Democratic Sentinel, Volume 21, Number 41, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 8 October 1897 — AT LOVES COMMAND [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

AT LOVES COMMAND

BY CHARLOTTE M. BRAEME.

CHAPTER XXIV. A week had passed since Lady Ailsa and he. daughter had reached Strathnarn. It was all just as they had left it. Faithful old Margaret reigned over the Grange. Her wonder was great at seeing them return, although she had been prepared for It; and it had all come about, she discovered, because her young lady would not marry a duke, a great nobleman, who was “dying” for her. To think that, after the rich uncle had come all that way, after |7f4.mising to leave all his money to Miss Lennox, he should send them hack again! It was just the way of the world. Beatrix wrote to her lover and told him what had happened. “I regret it,” she said, “only for my mother’s sake. As for myself, lum pleased, as it proves two things—one is the depth of my love for you, the other that you value me and not my fortune. You must not picture me to yourself as pining away here in exile, but as being happy in my thoughts of you.” Yet mother and daughter did pine in the solitude of Strathnarn. Peter Lennox had purposely refrained from offering his sister-in-law any money at present. The few pounds that she had were expended in traveling expenses, and in purchasing a few indispensable nrticles. The millionaire was resolved that his relatives should again know what living on one hundred pounds per annum meant. Beatrix had no cause to complain of a dearth of letters. She had plenty; but they were'\all of one kind —reproaching, upbraiding, wondering. No one approved except Lady Rayner. The duchess professed to be too angry to write. “It was wicked,” she said, “to throw away such a fortune. For my own part, I must beg to express my most decided diaspproval.” Mrs. Carden wrote also, but her letter was simply satirical. No one vouchsafed a kind word except Lady Rayner. There was a great sensation in London amongst the friends who had loved the brilliant young heiress —indeed, fdr many days she formed almost the only topic of conversation. The millionaire had quarreled with his niece, and had destroyed his will, had refused to speak to her again, and she had gone back to the solitude from which he had taken her. Many were very sorry for her, for many had admired the frnnk, honest candor with which she had always spoken; many men who had admired her greatly began to hope that there might be a chance of winning her, now that she was no longer a great heiress. Many admirers thought to themselves that they would follow her to Strathnarn. Beltran Carew had hastened with the news to his mother. ’ She listened in wonder. “Beltran,” she said, “knowing the world as I do, I atn surprised at your good fortune. You are indeed a most lucky young man.” “That I nm in winning my beautiful Beatrix,” he acknowledged, “but surely not in helping to ruin all her worldly prospects," he said. “She has lost her fortune through me.” "But what love, what disinterestedness! How dearly she must love you, Beltran! .1 have never met with such love. Such a fortune to surrender! Mr. Lennox is a millionaire, is he not?” “Yes; but what cruelty to punish my darling for loving me! What a man!” Mrs. Carew sighed deeply, and then she looked earnestly at her son. “Beltran,” she asked, “do you think that Mr. Lennox will persist in disinheriting his niece because she lbves you?” “Yes,” he replied, “I am quite sure that he will. Beatrix herself is firm, but her firmness pales before his.” “I call it obstinacy,” cried Mrs. Carew, Impatiently. “I would not paint that man’s portrait for a -thousand guineas, Beltran.” “Yet he has a fine face,” said Beltran, thoughtfully. “And a fine heart! Do not tnlk about him, my dear; his conduct incenses me. Beltran, you must go to Strathnarn and bring Miss Lennox back. She must come here and live with me, and her mother, too. I have room for both.” “You are all that is kind, mother," he said; “but Miss Lennox, as you call her, is proud; she would be very grateful to you, I nm quite sure, but she would not come. She will live at Strathnarn until I have a home ready for her.” “What is Mr. Lennox’s objection to you, Beltran?” she asked, holding her head very high, and speaking in a tone that her son well understood. “He has many objections, mother. He says, what is true, that I have no money; also that I have no pedigree. I have never heard you speak of my father’s or my, grandfather’s.” Her face clouded with somewhat of a sullen expression. “I did not love your father, Beltran,” she said, with a little impatient tap of her foot. “That was his loss, mother,” returned her son.

“It was his own fault,” she said, gravely. “I will not talk about him; but your pedigree is quite as good as that of the 6irl whom you love, Beltran. You can tell Mr. Lennox that! Do you think that Miss Lennox will persevere in her sacrifice?” “I do, mother,” he replied. “We will wait a few weeks and see if she does,” said Mrs. Carew. “I repeat that you will be one of the most fortunate men in the world.” Peter Lennox, feeling most wretched and miserable, had gone back to Erceldean. His first proceeding was to send for Mr. Gunter, of the well-known firm of Gunter & Smith—his solicitors—and the two gentlemen had a long and troubled interview. They were seated in the dining room, where an excellent dinner had just been served to them. Some of Mr. Lennox’s fine old Madeira was on the table, some of his choice fruit filled the costly dishes —peaches, apricots, grapes, all freshly gathered; but the Madeira remained untasted in the host’s glass—his heart was heavy and ill at ease. “I want you to tell me, Mr. Gunter,” he said, “what I am to do with all my money. I need not have passed my life in accumulating it. What am Ito do with it?” “Is al) hope of reconciliation with your niece ended?” asked the lawyer, earnestly. .

“Yes, yes! Do not mention her. It is all ended, more completely than if I were a pauper, or dead. What nm Ito do with Erceldean —with my money?” “Advertise for the next of kin,” suggested Mr. Gunter. “There would arise a host of false claimnuts, a hundred lawsuits would follow, and both fortune and estate would probably remain in chancery for an unlimited time. That will not do. Think ugain, Gunter.” “There is only one other course open. You must marry, Mr. Lennox—marry, and with the blessing of heaven, you may have heirs of your own.” Peter Lennox looked at him, "It is strange that you should suggest that,” he said. "I was thinking of the very same thing this morning. I do not imagine that there would be any great difficulty. True, I am not young, but then there are not many women in the world like my niece, Beatrix—not many who would refuse to shure a fortune like mine.” “Cortainly not, Mr. Lennox. The ladies, sir, of this generation, to use a common expression, are peculiarly wideawake; you need have no fear of a refusal.” “It is not that,” said Peter Lennox. “I must tell you n story, Gunter—the story of a boy’s mad passion. 1 never thought that I should tell it, but if I have to take this important step, I must have advice. Listen—l nm afraid that I shall surprise you.” And, drawing his chair nearer to that of the lawyer, Mr. Lennox narrated a long story to him. The lawyer’s face was a picture of dismay and surprise. “That is an aykward matter for you, sir,” he said; “it must be cleared up.” “Yes, it should be cleared up; but how is it to be done?” “Send a detective to America at once,” said Mr. Gunter; “lose no time. Pardon me, Mr. Lennox, but really, sir, with this hanging over you, you have been, to say the least, terribly indiscreet.” “There is nothing hanging over me,” rejoined the millionaire, angrily. The lawyer whispered something to him which mnde the stern face flush purple. “Nonsense," he cried—“nonsense! Of course, if that had been the case, I should have heard something of it.” “I do not see how you could have heard about it; if all that you tell me is true, you would have been the last in the world to hear of It. It is a most serious matter, Mr. Lennox. I did not think it was in human nature to. take such things so quietly. It might have been a serious matter for Miss Lennox.” “Do not refer to that young lady, if you please, Ounter.” “You had better give me all details, all particulars, nud let me send off a detective at once. I know one thnt is very shrewd in matters of this kind; if there be ever so slight a trace, he will follow it up and make something out of it. Do you authorize me to send him, Mr. Lennox?" “Yes, it must be done, I suppose. I have really never thought of the matter in that way; nor do I think there is the least need for such precautions. Still, Erceldean is a large estate, and my wealth is great—it is better to be quite sure.”

The interview ended then, but it was noticed that for the remainder of that day Mr. Gunter's face wore an expression of great wonder and astonishment. “I ought to know human nature,” he said to himself over and over again, “but it is a certain fact that I do not.” A dreadful fit of unrest seized upon Peter Lennox; he could not find repose anywhere. The lawyer’s suggestion was always in his mind—if what he had hinted should prove true, then might heaven help him! But it was lyWhen the Duke of Ileathland returned to England he went at once to Strathnarn. His anger against the millionaire was great. He remained at the old Grange for two or three days; but he said no word of love to Beatrix. He sympathized with her; he told her that she wus doing right; and he entered with the greatest of kindness into all her plans for the future. He spoke most kindly of Beltran Carew and of his prospects. He told Beatrix that he should lose no chance of pushing his fortunes—of doing all that lay in his power for him—and it seemed to Lady Ailsa that the great peer admired her beautiful daughter more in the midst of her poverty and privations than he had done when she was queen of the most brilliant circles in London. There was many a strange scene between the duke and the millionaire. His grace went to Breeldenn and tried to remonstrate with him, but Peter Lennox would not listen. He would not admit that he had done wrong. His niece had of her own accord voluntarily defied him and refused to submit to him, therefore all was at an end between them. “She will accept nothing from me,” said his grace, despondently—“nothing. Lady Ailsa will not even honor me by allowing me to lend her some money." Peter Lennox’s stern face did not soften as he listened. He would not yield an inch now. He believed that no one in the wide world had ever been so hardly used, so badly treated.

CHAPTER XXV. One day when the world lay white and cold in its snow covering, a letter came from America for Peter I^onnox—a letter that seemed to drive him almost mad. As he read it, the sternness of his face seemed to break up and die away in a gleam of light—wonder, surprise, joy, incredulity, one after the other appeared to possess him. “I cannot believe it,” he cried; “I cannot credit it. Dear heaven! if the lost yearn could but be given back to sre—if I could but have my life over again!” He read and re-read the letter, and then he laid it down on the table and clasped his hnnds—his dim eyes filled with tears, his lips quivered. ' “It is so late, so late,” he sobbed; “but ,1 thank heaven for it, living or dead!” He could not calm himself. He went out into the frost-bound woods, still carrying the letter with him, and re-read il. He returned home again and sat by th; fire in his library, and then read the lette r once more. And when he went to rest at night he turned up the lamp that he migb t •ee to read the missive again.

He had eeemed strange and half bewildered before, be was still stranger now. The servants in the house declared that he did not know what he was <V>ihg. He had answered the letter at once; and before long another came, but he rose from the perusal of that with a blank, white face, for it said that the trace of that which he was seeking was quite lost after a certain date, and the detective sent out to make inquiries did not think it was worth while remaining any lunger. As he read that, Peter Lennox's face suddenly seemed to grow older, a gray, haggard look came into it, and he knelt down and buried it in his hands. “I am a miserable sinner,” he said, “and my sin has found me out. 1 am justly punished.” After that he grew despondent. He sent for his lawyer, and they had long conferences together; but nothing came of them, and Peter Lennox grew more miserable every day. In the meantime Beltran Carew had won a great lawsuit, and his name was everywhere mentioned with honor and respect; his fame was established. A few months more of patient waiting, he wrote to Beatrix, and he should be able to provide the that he had longed for —only a few more months. Beatrix rend the letter to her mother, whose pale face brightened as she listeued. “I am very pleased for your sake, Trixie,” she said. “It seemed cruel to think that with ull your beauty and grace the best years of your life should be spent in the solitude of Strnthnarn.” (To bo continued.)