Democratic Sentinel, Volume 21, Number 38, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 17 September 1897 — AT LOVES COMMAND [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

AT LOVES COMMAND

BY CHARLOTTE M. BRAEME.

CHAPTER XIX. “I will go to Miss Lennox’s house at once,” said Beltran to himself, after leaving his mother. “I will not try to meet her by chance —I will do everything openly. I will ask to see her, and then tell her why I am come.” Fortune favored him. He knocked at the hall door, and was told that Mr. Lennox raid Lady Lennox were not at home—th ait they were not expected at home until sou that Miss Lennox was disengaged. Beatrix sat alone in the superb drawing room, trying to decide what was best and right for her to do. She glanced listlessly enough at the card that the servant brought iu,.but when she saw the name her coldness'deserted her; the sweet face was transformed, her eyes filled with lovely light, her lips parted with a smile. She held out both hands to Beltran on his entrance. His jealous eyes looked quickly at them—there was no engagement ring on her finger. Quite silently he clasped the outstretched hands—their meeting was so sweet, so pleasant, and it would be over so soon. She did not seem to remember that he was clasping her hands. “I am very glad to see you back again," she said. “I was so sorry when you went away.” “I am presumptuous, I know,” he told her. “I cannot help it. I have only called to ask you, is it true?” “Is what true?" she asked. She had completely forgotten the paragraph in the newspaper, as she had forgotten everything else in her joy at seeing him again. “Is it true that you are about to marry the Duke of Heathland?” he inquired. A lovely flush rose to her face, her heart beat fast, but “Prince Charlie’s” daughter ninde one last effort in defense of her maidenly independence. “I cannot understand why you should ask me that question, Mr. Carew,” she said, and that was perhaps the least truthful sentence she had ever uttered. “Will you not sit down?” she added. “And will you not release my hands?” she was about to say, but something in his face prevented her. “I will not sit down, thank you. I will stand just where I am, holding your hands in mine, while you pronounce sentence of banishment upon me.” The dark eyes filled with pain. “Sentence of banishment, Mr. Carew? Nay, you u ill never hear such a sentence from me.”

"You cannot understand why I should ask you that question,” he said. "Let me tell you—you can but send me angrily away—it is because I am mad; because from the first moment that I beheld your face until now I have loved you with madness, but such madness makes a man’s life sweet to him, Beatrix—this once let me call you ‘Beatrix.’ I have been mad enough to love you. Dear heaven, if I could but tell you how no other face, sweet, has come between me and heaven save yours. Everything speaks of you. The waves murmur and the brooks sing ‘Beatrix.’ I know no other vord; your name, so sweet, so simple, fills the world for me. I did not know that I loved you. I never said to myself, ‘She is the fairest amongst women, and I will win her? I drifted as a leaf drifts down the stream. I dreamed as a child dreams. I wake to find myself struggling with a man’s love, a man's despair. I went away while I had strength to go. You are not angry with me, sweet?” “I am not angry,” she replied, all unconscious of the story that her downcast eyes and drooping face told, all unconscious that she still stood with her bands clasped in his. “I went away because I felt that if I saw you again I must tell you all, and that In telling I might lose you. I thought that when I was far away from you I should forget you, I would learn to love you less. I have studied hard, I have worked hard, and have returned quite as mad as when I went away. The first thing I saw on my arrival in England was the announcement of your betrothal; and I have come to ask you, is it true?” “No,” she replied, “it is not true.” The sudden gleam of happiness in his face startled her. “Not true! Thank heaven! Oh, Beatrix, permit me to ask, do you love this great and mighty duke who has so much to offer j ou?” “You do not deserve to know,” she said; and his heart grew lighter at the words. “Why do I not?” he asked. “One would think—that is, I should imagine ” and then she stopped. “You would imagine what, Beatrix?” “I should think that, if you had really been anxious to know, you would have asked me instead of going to Athens,” she said. “I dared not.” “Why, Mr. Carew?” she asked, briefly. “Why? Because you are a great heiress, a brilliant belle, a queen of fashion, and I am a poor barrister with no fortune.”

“What nonsense!” cried Beatrix; and in some vague way, though the words were rather commonplace, he seemed to find a great deal of encouragement in them. “Nonsense? Nay, it is hardly that. Had I acted otherwise, it would have been the case of King Cophetua and the beggarmaid reversed.” “It would have been no such thing,” she rejoined, quickly. “You have all, Beatrix, and I have nothing,” he said. “If the world were mine, I would lay it at your feet, I would give you everything.” “Are you the only generous person in existence?” she asked. A sudden passionate fire flamed in his eyes, his lips trembled, the strong hands tightened their clasp. "Mind, Beatrix,” he cried, “or you will drive me mad!” “I do not want you to go mad,” she said—“l want you to be cool and sensible.” “Standing here, Beatrix, looking at you, it is very difficult to be that.” "Then do not look at me t ” she said. “As thoqgh I could help it! I shall go away ten thousand times happier than I came.” “Are you going to Athens again?” she asked, quietly. "No, I shall stay here now. Oh, Beatrix. I love you so dearly! How rejoiced

I should be if you coiild learn to care for me!” “You have never asked me,” she said. “Have I not? The distance between us is so great; it seems to me as useless to ask you as to stretch out my hands to touch a bright star, you are so far above me. But, Beatrix, you are not angry; you hear me say these things, und your dear face does not frown upon me? I am growing giddy—it cannot l>e possible that you are willing to care for me—l must be dreaming!” “You have never asked me,” ehe repeated; but he saw that her face had grown as white as death. “I ask you now, my darling, my beautiful love —will you try to care for tie? 1 am not worthy, but I love you us no other man ever could. I fear to ask, yet it must be true —do you care for me a little t * “Not a little—can you not guess?” she said. “Is it possible, Beatrix, that you love me?” The gravity of her face was broken by gleams of rosy, tender light the dark eyes looked for a moment into, his own, and then she was clasped in his arms. “I cannot believe it!" he cried. “You were always my hero,” said Beatrix, as though excusing herself—“always. I thought you from the first like King Arthur.” “This is happiness!” he exclaimed. “|My proud, beautiful Beatrix—is it true that I have won you at last?” Time passed unheeded—“ Prince Charlie’s” daughter had found her haven of rest.

CHAPTER XX. The sound of carriage wheels roused Beatrix and Beltran from their trance of delight. Beatrix looked at her lover. “They are come, ’ she said, and the proud face grew pale as from some great emotion. Beltran kissed the sweet lips that had already bidden su?h defiance to love. “There will be a battle to fight, my darling,” he said. ’ Oh, Beatrix, my heart misgives me! I have been selfish. ! ought never to have told you of my love.” “Would it have been better, then, to have left me to be unhappy forever?” she asked. “Your uncle must be told at once,” said Beltran. “When would you advise me to see him?” “To-morrow morning,” she replied, “before luncheon.” “He will be angry with us, I know,” f said Beltran, “and I am sorry for it. I like your uncle, Beatrix, without knowing why." “So much the better,” she told him. ‘.'And I love my uncle very dearly. He is a sterling, noble man.” Hardly knowing whether he was dreaming or awake, Beltran Carew left Strathnarn House. Beatrix went to her room, her heart full of her new-found happiness.

"It is the very wine of life,” she said to herself, “this love that I despised.” One.of the first things she did was to write to the duke; and her letter was very much to the point. ‘1 told you from the first,” she said, “that I dill not love you. You begged of me to try to do so. I did try and failed; then you asked me to try egain, mid, much against my wish, you persisted in declaring yourself a suitor for my hand. It was understood between us that I was quite free, and that, if I found myself unable to love you, I was to tell you so. That time has come.. I have asked you often to withdraw from pretensions that distressed me. Now I deal quite fairly and honestly with you, and tell you most frankly that I have met one whom I do love. I esteem you and respect you, and shall always be most happy to call you my friend.” The Tetter concluded with expressions of good wiff and continued interest. Beatrix felt light of heart when she had written it. If he could but have believed her when she had spoken before! Then she dressed for dinner, feeling as though she moved ou air, so unutterably happy was she. Lady Lennox looked up in wonder at the beautiful, radiant vision that seemed to float into her room—Beatrix, in her sweeping diess of white silk, with roses in her hair, her bright face flushed with a glow of happiness that was new to it, her eyes bright With the sweet story of her love. “Trixie, my darling,” said the gentle mother, “how well you look!” The girl went up to her; <he knelt by her side, and clasped her warm arms round her neck. “Kiss me. mamma,” she said, “for I am the happiest Beatrix in all the world—indeed, 1 feel that there is no other creature so happy as I am.” The love shining in her eyes and flushing the sweet, proud face made her so beautiful that Lady Lennox was struck with her. “I have something ts tell you, mamma,” she said, shyly, “but you must keep it a secret until to-morrow—something that is most wonderful. Can you not guess?” And with the shyness of a child she hid her face on her mother’s neck. “I cannot guess—unless the duke ” “Oh, mamma,” she cried, “do not talk about the duke, please! That is all at an end. I want to tell you why I am so happy. Beltran Carew loves me, and has asked me to be his wife.” She was silent for a moment—the sound of the words as she herself had uttered them filled her whole mind with inexpressible joy. Lady Lennox did not stir or speak. “I laughed at love so long, mamma, and now no one loves more deeply than I do,” said the sweet voice. But Lady Lennox looked very grave. It was not in human nature to hear such words and see such a face as Beatrix’s without some emotion. She unclasped her daughter’s arms from her neck, and gazed half sadly at her. “Do you love him so very much, darling? Is it such very good news?” “The beat I could bring you, mamma; nothing could be better,” she said. “No one could imagine anything better.” “My dear Trixie, it is a very serious matter. What about the duke? First of all, tell me about him.” “There is nothing to tell, mamma. 1 Mavs always been unite open and frank

about him. He would not take my an* ewer, which waa always 'No,’ He touted in saying that if I would try—W I would only try—ln time I should love him; it required time. I am not to blatne, mamma.” “But, Trixie, think of the position, my dear. It is such a splendid match to break off, such a brilliant future, to mar and spoil. lam quite frightened at what the world will aay.” “Am I to marry to please myself or the world?" she asked. “Yourself, of course, Trixie; but consider the proposed match. You are very beautiful, and you will have a large fortune—Mr. Carew hns only his profession.” “I should not mind, mamma, if he had even less than that,” she said, proudly; “one does not measure such a man by his wealth. Oh, mamma, dear, be kind to me! Do uot talk about money. Think how I love him—how he loves me. What is money? Tell me that you like him—that you are pleased—that you will be my friend.” Eady Lennox was quite roused now. “I do like him," she replied. “He is handsome, generous, gifted, noble—he Is all that a man should be; but I cannot say that I am pleased you are going to marry him. Trixie, with your beauty, you ought to do much better. Your uncle will be bitterly annoyed.” Beatrix rose from her knees. “I am sorry you are not pleased about it, mamma,” she said. “It will not matter, though; death itself would not change me.” “I am quite sure harm will come of it, Trixie. I am frightened.” Beatrix kissed her with the same air of protection that she would have shown a child. “You are nervous, mamma; it will be all right. Uncle never refuses me anything on which my heart is fixed. Do not think about it. Only kiss me (inti say that you hope I shall be happy.” Lady Lennox kissed her. “I hope so, my darling—you look happy enough. But what will the world say? Oh, Trixie, it is plain I have brought you up very badly, since you do not discern the difference, socially, between a peer and a barrister." (To be continued. )