrOw,” she moaned to herself —“it will be all over to-morrow. ”

CHAPTER XXVIII. “Leonie, how long you have been, my darling! What is the mattery Your face is white, your lips tremble. Leonie, have you been frightened?” Although she loved Bertram better than her life, in the supreme aneruish of that hour she had forgotten him; and now, at the sound of the kindly voice—at the sight of the frank handsome sac keen sense of what she was losing came over her. She went up to him, and as he stretched out his hands to her, she laid her head on his breast, forgetting everything in her sick, hopeless despair. “My darling,” he said, anxiously, "what is the mattery Ten minutes ago you were all radiance and light—now you are pale, depressed. What has happened to you, Leonie?” She raised her colorless face, t “Is it only ten minutes since I left you, Bertram?” "That is all,” he said. “It seems to me ten long years—ten long, dreary, despairing yoars. I am so tired. Oh, Bertram, how that music wearies me! Will it never stop? lam so tired. ” “My darling, you have been doing top much. Your spirits carry you away, and then you are exhausted. 'Do not go back to the ball-room—let me bring you some wine and rest yourself. I wid not even speak to you, nor will I allow any one else to tease you. ” “.'so. no,” she said, “I must go back— I have been away so long. ” She made a desperate effort to r ouse km&if. He looked at her in silent •oader. She reminded him of a fair mad bis Otoing flower blighted some

anoe had kft her face—even the queenly, graceful figure seemed to snrink and grow less, while the regal robes I and jewels had lost half their brightness. “Leonie,” said Sir Bertram, “you frighten me. lam quite sure you are “I am not. Do as you propose—go i and fetch me some wine, and Dring it : to me in the morning-room." He placed her in a chair, and left her without a word. Her brain was whirling. “To-morrow,” she said—“all this will be over to-morrow. I shall be flattered and loved—l shall be queen of a brilliant fete—l shall be mistress of Crown Leighton until to-morrow; and then all will be over, and the sun of mv life set. To-morrow! Shall I live to face it all j —the comments, the gossips, the J sneers! These fine ladies who protest that I am a model of graceful manners, will find out then that I am low-bred and very deficient—what has passed for animation will become vulgarity. I know the world, and hate it while* I love it. Its triumph over me shall not begin to-night. For this one night it shall be at my feet, and I will trample on it.” Then Sir Bertram came in with the wine, and she drank it. It brought the warmth and color back to her face. He was much relieved. “You are better, Leonie. Oh, my darling, you must never look that ivay again! Promise to be careful of yourself; you are not strong. You alarmed me when I saw you. I thought the ghost that haunts the oak room nad appeared to you.” A deep, tearless sob broko from her lips. “The ghost of the oak-room,” she repeated, wearily—“l saw it, and it has nearly killed me.” Ho thought her manner strange, but ascribed it all to over-fatigue. He drew nearer to her, and rearranged her diadem, which had half fallen from the fair, stately head. “You have all a queen’s dignity, and all a woman’s charm,” he said. “Oh, Leonie, was any one ever so fair and so peerless as you?” She smiled; the wine had given her a kind of courage that she mistook for strength.

“Are my jewels all in order, or need I send for Florotte?” she asked, carelessly. . “They are in perfect order. Your appearance now is my care, Leonie; it concerns no one but myself.” He did not know what had happened. What would he say or think when ho had discovered that she was simply poor and obscure Leonie Rayner, the ex-governess? Would it make any difference to his love? She looked up at him. “Give me your arm, Bertram. I must go to the ball-room. Hark! that is my favorite waltz. Tell me before you go —do you love mo very much?” A beautiful light came Into his face. “You will never know how much, sweet.” “Would you care just as much for me if I were very poor, and you knew me only as Leonie Rayner?” “Just as much,” ho replied, *my love does not depend on your circumstances. If yon were made queen to-morrow, I should love you just as dearly; and if to-morrow you became a beggar, it would make no difference in my affection—nay, lam wrong—l should love you all the better.” “Is it true?” she asked. “Most assuredly it is; the only thing I should regret in that case would be that I am not a rich man- that I could not surround you with all the luxury and magnificence to which you have been accustomed.” “Are you not rich, Bertram?” she asked, wistfully. He laughed. “No. my queen—not what people call rich, in these luxurious times; my estates are mortgaged. I wish that I were rich enough to purchase the wholo world, so that I might endow you with it." “You shall not spoil that compliment by any other,” she said; “we will go. Where is my programme? I have missed two dances. I have to apologize to two gentlemen. The next is the ‘Lancers,'and I am engaged to Lord Holdene. He ought to thank me for these silver buckles.”

Then from the very depths of her young heart there came a most woeful sigh. If he had never asked for those buckles, that will would perhaps never have come to light. For a few minutes after she re-en-tered the ball-room, Leonie stood bewildered Then she recovered herself. Lord Holdene came up and offered a hundred apologies for having mentioned the silver buckles. She 1 lookod up at him with a vague, dreamy smile, as though sho did not even understand the words. She was thinking to herself that it was not his fault —that it was not what people would call fate or chance that had led her to the oak-room, but the very hand o Providence, and he had been led thither in order that justice might be done. Then Captain Flemyng saw her and hastened to her. “I could not imagine what made the ball-room so suddenly grow cold and dim, Lady Charnleigh,” he said. “Why have you been so long absent?” “I have been searching in a haunted room for silver buckles,” she replied, trying to still the quivering of her lips and speak in her natural voice. But something in the tone struck him as strange—a weary, hopeless ring that told of pain and sorrow. He looked tenderly ana anxiously at her. “You are over-tired, Lady Charnleigh. Let me persuade you not to dance, but sit down and rest.” She laughed. “No, I could still; I like continual movement. Where is Ethel? Is she enjoying herself ?” “Yes; and so is every one The young ladies of the county ought to be deeply grateful to you; i' have heard many of them say that they never enjoyed an evening so much before. You must give us some more charades, Lady Charnleigh, and more balls.” She laughed again. How little ho knew that this was the last night of her reign—that with the sunrise of the morrow all her wealth and magnificence would vanish into thin air—that henceforward he would rule at Crown Leighton, and and parties—that he would succeed to the glorious inheritance she had valued so! “They shall remember my last night at Crown Leighton,” she said to herself; "they shall talk of it, and tell each other that I died a queen.” ' With Leonie, to will was to do. She called all her magnificent courage into play, she resolutely trampled under foot all remembrance of the oaken chamber and what it contained, she remembered only that this was her last api e trance as Countess of Charnleigh, and that people must not forget it. Such was the case; no one so brilliant or beautiful had been seen there for many long generations. She danced, and the grace, the perfection of her movement, was marvelous; she talked, and men gathered round her, charmed out of themselves. She had never been so brilliant. Her anecdotes, her repartees, her sparkling sallies were repeated one to the other; her beautiful face grew brighter and more radiant every minute. People no longer won-

dered at the spell she oast around her, there were men in that room who thought that to have won a smile from her they would have gone through any difficulty. As the cloud of homage rose i and seemed to float round her, she smiled bitterly to herself, saying: *Tt is my last triumph; to-morrow the dark waves of poverty will rise and ingulf me, and the world will bear no more then of Leonie, Countess of Charnleigh.” CHAPTER XXIX. It was when the ball was drawing to a close that Paul Flemyng found an opportunity of slipping a folded paper into Lady Charnlexgh’s hands. “Read this, Leonie,” he whispered, “and permit me to call for the answer to-morrow. * She took it and placed it in the folds of her dress. To.morrow he would know all—to-morrow he would be Lord Charnleigh, and she Leonie Rayner; their positions would be reversed. Then came the faint gray dawn of the June morning, and one by one the guests departed from the brilliant scene. Each visitor expressed so much pleasure, and seemed so truly delighted, that no greater compliment could have been paid to their hostess than their regret at leaving. "Give us another bail soon, dear Lady Charnleigh,” whispered one of the younger girls; “this has been so delightful!” Leonie laughed aloud; the young girl started back at the harsh, “unnatural sound. “I am tired, my dear,” said Leonie, seeing the startled look; “remember that 1 have been making myself amiable ever since nine o'clock this morning, and to be constantly amiable is the hardest task in the world. * Sir Bertram came up to say farewell. “I shall come for my answer to-mor-row, Leonie; you have given me hope thia evening. “Not to-morrow, Bertram," she pleaded, piteously. “I am so tiredwait until Thursday. I shall have recovered then. ” “I will wait just as long as you F#Dase,” he said. “You will be mine in the end, Leonie; that is all I care for.” A sudden impulse came over her to throw herself into his arms and tell him all—ho would console and comfort her; but she set her foot resolutely l upon the impulse. This night should ' pass over without her secret being known. So she stood until the last of her guests disappeared, graceful, bright, and charming to the end, her gay words never faltering; then she was left in that brilliant ball-room alone. She looked around, with a flush on her face, on the flowers and the lights, the wondrous combinations of color that she herself had effected. “I have died a queen,” she said. “I have not given way for one moment. I have smiled with the bitterness of wrath in my heart. I have talked and laughed when like Caesar, I would fain have folded my mantle round me and (lied. Now I look my last on the brilliant paradise that will know me no more. ” |to be continued, t