Democratic Sentinel, Volume 21, Number 42, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 15 October 1897 — AT LOVES COMMAND [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

AT LOVES COMMAND

BY CHARLOTTE M. BRAEME.

CHAPTER XXV. —(Continued.) Christmas and the opening of the new year passed. February came in mild and bright, bringing with it an odor of .sweet violets and a gleam of snowdrops; but its beauty was all lost upon Peter Lennox. He must have suffered greatly, for he had grown thin and pale. lie was not like the man who during the year preceding had been the proud head of one of the finest establishments in London. Mrs. Carew had been away during the winter months. She had returned in the spring, for which season she had a peculiar liking. But Mrs. Carew did not seem to enjoy the season ns she usunlly did. There were whole days when she paced up and down the garden paths, thinking deeply, ns one who had a problem to solve. She has lost somewhat of her bright expression. It was plain that there was n struggle going on in her mind. “I used to think,” sLv said to herself one morning, “that human life was a jest. It seems to me that in what has passed of mine I have had the roses, and now must prepare for the thorns.” Her son Beltran came down to spend his Sunday with her. The bright, graceful artist, the changeful, lovable, vivacious woman, the sensitive, gifted genius, loved her sou bettor than the whole world. She was proud of him. She glories in his bright, strong manhood. She gloried in his talents and his goodness. He looked pale and wan. He had the air of one who had worked hard not only during the day, but far into the night, when he should have slept.. His mother taxed him with it, and he told the truth. For some time lie had worked nearly twenty hours out of twenty-four. “Why not pay for assistance, and save yourself?” his mother nsked. “Because I want every shilling, mother, that I can earn,” he replied. "I have not one to spare.” Her bright, changeful face clouded. “Why do you want money so, Beltran?” she asked.

“To marry, mother,” he answered. “J want a pretty home for my darling. She does not hurry me about it—Bhe would be willing to wait foi years; but I am anxious nbont her.” “Why?” she usked again. “Do you doubt her?” “Doubt her, my dearest mother?” he cried. “I would just as soon doubt heaven! There are few so loyal or true as she. It is not that; but Lady Ailsn is not strong, you know, and Beajrix tells me how she suffers at Strathnnrn. I want to fetch them both away, and I cannot until I have a home for them.” “Does that cross, stern old man still hold out, then?” asked Mrs. Carew. “Does he show no signs of relenting?” “No, and never will. We do not speak about him. His money and his lands are forgotten. We never think of him when we make our plans. Only one thing troubles us, mother. Beatrix haß shown such truth and fidelity; for love of me she has declined to be Duchess of Henthland; for love of me she has lost one of the largest fortunes in England. No man living cares less for money than I do; but I wish —how I wish! —that I had a fortune for jer sake. Work as I will, it must be nauy years before my income will be more than moderate. Oh, mother, if I Bad but a reasonable rent roll, I should be the happiest man in the world!” “But you tell me always that Beatrix does not care for wealth,” observed Mrs. Carew. “Nor does she, mother. At the same time I wish with all my heart that I had it to give her. Of course it can never be, but I should have liked to go to her and say: ‘You gave up everything for me, my darling, now it is in my power to re pay you.’ ” “Would that make you very happy?' she asked, musingly. “Yes, very happy,” he replied. “I will think the matter over, Beltran.” “What good will thinking do, mother?” he asked. “Rather forget it and do not mind my troubles.” “You would really be the happiest man in the world if you had wealth, Beltran?” she interrupted. “Yes, I should indeed. But, mother, do not think that I am complaining. The man who makes a fortune is greater than the man who inherits one. I must work hard, study hard, and save my money.” She looked at him wistfully. “You must not work by night and day,” she said, “that will not do. Beltran, if I could give you wealth and did not, you would consider me very cruel, I suppose?” “I should indeed,” he laughed. “But, ns that is not the ease, I consider you very kind.” And Mrs. Carew turned away when she heard the words.

CHAPTER XXVI. Mrs. Carew had many long fits of musing after that conversation. She saw that her soil loved his beautiful fiancee so dearly that he would wear his life away in trying to surround her with luxuries. She thought of it by day and by night. Her work was at a standstill; her whole time was spent in thinking. The result was a note addressed to her son. It ran: “My Dear Beltran— i must go to Strathnarn; and it will save trouble if you will go with me. Make arrangements for the journey, and let me see you this evening.” The astonishment of Beltran Carew when he read his mother’s note was equaled only by his surprise at what he heard when he reached Strathnarn. He went at once to his mother, and his first question was: “Why are you going to Strathnarn, mother? What can you possibly want there?” “My dear Beltran, I have a story to tell; and, as I do not care to tell it twice over, you shall hear it there." Nor could he win one word more from her. They started the next day, and during the whole journey he thought his mother strangely unlike herself. She laughed and cried. She was in the wildest of spirits, and then was filled with sudden gloom. In the same breath she described herself as happy and miserable. They reached Strathnarn in the dull twilight of a dull spring day. Mrs, Carew looked around with sympathizing eyes. “How terribly dull it is-here!” she said. “Is it possible that Miss Lennox has been

shut up in this place? Why, Beltran, it is a ruin, not a house.” Margaret Muepherson opened the door, and looked up in surprise on seeing Mr. Carew and a lady. “Right glad I am to see you. sir,” sab 1 the old servant, “for the ladies are but dull; they do not expect you, though, and Lady Lennox is ailing. I will fetch Miss Lennox, for my lady must not be taken by surprise.” “That will bo best,” remarked Mrs. Carew; and in another moment Beatrix, looking lovelier than ever, stood before them. She utteied no cry, but her face grew deadly pale when she saw Beltran and his mother. He kissed the pale fare until the color returned in a burning flush; and then Mrs. Carew kissed her. Beatrix looked from one to the other. “There is nothing wrong, I know,” she said, "or you would not laugh; but why come to this miserable place, where no one can be properly received ?” “We are here,” replied Mrs. Carew, “because I have a story to tell you.” “A story?” repeated Beatrix, wonderingly. “Yes, a story—one that you do not dream „of or suspect—a story that concerns both you and Beltran, though it is but another record of tbe instability of women and the stupidity of men.” “Beltran is not stupid,” laughed Beatrix; “you may say whut von like about other men, but you must make him the exception.” “Of course,” said Mrs. Carew. “And now, Beatrix, if your mother is weak and unwell, will you prepare her to see us? We shall not remain long; so do not distress yourself by thinking of our entertainment. I have ordered the carriage to return in three hours; then we depart.” There was an air of natural command about Mrs. Carew which no one ever thought of resisting. Beatrix went to prepare her mother to receive their visitors. Lady Aiisa clung to her’ daughter’s Land. "Is there anything wrong. Trixie?” she asked. “It seems so strange, my dear. Can your uncle be ill, do you think?” "I do not think so, mamma. I feel that there is some good fortune in store for us. Mrs. Carew looked as though there was.” Then Mrs. Carew entered the room. She went up briskly to Lady Aiisa and kissed her ns she lay on the couch.

CHAPTER XXVII. “Do not disturb yourself, dear Lady Aiisa,” said Mrs. Carew. “I am come only to recite a short history to you, and when I have done so, I shall go away. Pray do not move. . I will sit here by yonr side. Beltran, my dear, I should feel easier if your hnnd were in mine.” He went at once to his mother’s side and took her hand; then, while all three looked at her in silence, her face changed slightly, the color varied. She looked half shyly, half boldly at them as she began: “I was never quite like other women, dear Lady Aiisa; I lacked their prudence and their calculating wisdom. I have greater failings, but I think, also greater virtues aud greater genius. If you look upon me as you would upon other women —you will never-understuml me, und there will be u terrible misconception. My name —you see I am beginning nt the beginning—was Grace, Curew,” and Beatrix, looking at her lovCr, wondered wiiy his face flushed and his lips quivered with sharpest pain. Lady Aiisa raised her head and listened with a gieat show of attention. Mrs. Carew smiled, aud nodded at her son. “I know whut you' are thinking of, Beltran,” she said. “You must listen patiently. My fnther was not an artist,” she continued, “nor can I tell you whence I have my love of color; my passion for art certainly came not from him. He was a doctor, but a ne’er-do-well. I cannot remember that he ever remained in one town or city more than two years. He was very clever—wonderfully clever—but he was anything but steady. He would write a treatise that would set the faculty at loggerheads, and then foolishly spend the proceeds. You must understand that this erratic life of his did not in the least interfere with my education. I was kept in a fashionable school in New York until I reached my sixteenth year, and then my father sent me a letter asking me if I would like to go to Peru with him. We went to Peru together, and there I met my fate. “I wish for my own sake,” continued Mrs. Carew, “that I had a picturesque love story to tell you. Unfortunately, mine was a most commonplace wooing. We did hot take a home at Lima—the city in Peru where my father hoped to do so well—but we lived nt a large hotel there; and there also lived an Englishman, a young man, stern and cold, but reputed to be rich. At that time I was yery enthusiastic about art. I began to evince a decided talent for sketching faces. My father was delighted about it, and said that if I could have lessons from a good master I should make plenty of money afterward. He had no money to pay the master, but-the stern, silent young Englishman offered it to him as a loanonly as a loan—to be repaid when I had finished m/ course of lessons. “I do not want to trouble you with a lot of details; but my father was pleased that I should be able to earn money. He was grateful to the young Englishman and nsked him to dine with us; and when the first leserve was broken down my father and his young benefactor became great friends. His character had a wonderful charm for the young Englishman. After a time he was quite nt home with us; he liked to spend his evenings in our rooms; he talked a great deal to me, and I was so young, so blithe of spirit, so happy in my art that I talked gayly enough to him. “I never thought seriously about him, but suddenly he asked me to marry him. I was utterly indifferent. My only answer to him was that I had no time to think of getting married. He must have gone to my father at once, for presently he sent for me and said that he had been informed of the offer made to me, and that he thought I should do well to accept it.” Mrs. Carew paused for a few minutes, and an expression of sadness came over the bright, changing face. “I make no excuses for myself,” she

continued. “I was not persuaded or threatened. My father treated the whole matter half at a jest, half as a business agreement of a most satisfactory nature. We settled between us that I should marry the young.;Englishman. I made but one.stipulation, and*hat was that after my marriage I should still be allowed to pursue nay art education. The grave young Englishman f agreed, and then it was supposed that all difficulty was removed. The Englishman took a handsome house in Lima. “Listen, Lady Aiisa— you who feel so tenderly for yonr daughter. I was juat seventeen, without the least notion of what I was’undertaking, when I married. I was ignorant of the sentimental as of the practical side of the matter; aud I never seemed to realize my obligations until I found myself a wife, without knowing what the duties of a wife were. I have never been constant to one set of opinions for many days. With a true, tender, constant love I have never loved but one object; and that is my son Beltran. So, Lady Aiisa, I married; and the name of the Englishman I married was Peter Lennox!” Had a thunderbolt fallen in their midst there could not have been a greater expression of suiprise. Lady Aiisa repeated the name. Beatrix erieil aloud: “Are you ‘the mystery' that has shadowed all my life?” Then Beltran rose suddenly, nt.J with a white, startled face confronted his mother. “Lennox!” he repeated, with an air of incredulity. “Oh, mother, is this a jest?” “My dear Beltran,” she replied, calmly, “all things considered, I wish that it were a jest—perhaps not for your sake, but for my own. 1 do most certainly. Unfortunately, what I have said is true.” “My Uncle Lennox your husbnnd?” cried Beatrix. “Is it possible that the story can be anything but fiction?” “It is no fiction,” replied Mrs. Carew, “thougft for the present I must ask you to call me by the name I have assumed. But you have not heard all my story yet. We were married —I one of the most indifferent, most heedless, most careless of girls, lie one of the grimmest, sternest of men. I must speak truthfully of him. He had a most passionate love for me. It could not have been greater—indeed it would have been much better had it been less. lie loved me with a wonderful love, all the more that I was so profoundly indifferent. I cannot blame myself. He ought to have had more sense than to marry me.” "I cannot believe such a recital,” cried Beatrix- c -“it is too wonderful to be true." (To be continued.)