Democratic Sentinel, Volume 22, Number 6, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 12 February 1898 — WOOED AND MARRIED [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

WOOED AND MARRIED

BY CHARLOTTE M BRAEME

CHAPTER X—(Continued.) That night no sleep, no revt came to her. She was thinking hour after hour what she was to do. The prospect before her frightened her. She saw no light in the dark clouds, no hope, no help—the years stretched out dark and dreary; and she wept the silent hours away. She felt half nervous on meeting her husband again; although there was no love, no affection between them, still it was not often that they had angry words. It was the close of the afternoon when he came in, and he went at once in search of her. “Mildred,” he said, “I have come to apologize to you—to beg your pardon for my want of civility yesterday. I am afraid that I lost my temper.” She bowed with cold politeness. “Now, liildred,” lie cried, “I will not be put off with a ceremonious how. Do you know that the fact of quarreling and making friends with you again makes me feel that we ought to he on the best of terms? Do not bow to me; say that you accept my apology?” “I accept it,” she replied, “and hog your pardon if I have displeased you.” “That is satisfactory. Now I have to tell you that you were right and that I was wrong. Captain Fane is a cheat and a rogue. I won a hundred pounds from him last evening. I have returned it today'—l would not soil my fingers with his money. What the duchess told you was quite true —he was detected cheating at cards. A long farewell to Captain Fane! He was not worth quarreling about —was he. Mildred?”

“No,” she replied; and something of happiness, to which she had long been a stranger, sprang up in her heart because he spoke so kindly to her. May was drawing to a close, when Lord Curaven one evening received a letter which appeared to give him the keenest delight. He read it, and then went with it to his wife. “Mildred, here is good news; but I am too hasty—perhaps you will not think it good news.” “If it pleases you so much, I shall,” she replied, gently. “You have heard me spetfk of my cousin, Sir Raoul Laurestou, the ‘hero of a hundred fights?’ ” “No,” replied Hildred. “I have never even hoard his name.” “Tljat seems strange,” said the earl. “Not at all,” she replied, quietly. “You forget that you have never spoken of your family to me at all. I do not know the name of a single relative that you have.” He looked incredulously at her. “I am very careless,” he said; “but I did not think that I was so bad as that. I will make amends now by telling you about Sir Raoul Laurestou.” “Raoul,” repeated Hildred. “Is he—no, he cannot be a Frenchman, Lord Caruven, if he is a relative of yours.” “No, but the name has puzzled many people. Ilis mother was a French lady of noble birth, and one of her ancestors, named Raoul de Courcelles, distinguished himself greatly in the French wars; it was her fancy to mane her boy after him.”

Hildred repeated the word “Raoul.” “I like the name. Lord Caraven,” she said, slowly. “And I like the man,” he told her. "I do not know any one in the world whom I like better- than Raoul. Yet he gives himself great airs with me. He is—you will laugh when you hear it —he is my master —at least used to be in years gone by. But what I wanted to tell you is this —ho is coming back to England, and he has always made his home at my house; he has never lived anywhere but at Halby House or Ravenswere —never —and I hope never will.” "I understand. But what has that to do with me?” “After all, you are the mistress of the house, the chatelaine, and I should not like to ask anyone to make their home with us who would be at all—now let me see how to express myself diplomatically —who would be displeasing to you.” “i thank you for your consideration,” she replied, with dignity; “but, as nothing could possibly make what you call ‘home’ more unhappy for me, and the coming of a stranger, who may prove a' friend, will be some little comfort, I say, unhesitatingly, ‘Yes.’ ” "Is it so bad as that?” he asked—and there was a shadow of pain on his face. “It is worse,” she replied. Only a few short weeks since her heart would have beaten fast with happiness to hear words spoken so kindly; now she turned away, and from her heart to her lips rose the unspoken prayer, “Heaven help me, for I am beginning to hate him!”

CHAPTER XI. The earl was at home expecting Sir Raoul. He was shown into the library, and there in a few moments he was found by his kinsman. They met with outstretched hands and warm words of greeting, but the earl looked sorrowfully into his kinsman’s face. “You have suffered very much, Raoul,” he said, quietly. “Yes. and never thought to see you again. You are changed, too, Ulric—l feel inclined to ask where is the sunny-faced boy whom I loved so dearly?” Lord Caraven laughed a little bitter laugh. “The truth is, Raoul, I have not turned out very well. I may have been a good boy, but I have scarcely made a good man.” “I hear wondrous news, Ulric—that you are married. Is it true?” The earl’s face darkened, as it generally did when any mention was made of his wife. “Yes,” he replied, gloomily, “I am married.” And your wife, I have been told, had a large fortune.” "That is true.” he said. “Have they told you nuything else?” “No. except that she was Miss Hildred Ransome, the great lawyer’s daughter.” “The great money lender and schemer’s daughter,” corrected the earl. “She will not be answerable for her father’s faults. What is she like, Ulric; this young wife of yours? I never had n sister, and my mother died when I was a boy. It will'be quite a novelty to me to claim kinship with a lady.” “All the novelties are noi agreeable ones,” was the moody reply. “The fact is. I feel quite certain that you will not like my wife, and it annoys me.” "Like her?” echoed Sir Raoul. “How strangely you speak! Certainly, I shall do more than like her, your wife and my

cousin. I tell you that the thought of seeing her is a positive pleasure to me.” M :th hasty steps Lord Caraven walked up and down the room. He seemed as though about to speak, but then stopped abruptly. He stood at last in front of his cousi'd. “Raoul,” he said. “I am not good at keeping a secret. The truth is, I do not like my wife.” “Not like her, Ulric! You are jesting, surely.” “I wish to heaven that I were! I know I am a prodigal, a spendthrift; but I think sometimes, now that I am a little older, that I might have heei; a better man had I been happily married.” “But, if you did not like her,” said Sir Raoul, with an air of utter astonishment, “why did you, marry her?” “That is the question. I think the answer is—because her father wished her to be a countess.” “Vi hat had his wish to do with you, L'lric?” “Some day I will tell you all,” he replied. “It is not a pleasant theme. But. with all my faults, I dislike deceit —and I would not have you thiuk that you are about to enter upon a scene of domestic felicity.” “Poor boy!” said Sir Raoul, pityingly; “we must hope for better things. Shall I see your wife to-night?” "No, I think not. Lady Caraven has gone to Covent Garden—a favorite opera? of hers is being played. She will not be home until late. You look very tired, Raoul—l should advise you to go to bed. We shall not remain many weeks in London. You will, of course, go to Ravensmore with us?”

“If you desire it; if you are kind enough to invite me, I shall be very pleased. I might have twenty places of my own, but none of them would seem so much like home ns Ravensiuere.” Sir Raoul retired to his room, slightly disappointed and disenchanted. He could not sleep. By-gone scenes in his own life rose up before him. It was long after midnight when he heard the roll of a carriage, and then the soft rustle of a silken dress as light footsteps passed his door. “That is the young countess,” he said to himself —“my new cousin.” The first sound that fell upon his ear in the morning was the Singing of a bird, and the next the falling spray of a fountain. He looked around. lie saW then what improvements had been made in Ilalhy House. A donservatory had been built out from the breakfast room, long and wide —a conservatory that was almost an aviary, so full was it of bright plumaged birds; a fountain stood in the midst, masses of brilliant bloom glowed upon the walls. “This was a welcome for the bride,” thought Sir Raoul. “How beautiful!” lie waited on until he saw a vision that suddenly struck him dumb. At the end of the conservatory was a large vinewreathed door, the green leaves formed a perfect screen, and against them stood a figure such as Sir Raoul had never seen before and never afterward forgot.—a tall, graceful, girlish figure—a figure that was all symmetry, with a slender, graceful neck, white as snow, lovely shoulders, round, white arms, draped in elegant morning dress. That it was the money lender’s daughter never for a moment entered his mind —that he saw before him his cousin’s wife never occurred to him. This beautiful girl was, of course, a visitor, like himself—one of Lady Carnven’s friends, he thought to himself, half sadly. It was not to he wondered at, with this glorious young beauty near to distract him, that the earl did not care for his wife. He went forward to speak to her, and then for the first time she was conscious of his presence. She raised her dark eyes and looked at him. There are moments in life not to be forgotten—this was one. The dark eyes appeared to look right into his heart, and he seemed to recognize the soul that shone through them. She walked up to him, still looking at him, as though drawn by magic to him, his eyes half smiling into the depths of hers. He bowed at her approach. She looked for one half minute into the worn, scarred, noble face. “I cannot be mistaken,” she said, holding out both her hands in welcome. “You must be Sir Raoul Laureston?” “I am,” he replied, taking the delicate hands in liis with chivalrous empressement. “And you?” “And I?” she said, with a charming smile and a look of pretty astonishment. “I am Lady Caraven.” In the shock of his surprise he dropped her hands. This Lady Caraven, the unformed school girl, and tho unloved wife, “tall and dark,” one whom he would not like—this splendid woman! What had the earl meant by it? Sir Raoul was so startled that the shock kept him,silent; and she, noticing this, thought that he was disappointed in her. “Lady Caraven,” he said, at last—“my kinswoman! Do you know that I can hardly believe it?” “Why not?” she asked simply. “Because I expected to see some one qtiite different.” “And you are disappointed?” she said, slowly, half sadly. His face lighted up eagerly. “Nay, how can you say so? lam charmed, delighted. I cannot believe in my own good fortune in having so fair a cousin.” “Are you quite sure?” she asked. “For I fear that I have disappointed most people.” “I am indeed sure,” he replied. And looking into his face, she could not doubt it.

CHAPTER XII. Sir Raoul Lnureston had been for three weeks at Halby House; during that time he had grown to love the young countess as .though she had been a sister of his own. They agreed very well together; but then Raoul was always different from other men—a preux chevalier. For whole days together the earl did not see his wife, and oftener now than ever he dined from home. One smiling June morning Lord Caraven had, for a wonder, breakfasted with the countess and Sir Raoul. They had been talking about their plans for the summer, wheigthe earl looked up with a good-tempered ratrgtlT^* “Do you know,” he said, “that I am literally tired of hearing the constant repetition of titles? Raoul, you claim relationship with Lady Caraven. why. not call her ‘Hildred?’ Hildred, why not give over your formal and ceremonious ‘Sir’ and simply say ‘Raoul?’ ” “I shall be only too happy,” said Sir Raoul, “if my dear and beautiful kinswoman will permit it.” Before the young countess had time to answer Lord Caraven laughed again. “What old-world notions you have,

Raoul! Fancy talking about *a dear and beautiful kinswoman.’ ” “And why not, Ulric? It seems to me that the people in your set sneer at everything simple and noble. I repeat the expression—my dear and beautiful kinswoman, have I your permission to lay aside your title and call you ‘Hildred?’ ”■ “Yes,” she replied,-“if you wish it, Sir Raoul.” “It must be on equal terms then.” “If you wish it, Raoul,” she said. Her face flushed, her dark eyes drooped and her fingers played nervously with the diamond cross on her breast. “That is better,” said the earl. “I always felt compelled to be formal myself when I heard you.” Perhaps the distress that Sir Raoul Laureston could not help feeling for the sorrows of his fair youug kinswoman was too much for the weak, shattered frame, or it may have been that the air of Ravensmere did not suit him. He was not well for many weeks after his arrival. He did not actually keep his room; the earl, who was tender enough and anxious enough where his cousin was concerned, had ordered two of the largest, lightest and most cheerful apartments in the castle to be prepared for him, and Lady Caraven was only too anxious to arrange everything most 1 luxuriously for him. More than once, when she came to read to him, always bringing with her"sweetest flowers and choicest fruits, he had noticed that her face was pale and her eyes 'were heavy with weeping. Once, as she bent over him to show him the lovely bloom on a peach, he said to her—“Hildred, do you spend the whole night in tears?” “Sometimes,” she replied; “but, Raoul/ do not talk to me about it—l would rather speak on any other subject than myself.” He respected her wish. The quiet of Ravensmere ,was indeed broken up—the house was filled with guests. Lady Caraven did not like some of the people whom the earl had invited. If not rude, they were neglectful of her —seemed to know her position by instinct —seemed to guess that she was an unloved wife, that she had been married for her money, and had a title instead of love. One morning she was quite alone in the castle. The whole party had gone out riding and driving, some of them greatly disappointed at not having their beautiful young hostess with them; but she thought Sir Raoul looked worse that morning, so would not leave him. She was busily engaged in reading to him, when a servant came to say that a poor woman was waiting to see her. “I tried to send her away, your ladyship,” said the man, “but she begged so hard that I had not the heart.” “Tried to send her away! Why did you do that?” asked Lady Caraven. “I think she is one of the tenants, your ladyship; and his lordship gave orders that they should never be attended to here —they were to be sent to Mr. Blantyre. If I have done wrong, I am sorry for it.” “You have done right,” she said; “no blessing ever comes to a house where the poor and the sorrowful are sent from the door.” Not even to a servant would she utter one word in disparagement of her husband, although she thought the order a cruel one. (To be continued.)