Democratic Sentinel, Volume 21, Number 39, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 24 September 1897 — AT LOVES COMMAND [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

AT LOVES COMMAND

BY CHARLOTTE M. BRAEME.

CHAPTER XXI. Peter Lennox sat in his study. Breakfast was over; his letters were answered, his business affairs finished. He sat musing with great delight on the wedding that was never to be. He had wondered a little, for, when breakfast was over, Beatrix had laid her hands on his shoulder and said, with a charming smile: “Uncle, if some one comes to see you this morning, and has something to say about me, you will be very kind, will you not?” He had not the remotest idea of her meaning; he fancied that dhe must be speaking of a jeweler or a milliner. “What am I to say, Trixie?” be asked. “You must say ‘Yes.’ Bear that in mind. All the time that my friend is talking to you say to yourself over and over again, ‘I have to say Yes.’ ” Peter Lennox laughed. “You’re a terrible coax, Trixie,” he replied. “We shall see what the ‘Yes’ involves,” and he went to his study, wondering what she could mean. There he employed himself busily. He was about to leave the room to go for his morning’s walk, when Beltran Carew was announced. He asked him to sit down, and expressed how gratified he was to see him and they talked for some minutes on matters in general; then Beltran said: "I am come on a very important errand, Mr. Lennox.” In a moment it occurred to Peter Lennox that this was Beatrix’s "friend,” and that he had to say “Yes.” He looked up in dismay. What could Beltran Carew have to say about his niece? He listened intently. “I hope you will not think me presumptuous. I only wish that I were king of a great kingdom that I might prove to you the disinterestedness of my affection. I love Miss Lennox—l eannot tell you how deeply and dearly. 1 ask your permission to make'-her my wife.” At first he listened in blank dismay, and then his face grew pale with stager. "I distinctly refuse my permission, sir,” he answered. must marry the Duke of Heathlands “But,” said Beltran, “your niece does not love the duke, sir. She loves me.” “It is not a question of sentiment,” declared Peter Lehnox. “Love is a toy for boys and girls; my niece must marry for the welfare of her house, for the prosperity and well-being of her race. She must marry as the ladies of her house have done before her—and in that case she cannot marry you.” “Miss Lennox loves me, sir,” he said; and, despite his anger, Peter Lennox’s heart warmed to him, he looked so handsome. “It is a girl’s fancy,” rejoined Teter Lennox, grimly, “that will die before stern realities.” “I think not,” said Beltran. “Miss Lennox is not a girl who is easily influenced. She is firm—a true Lennox, sir. I hope you will not harden your heart against us. I know that I am what the world would call a poor match; but I love her so dearly, sir—l do, indeed—l would give my very life for her. She is the heart of my heart, life of my life, soul of my soul.” His lips quivered, and a mist of tears rose in his blue eyes. “I will work hard for her, sir,” he went on—“I will surround her with luxuries —indeed, she shall miss nothing that she has had here.” Peter Lennox rose from his chair and looked at him gravely. “I am very sorry,” he said, “that it connot be—that I cannot consent. You plead well, but you plead in vain. You cannot marry my niece. I refuse most distinctly. I decline to listen to your proposition. I like you; personally I have not the least objection to you. You are a noble-hearted man. If I had two nieces, I would give you one. As I have but one, she must tfiarry for the benefit of the race she springs from.” “I do not think she will agree with you, sir,” said Beltran. “It is of very little moment whether she does or not; she will have to marry as I have stated. Go home, sir, and forget her. I like you, and will be your friend through life. I will do anything for you, except give you my niece—that is an impossibility. lam sorry to be abrupt, but I have an engagement this morning. I trust to your honor, Mr. Carew, to make no attempt at seeing my niece again.” And with a grim civility that boded ill for his interests, Beltran found himself bowed out of the room.

CHAPTER XXII. After his dismissal by the millionaire, Beltran Carew stopped in the hall of Stratbnarn House and asked to see Miss Lennox. She came to him looking daztliugly bright. “You have seen my uncle, Beltran?” she said. “What is the news?” He took her hand in his and looked sadly into her face. “My darling, you must send me away from you. Your uncle will not hear of the engagement—will not listen to one word about it.” “I shall never send you away, Beltran, and I shall never give you up,” she replied frankly. “Was my uncle very angry?” “He seemed to be sorry for us, I fancied; but I might just as well have prayed and pleaded to a statue, Beatrix—he was immovable.” “If you can bear all that, I can do the same, and we shall win in the end, Beltran,” said Beatrix. "Nothing shall make me break my promise; and if you can bear the trouble that I fear is in store for us, never speak again of my giving you up—if you do, I shall take it as a sign that ji’ou have grown faint-hearted and wish to leave me. Together we can brave fate.” He could only kiss the hand that he held. He was in a passion of love and delight; he could find no words to say to her, tflie was so true, so noble, so loyal. Then he went away. Just as he was leaving lhe hall door lie saw a groom wearing the Heathland livery ride up with n note in his hand. The note was for Beatrix, and within it was Inclosed one for her uncle. She had never liked the duke so well as when she read his present letter; it was so full of kindness. It ran: “My Dear Miss Lennox—My affection for you has been so sincere that I prefer your happiness to my own. As you have found your happiness in the love of a more tortnnate man, I withdraw; and, wishing

you erery blessing, I promise to remain your friend until death. “HEATHLAND.” The little note written to Peter Lennox merely said: “My Dear Sir—l have to thank you for all the kindness that you have shown me during the time of our friendship, and to ask that the same friendship may be extended to me stifi, although my hope of winning your niece has ended. Yours truly, HEATHLAND.”, Beatrix sought her uncle with her nqtfe in her hand. He was still in the library, too much annoyed, too vexed and miserable to care about going out. He looked up when she entered. Hie heart misgave him when he saw the firm, self-reliant expression of the proud face. She did not look like one to be swayed by sharp words. “Beatrix,” said Peter Lennox, "I was just about to send for you. I was very much annoyed this morning.” Despite his annoyance, his usual old-fashioned courtesy did not forsake him; he rose and placed a chair for her. “Be seated, my dear; I want you to listen to me. 1 have been very much annoyed.” "I am sorry to hear it, unde,” she responded. "I am afraid you have not been kind, as you promised; you have not said ‘Yes’ to my friend.” “I have not —I could not. I am more annoyed, more irritated than I have been for years.” She placed the duke’s letter in his hand. “Read that, uncle,” she said; "there is an example of generosity.” His face darkened more and more us he read it, and very quickly he laid it down with muttered words that she did not care to hear. “So you have given up a man who writes like that,” he remarked—“a generoushearted man whose like you will not easily meet?” "Yes, uncle; it was far more honorable to give him up than to marry him without love—was it not?” “I am so annoyed,” he said, “that I cannot speak calmly upon the matter; it is the greatest disappointment I have had in my life —the very greatest.” “I am sorry to hear it, uncle,” she returned, gently. “I did not expect such treatment from my brother's daughter--! had hoped for better things. lam old and must not look for old-fashioned virtues, I suppose. You can leave me, Miss Lennox; I prefer to be alone.” “Are you going to call me ‘Miss Lennox,’ uncle?” she asked, with a dreary sigh. “That would make me very miserable.” “You nre no niece of mine while you persist in disobeying me,” he replied. He watched her as she quitted the room in all the pride of her glorious youth, a shadow lying upon her fair young face. “It seems hard that she cannot have her heart’s desire,” he said to himself, “but she cannot.” He grew restless. He walked up and down the long room. He paused repeatedly at the door, thinking that he would go after her and remonstrate again with her, and then he said to himself that it would be useless.

CHAPTER XXIII, A mantle of gloom fell over the once happy household; the servants soon perceived that there was something wrong. Peter Lennox kept to his study now, and seldom dined nt home, or spoke to his niece; he was vexed, angry, and discomfited. In the meantime Beatrix saw Beltran at rare intervals —“glimpses of Elysium” he called such meetings. He could not go to Strathnarn House—Peter Lennox had forbidden it. The Duchess of Elmslie was very civil to him when ahe met him, but she never invited him to her house. The lovers met at balls and parties, at the opera. If they could not meet they could write; and they did so. One evening the three members of the divided household dined together. Peter Lennox had resolved upon making one more appeal to his niece, and so talked to her more kindly than usual. It was gentle Lady Lennox who caused the mischief. She noticed the ring with its band of pearls, and, taking her daughter’s hand in hers, she said: “Trixie, what a beautiful ring! What large pearls! How fine they are! Have I seen that before?” “No, mamma,” she replied. “Where did it come from asked Lady Lennox, quite unconsciously. Some girls would have evaded the question, and without speaking falsely would have laughed away the inquiry— not so frank, uncompromising Beatrix. She looked up and said: “Beltran Carew gave it to me, mamma. It is my engagement ring.” The few simple words fell like a thunderbolt. Lady Ailsa sighed deeply. Peter Lennox abruptly rose from his chair. “I am your lawful guardian, Beatrix; I stand here iu your dead father's place,” he began. “But not with his kindly heart,” she interposed. “I stand in his place,” continued Peter Lennox, “and I hold his authority. In his name and in my own, I command you to take that ring from your finger and return it to the presumptuous man from whom you have received it. Do you hear?” “Yes, uncle, I hear,” she replied calmly. “Do you intend to obey?” he- asked. “No, most decidedly not. You must think I am a child, uncle, to ask me such a thing. That ring will never leave my finger while I live.” “Think again,” he said, “before you defy me. I give you one more chance. Will you take off that ring, send it back to Beltran Carew, and tell him that by my wish all acquaintance between you is ended?” “No, uncle, I will not—l cannot,” she replied. The stern face grew white with rage. She did not quail before it. “You refuse? Then listen to me, Beatrix Lennox. I have been some time considering what I should do—listen to me.” “I am listening, uncle,” she replied. But even she, who knew how far the Lennox anger could go, wondered what it was that he had to say. “I have borne a great deal,” said Peter Lennox; “far more than I ought to have borne; but I loved you, Beatrix, and I did not want to barm you. Now I have come

to this determination—yon must rive jp Beltran Carew or yon roust give me upone of the two. My heireaa ffiuit be worthy of her name, and if you marry thia needy barrister you will not be worthy.'’ “Do not say one word against him,” she returned, with white lips. "I will leave that for the world,” he said. “It will say enough without the addition of one word from me. I brand him as a fortune-hunter, and so dismiss him. It is with you I have to deal. You must choose between us—between Peter Lennox, your father's brother, the head of your house, your uncle, your guardian, the man who would have given his heart's blood for you, the man who has lavished his wealth upon you, who rescued you from poverty and made you his heiress, and the man who may mar your life and mine. You must choose between us, Beatrix Lennox." She stood quite still, quite silent—it was a tremendous stake. Presently she raised her eyes to bis, and a light such as he had never seen before came into her face —a look that he never forgot while he lived. “I choose Beltran Carew, uncle,” she said, quite calmly. "I choose poverty with him rather than wealth without him.” There was deep silence between them for many minutes—a silence that neither of them cared to break. Then Peter Lennox moved nearer to her und looked into her face. "You deliberately renounce Erceldean and my wealth, my love and the inheritance 1 could leave you for Beltran Carew ?” "1 woujtl renounce the whole world for him,” she replied. He bowed. "I can say no more, Miss Lennox. You can tell your mother that this house is your home no longer.” "I cannot bear it, Trixie,” sobbed Lady Lennox. “I thought I was stronger. It will kill me to leave the luxury and comforts of this place for the lonely, desolute solitude of Strathnarn. I am not strong. 1 ' Beatrix looked at her uuole. “Uncle,” she asked, “could you not find some other way of punishing me? Make me suffer twice as much, if you will, but spare mamma." He neither looked nt her nor spoke to her, but turned to Lady Ailsn. "1 am sorry you have to suffer for your daughter's wrong-doing. You must pardon me if lam firm. When your daughter submits to my wishes, I will make everything as pleasant as possible for you; but while she persists in her willfulness I will persist. Lennox has met Lennox—you know how it must end. Let me add that I shall be pleased if you will take her away to Stratbnarn as soon us you can. I shall leave my house now, ami not return until she has quitted it.” Beatrix rose from her mother's side, and stood before him with dashing eyes. “You are cruel,” she cried, angrily—“cruel and unmanly. I do not care what you do to me, but is it worthy of a man to punish a weak, delicate woman for the fault of her child? You strike nt me through her, nnd I say it is cowardly, unworthy of you. The meanest foes meet face to sac strike at me through one whom I hold most dear.” He never looked at her, never answered her; the girl’s slender figure trembled with agitation. “I have no respect for you,” she said, proudly. “I did not think that you could have done such a thing. I would not be your heiress now if I could. You are a trader, and no gentleman. You will not be kept out of your house long. I shall go to Lady Raynor's now—at once; my dear mother will go with me; and we can travel to Btrathnarn when she is well enough.” She made him a low bow and swept from the room, leaving him behind her. “Do not cry, Alisa," Peter Lennox said more gently; “you shall want for nothing. But we must bring that girl to her senses. A few weeks at Strnthnarn will quickly put an end to all this false heroism of hers, and everything will come right again. Having made the threat, I must follow it up.” “I wish that I lay safe by Charlie’s side!" sobbed the helpless lady; nnd her grim, stern brother-in-law liked her better for her weakness and dependence on him. (To be continued.)