Democratic Sentinel, Volume 21, Number 48, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 3 December 1897 — A WOMEN HEART [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

A WOMEN HEART

BY FLORENCE MARYATT

CHAPTER XII. Lambseote was looking its very best when the newly married couple returned to England to take possession of it the following October. And Sir Wilfrid felt as if the world were at his feet, as he watched the enthusiasm with which his beautiful wife was hailed as mistress of the Hall, and the courteous ease with which she received her new acquaintances and their congratulations. Lady Otto St. Blase was waiting to receive her daughter at Lambseote Hall. Sir Wilfrid would rather it had not been so, but there is no forbidding the entry of oue's house to the mother of au only child. And since her daughter had been irrevocably taken off her hauds, and all her designs for her and anxieties respecting her were at an end, Lady Otto had i become pertinaciously affectionate. There never had been so filial a child as before—there never had been so devoted a mother as herself —there never had been two people with so completely one mind, one thought, and one wish, as she and her precious girl. The loss she had sustained in Lena’s marriage was of course irremediable, and she would not have foregone the happiness of welcoming her back to England for all the world. Rose soon afterwards arrived, brimful of chatter and overrunning with happiness at finding herself at the Hall. “Wilfrid,” she exclaimed one morning at breakfast, “who do you think I saw the day after your wedding?” “My dear child, it is impossible to guess! The Dean of Huwbugdom, perhaps." “The dean—rubbish! What do you care for the dean? No; it was Jane Warner. Mamma and 1 were at Waterloo House shopping, and she passed the door. I saw her, and called her back,” continued Rosie, “and told her you were married, and she had never beard it, Wilfrid; and she looked so uncomfortable, poor dear! I am sure she was disappointed because you never asked her to the wedding. Did you send her any wedding cake?” “I don’t know anything about it,” replied her brother confusedly. “Who ia Jane Warner?” demanded Lena. “Oh, such a nice girl—the daughter of the people Wilfrid lodged with at Chelaea.” “A lodging house keeper’s daughter!” exclaimed Lady Otto. “My dear Rose, you should not associate with such per' ■one. They aTe not fit society for you.” “You are quite right, Lady Otto, and 1 have told my sister so before,” said Sir Wilfrid in a tone of annoyance. Rosie looked up in amazement. “But, WiKrid, you took me there to sleep. And they were such good friends to you, and showed you so much attention for bo many years. Surely there can be no harm in my speaking to Miss Warner when we meet.” “No, no; of course not; only you are uot likely to meet again,” replied Wilfrid irrelevantly; "and, as, Lady Otto tells you, people in that station of life are not fit for you to associate with.” But Lady Ewell was not inclined to let thia one drop. She was very cunning and keen witted, when it served her purpose to be so, and Sir Wilfrid’s discomfiture had tjeea too palpable to pass unobserved. “I wonder why he ia angry?” said Rosie, innocently; “he used to seem so fond of the Warners. He was always praising them, and saying how kind they •were to him. And he lived there four years, you know, and Jane cooked and did everything tor him all that time. Poor Jane! She did look so sad. I think Wll•jjd ought to have sent her a present when ie was married.” “Perhaps he did,” remarked Lady Ewell. Lady Ewell and Lady Otto -St. Blase were not mystified upon the subject. They talked it over together, and came to the conclusion that most women of the world would have done. Lady Otto laughed at the contretemps brought about by the sister’s innocence and the brother’s indiscretion; and Lady Ewell laughed, too, as at an excellent jest, though ahe stored the supposed discovery up for future use all the same. And a few day* after, when Sir Wilfrid, in commenting on the fact that Captain Dor say had accepted his invitation to Lambseote, remarked peevishly that he would like to be sure of the fellow’s meaning in coming to stay with them, his wife turned round and answered quietly: "Yes, and I should like to be sure of your meaning in refusing to let your sister discuss the sayings and doings of Jane Warner.” From which moment Sir Wilfrid Ewell never again objected to any visitors whom his wife, or hia wife’s mother, thought fit to ask to Ljambscote.

CHAPTER XIII. Captain Dorsay, after a fortnight of shooting, fishing and flirting, was preparing to return whence he came. But not before Sir Wilfrid overheard his wife earnestly entreating him to visit them again at Christmas. “You know you have nothing else to do, Jack, and we shall be as dull as ditchwater down here without you.” “You are very kind, Lady Ewell, and nothing would afford me greater pleasure, only, you see, I am already pledged to spend Christmas at Castle Blase, and I am afraid the duke would be offended if I disappointed him.” “I know grandpapa numbers you amongst his best friends, but you owe something to mamma and me as well.” “I owe more than I can ever repay,” replied Captain Dorsay, bowing. “But I thought we were to spend Christmas with Lord Martyrdom* Leiia,” said Sir Wilfrid, joining In the conversation. “I told you that my grandmother wished it,” Lady Ewell answered, pettishly; “but as you declared it was impossible we could leave your sister at Lambseote I naturally considered the idea was at an end. Only fancy, Jack,” she continued, turning her back upon her husband, “Sir Wilfrid actually proposed our taking that child to Castle Blase. As if grandpapa would ever have consented to it. You know what he is. He detests children and animals, and anything that makes a noise. And I’m Rure I don’t wonder at it. I detest them myself.” Captain Dorsay—who had looked upon Rosie Ewell as anything but a child during his stay at Lambseote —had gallantry sufficient to say a word in her defense, notwithstanding it was his hostess he spoke to. “But, my dear Lady Ewell, Lord Martyrdom could scarcely call Miss Ewell a child. Old age has certainly made him marvelously indifferent to tke beauties of nature, by which he is surrounded; but he would be insensible indeed if be could shut his eyes to the budding atoms of your aister-in-law.”

Captain Dorsay made this speech in order to conciliate Sir Wilfrid Ewell. He saw that the youug man was hurt by the careless n-aimer in which his wife was speaking, aud he knew that on the feeling of the baronet toward him depended his future invitations, to the Hall. At that moment Rosie, attired in her hat and riding habit, appeared in the doorway. Glowing with health, with the figure of a woodland nymph, and the pure blood of youth mantling in her face, she looked very attractive, and Captain Dorsay’s eyes, as they fell upon her, seemed to day so. “Oh, Wilfrid!” she exclaimed, with an air of disappointment, “have you forgotten that you promised to ride with me?” “My dear Rosie, I am very sorry, but I must plead guilty. I had quite forgotten it. Aud what is worse, 1 have made another engagement. I am going to drive Lena over to Maple Grove.” “May I offer myself ns Mias Ewell’s escort?” interposed Captain Dorsay. “It is my last day at Lambseote, but I have never had the pleasure of riding with her yet. Will you trust her with me, Sir Wilfrid ? 1 will take the utmost care of her. You may depend on me.” At this proposal the girl’s dark eyes beamed with expectation, and her checks glowed like a peony. She had already come to the conclusion that Captain Dorsay was quite the handsomest and finest man she had ever seen, aud now she thought him the kindest. She glanced at her brother timidly, to hear what his decision would be, and wa* delighted to see him shake Captain Dorsay by the hand. He led Rosie from the room, without another word to his hostess, and Lena felt considerably offended. Indeed, so offended was ahe that Sir Wilfrid had the pleasure of a drive with her in perfect silence, and when Captain Dorsay met her again she treated him La exactly the same manner. But he was not so easily daunted as the baronet. He had arrived .at that stage of indifference when he did uot much care if Lady Ewell spoke to him or not, and the next morning he took his departure from the Hall. But Lena did not like Rosie any the better for having been the cause of thia misunderstanding between herself aud her old friend. She adopted the habit, when they were alone together, of introducing Captain Dorsay’s name at all sorts of unexpected moments, and watching the girl’s face narrowly to see how she took it: Aud if Rosie started, or Unshed, ns she wus apt to do, or appeared unusually interested, Lady Ewell would launch out into such abuse of the absent os would have astonished any one who knew thut she called him her friend. Captain Dorsay saw through l/enn’s meaning at once. His miud, used to all sorts of artifices, deciphered at a glance the puzzle which was Greek in Rosie's unsophisticated eyes, and he registered a vow of vengeance against Lady Ewell for her interference iii his affairs. “Hang it all!” he thought. “I can forgive one woman for being jealous of another, but I can’t put up quietly with her villifylag my character in order to gain her own way.” But to Rosie Ewell he only said: “And do you really feel sufficient interest in so unworthy a creature as myself, as to care what becomes of me or where I go?” “Oh, Captain Dorsay, how can yon ask such a question? Of course I do! Is it not my duty? Ought we not to care for all our fellow creatures the saute as for ourselves ?” A laborer was passing at the time, laden with hod and pickax, ou his way to his evening meal. “Then, I suppose, you care as much about that fellow’s mode of life as you do for mine? Why don’t you ask him how hexpends his evenings, or if he ever says his prayers, or thinks of all the good things >ou huve been talking about?” Rosie's eyes were full of tears. “Ye*, I suppose I do,” she faltered, “or J ought." “Only you don’t,” interposed Captain Dorsay, laughing, and taking her hands in his. “Now, I wonder what I’ve done to be so fortunate as to create an interest in you.” She' did not answer, and he drew her closer to him. “I think it must be, though it sounds conceited to say so, because you have begun to cure just a little bit for me, as I do for you.” “Do you care for me?” she naked, with a sudden light in her dark eye#. “Indeed I do! Who could help caring for you, or admiring you, or—or loving you, Rosie?” “Oh, Captain Doraay! but I om m young.” “That is a fault on the right side in your sex, my dear, and one that 1 will never blame you for. But we must any nothing of this to anybody—not just yet” “Oh, no, no! I couldn’t bear it.” “Not even to Sir Wilfrid or Lady Ewell. It shall be our own sweet little secret—eh, Rosie? and we will keep it all to ourselves. And some day, when you have taught me to be good, perhaps ” “You want no teaching, you are good,” she interposed eagerly. “Well,- then, let me Bay, when we know each other better, and are quite sure of our own minds, we will take your brother into our confidence. And till then we will tell no one that we love, except each other, Rosie.” “I never-never shall want to tell it to any one but you,” she answered. But between such a man and such a girl it was a dangerous secret to keep. CHAPTER XIV. One day Rosie hod met Captain Dorsay, by prearrangement, in the park, when they were startled by hearing an approaching footstep, and a moment later ■Lady Ewell stood before them. Anger was flashing in her eye* and mantling on her cheeks, but, taking no heed of Captain Dorsay, she walked straight up to Rosie Ewell's side. “You wretched girl!” she exclaimed. “I guessed how it was. You must come home at once with me to your brother.” “Gently—gently! Lady Ewell, if you please. You are going a little too far,” he said. “I do not think that even Sir Wilfrid would find fanlt with my accompanying his sister iff her afternoon walk.” “Do you suppose I didn’t see you?” she retorted, sharply, “with your arms round her waist, and kissing her as openly as if she had been your wife? Don’t attempt to deceive me. Jack. I have suspected how things were going on between you for some time past, and was determined to see for myself. And you shall not disgrace the family by making a fool of this girl for your own amusement, nnd I tell you so, once and forever. It is lucky I have discovered your tricks before they had gone too far.” “How dare you speak of such s thing in

—with J„ with her face au. i marry me some da> .tack?—when he has more m ►' “Going to marry you!” repeated Lena, with withering scorn. "A likely story. As if Captain Dorsay would, or could, ever marry anybody. Ho knows well enough that there is a barrier that must ever prevent ” “Lady Ewell,” excjaimed Dorsay hastily, “1 must entreat you to hold your tongue. That story was told you in the strictest confidence—it is Uuowu to scarcely any ether —and if you repeat it now you will be guilty of breaking your own most sacred word." “I will be silent on only one condition — that you tell this girl before me that there is an insuperable obstacle to your marrying her .(or any woman), nnd that you never could have entertained the idea of marriage while making love to her." “Miss Eweil knows it,” he replied uneasily; “I have told her plainly, I repeated it only to-duy —that 1 cannot marry—that it is impossible. She has been perfectly aware of the fact from the beginning.” “And yet you could go on meeting him, and kissing him,” said to ltosie. “l'ou are a paragon of virtue, upon my word!” Rosie, for her part, was leaning up against a trie, white and breuthlees with surprise. “Not now, Jack,” she gasped; “I knew you could not marry me just now. But by and by, surely, you have said again and again—indeed, I had no doubt but that you would marry' me by and by." “I must beg, Miss Ewell," interposed Lena, with virtuous severity, “that you will not call this gentleman by his Christian name in my presence. What has happened behind my hack, I thank heaven 1 neither know nor care; but while I am by, I request you will remember that I belong to the same family as yourself.” “Rosie, I entreat you, leave us!” he ejaculated; “go back to the bouse. This is no scene, no knowledge for you.” “No, no! I will stay, and 1 will know all,” she answered. “I mean you to know all,” said Lena, “all that man’s treachery and falsehood, lie lias been my lover for years, he professes to be my lover still; and, if it had not been that he cannot murry me, I never should have married your brother. But no other woman shall have him, while I stand by to prevent it. He shall not deceive another girl as he did me. You are mine, Jack,” she continued fiercely, “mine by virtue of thnt secret, und \vUt\u you desert me the world shall know it as plainly as I do.” “What is this six-ret?*’ demanded Rosie, in a faint voice. "Captain Dorsay, do tell me. Let me know the worst ut once.” "I cannot deny that I t.i.ve been fortunate enough to enjoy much of laidy Ewell's favor before she was laidy Ewell,” replied Captain Dorsay; “but naturally that is all over now.” “You know better. It is not over. You told me only lust night that it would never be,” interposed Leua. “You will not ullow me to say a word for myself,” he said, turning away. “It is enough. 1 don't want t.o hear any more,” sobbed ltosie; “1 have been very foolish, I dare say, and very eusily imposed upon; but you know, Captain Dorsay, that What she thinks Is not true." “1 am perfectly aware that no one but myself bus been to blame In tills matter,” he replied, “and 1 ask your pardon. Miss Ewell, for any unpleasantness to which It may have given rise.” lie raised his hat and turned away a* he spoke, feeling very shamefaced at being found out, and very revengeful toward the one who bud wrought this mischief between‘him and Rosie. And she, too, with one porting glance at him, commenced to retrace her steps in the opposite direction. Lonu, who did not know what revelations she might not, in the innocence of her heurt, immediately make to her brother, sprung after bcr. “You cannot go home alone iu this state, Rosie. la-L me go with you.” “No, no. 1 do not want anyone—you, least of all. Plenae leave me entirely to myself.” “But what are you going to do? You must not repeat what has occurred to Wilfrid. If you do, you will niuke irremediable mischief, and cover yourself with irremediable shame. A man views these things with a different eye from a woman. He will never believe but what you encouraged Captain Dorsay—ns indeed you must have done —before he would have dared to meet you alone in this way.” "Oh, Lena, pray spare me! I mean to tell no one. 1 only want to forget it all as soon as possible.” “Well, 1 dare say it would be better if you were to go to your mother’s for n time,” responded Lena, who wus not nt all averse to the idea of getting the girl out of the way; “and then, when Jack has gone, you know, you can come back again.” “I will never come back,” cried Rosie, passionately. “I never wish to come back. For I hate you, Lena; I would rather see him than I would see you, und remember the wicked, cruel things that you have said to-day.” (To be continued.)