Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 34, Number 62, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 4 April 1902 — IRENE'S VOW [ARTICLE]

IRENE'S VOW

By CHARLOTTE M. BRAEME.

CHAPTER XVl.—(Continued.) “Alone, and reading, Irene? Are you hnely, my darling?" “No, I am never lonely,” slie replied, “■nless I find myself in a crowd; with a Ink I have always a companion." He then informed her that it was customary, during the fall and winter, to lava a number of guests at Saxonhurst, and that it was his intention to present •erne of his most intimate friends to her. “I have written n list of those whom I think we ought to invite,” he said, “and 1 wHI describe them as I go." He then named Lord and Lady Waldo Horst, his next of kin; Lady Lyster, a wealthy widow; Miss Glaring, an American heiress, and several others, But it waa not until he mentioned, as one of his friends, Lord Gerant, that she maniany interest. Then it seemed to her that her heart stood still and refused to beat; that great red light shone before her eyes, anj a mist of sorrow and pain enfolded her, out of which she heard the slow tones of the duke's voice uttering these wftrds: “My most honored guest will be the great statesman. Lord Gerant. 1 am anxious to show him all .honor, and you will help me. I am sure.” The voice that answered him was faint and low, and seemed to come from afar off. “I will do my best, Ildephonso, to meet your wishes in every way," it said. Lower sank the beautiful golden head; the rich draperies of muslin and lace rose and fell as tliongh her heart were breaking; the beautiful face dreoped more and more from his sight. “That brings me,” said the duke, “to the next name on my list. My old friepd has a daughter who is one of the most beautiful women and the richest heiress ta Hogland—Lady Lisa Gerant. ” Had he noticed his wHfe more, he would have aeon her face grow deadly pale, and a groat gasp come from her parted lips. “Lady IJra married a man who will leave his mark on the age—Sir Hulbert Estmere, of the Mere.” It had come at last —this name, which waa to her like the knell of doom. For a few minutes she thought she must fall from the chair to the ground. The sound of the name so long and so dearly loved, ao long unheard, struck her with keen, passion:: ■ pain; a mist swam before her eyes, a sound of rushing waters tilled her ears. With a violent, almost desperate, effort, she recovered herself; she stilled the trembling, she forced the color back to her face. “You interest me greatly, Ildephonse,” •he said. “Do I? - lam very glad. I feared from your silence that It was otherwise. I was telling you that my friend's daughter, Lady Lira Gerant, had married a rising statesman. Sir Hulbert Estmere. I like him very much; we agree exactly in our notions of politics; I have asked him with bis wife, Lady Estmere; and if, in all England, there is one woman with whom It would delight me to see you ou friendly terms, it is Lady Estmere. She is young like yourself, beautiful—not as you, but next to you—clever and gooff. I feel sure that you will love her, and it is the dearest wish of my heart that you should do so. Our families are and always have been so intimate that I shall hope to see.you and Lady Estmere like sisters.” Oh, heaven! would the voice never cease? Would the torture never stop? Would he never rise from that chair aud leave her to the anguish of her own thoughts? “How long wijl they remain?” she asked. "Lord Gerant for two weeks; the others longer, Irene!" he cried, catching a glimpse of her pale face. "Irene, you are not looking well! lam tiring yon.” And she was only too pleased, after any fashion, to make her escape. * CHAPTER XVII On the evening when the party of guests „were expected, the first who arrived were I-ord and Lady Waldo llurst md Ctrtnrfirc. the famous-Aim'ricu.i • heiress. They were formally presented to the young duchess. Irene stood apart from her-guests for s few minutes, looking at the smooth, j sweet leaves, and thinking of the glitter- i Ing islands where the paltu tr.ees grow. She heard a slight murmur, the rustle of •ilk; she heard her husband's voice in accents of warm welcome, and thou Oh. heaven, how was she to live? how , was she to bear it? how ever turn her face to the light? how speak, lmw act or move? A low moan came from her lips; •he clinched her bands so tightly that ffcv Tings made great dents in her white •kin. “Oh, heaven!" she cried, from the depths of her heart, “help me, or 1 shall die!” For she heard his voice once again—the voice of'the man she had so passion •tely loved—the voice that she had heard last, telling her, in what she believed to be her home, telling her she could never i be. never had been liia wife. Down the loug vista of the drawing voom the could aee a little party coming toward them, led by the duke. Pride eaitoe to her aid. He had alighted her, i he had not thought her good enough to bear bia name, and now he found her •baring the most noble name in England. ] So she stood awaiting him. her rich, j trailing drapcrici of cream and lace fall-1 tag in statuesque folds; her face fair and proud ns that of a stately queen; the light i •hilling in her diamonds until it seemed to draw all the brightness around her.’! The je weled fan, made of the priceless 1 plumage of some rare birds, touched her white breast, and no stir of the spotless ! feathers told of the beating heart within. The while bands did not tremble; the \ Beautiful anus, bare to the shoulders and clasped by diamond bracelets, were still •a though no heart beat made her whole frame tremble. Calm, with serene, high- \ bred, perfect grace, with fair proud beau- ' ty. aha awaited him. Step by step she beard him advance— j •very atep It seemed to her treading on her heart. For the time she forgot all the world except him; everything else j was lost. Step by atep. Once he speke; j •nee he laughed, carelessly. At the j sound pi his voire she might have brok- j

on down; the- sound of his laugh emboldened her. It was the same laugh that had driven her almost mad on the morning he had told her that she was hot his wife. She could meet him now, for the memory of her wrongs burned her as with hot iron. Nearer her still. Something comes between her and the brilliant light. Shadows seem to fall, and the duke is speaking. She does not raise her eyes, for she thinks to herself that *1? A'hg took!' up and sees him suddenly she will fall down dead. Those who are watching per intently think, despite her, great beauty and exalted position, how shy she is; for the long lashes lay on the .-beautifully tinted cheeks. She is horribly conscious that he stands over her; and she knows also that a terrible calm has come over him, and that he is gazing in wonder on her. Presently she realizes that her husband stands before her. Shesees.rich folds of white satin, and she knows that Lady Estmere —the woman who bears the name that ought to be hers—also stands there; the woman who unwittingly stole her love. What was the duke saying? ‘•Ordinary forms of introduction are in this ease useless. I want the daughter of the oldest friend I have in the world to love my wife, and I want my wife to lore her.” Then the duchess looked up and saw before her a beautiful woman, whose frank eyes and sweet lips smiled almost tenderly at her. They looked at each other fixedly for an instant —these two women who had crossed each other's lives so strangely—and then two white hands met each other. The duchess made some kindly answer, and Lady Estmere said to herself that the difficulty would be not to love one so exquisitely loving and charming. Another minute and the draperies of white satin had vanished. A gentleman with a star on his breast was bowiug before her, and the duke, in a voice that she knew faltered with emotion, told her that this was Lord Gerant, his dearest friend. She must speak—that she knew —ls she died for it. And then the earl made way for some one else. She would not raise her eyes, but she saw a dark, handsome head bending low before her; she knew —she knew! A few words from the duke, and then the voice that had once made her life's music said, in a tone the significance of which she,herself perfectly understood: “I cannot tell your grace how more than delighted I am.” Few words; but to hor they meant so much. If she had looked at hint she must have died. It seemed to her that a hand of ice clutched at her heart; that the blood froze in her veins; that she must fall flat with her face on the ground; that she could not help herself in the least; then the duke said: “Irene, you 'look, tired; let me give you a chair. Why are you standing?” She was just conscious when she sat down that Lady Estmere was saying something to her. She closed her eyes for one instaut, and then strength came back to her. It wag a relief to her when the dinner bell rang. The duke offered his arm to Lady Estmere, aud Lord Gerant took down the duchess. She recovered -herself sufficiently to talk to the great statesman. and she delighted him by tel 1ing him how often she herself had longed to see him. *'l am sure,” said Lord Gerant, ‘‘that we shall be great friends; and I think the duke has done the wisest action in his life in marrying again.” “I hope you will always think so,” said, the duchess, with one of her most charming smiles. ,It was n long and splendid banquet, worthy of the grand banqueting hall in which it was given, worthy of the host who gave it; and Sir Ilulbert, watching the duchess intently, wondered where Ireue had acquired that calm, serene manner which caused her to be considered one of the best bred women of the day. One thing struck him—look at her ~H~S~he would. Ire never found her eyes on

him; she treated him as the greatest sirauger. When the ladies rose to retire, as she passed him, quite by accident she dropped one of the lovely white violets from her bouquet. In an instant he had stooped to pick it up, and offered it to her with a low bow. She passed him with the most queenly indifference, and did not take the flower. “My bouquet falling to pieces.” she said; “one flower more oV less does not matter.’’ The next moment she was gone, and all the brightness of the room seemed to gt> out with bee. —* — Wheu he entered the drawing room he sat down by her side. The diamond crocs on her white breast did not stir. He cquld not flatter himself that her heart beat-one degece quicker for bis coming. "You have some fine engravings there, duchess,” he said; “do.you care about pictures and art?” “That is a very comprehensive quesI tion,” she said; “aud pardon me, not very clearly put.” "Quite right," said Lord Gerant. “I thought the same thing when 1 heard it.” Lady. Estmere looked up a little anxiously: the strange inflection in the sweet j voice of the duchess struck her. “I am afraid they are not going to like each other," she thonght.“and that would !be a great pity. I must bring them together." "I am very unfortunate,” said Sir Iltil- , brrt. “Let me frame my question differently. Do.you like pictures, duchess?" ‘I do more. I love and appreciate ! them." she replied. “Now 1 must ask, do you love art?" “Yes. of all kinds—music, painting, ; sculpture aud every thing else that conn's | under the meaning of the word ‘art,’ ” she replied. * | Then he was quite at a loss what to •ay; he wha was ever aa eloquent, so tl-.i- ---! ent in words, so plentiful in ideas; for ; she had lever looked at him and bad ! drawn herself quite away from him. « ‘ His wife jnst then earned his deepest gratitude. She was very anxious that they should become friends; and she thought to herself that if she were to leave them together the charm and polish of Sir Halbert's manner must make

an impression on one so refined as the young duchess. She made the conversar tion general for a few minutes, then said carelessly: “Papa, I should like to see the pictures in the white drawing room; the duke tells me there are several new ones since we were here last.” “Most of them were purchased: :n Rome,” said the duchess. “Shall I go with you, Lady Estmere?” It was the first time she had called the beautiful woman who had supplanted her by name, and her lips trembled over it. “No,” said Lady Esftmere, laughingly, “the greatest favor you can do me is to talk to Sir Hulbert anil keep hjm in good order for me while I am away.” She did not raise her eyes; she made no answer; she heard the rustle of rich draperies, and then there floated to her a whisper of: “Irene -Irene, * have you no word for me?” I CHAPTER XVIII. Not one line in that fair, proud, face moved; not even a curve of the proud lips showed that she had heard him, or that the voice had any echo in her heart. “Irene,” he cried, and this time there was the ring of passion In his voice. Still she leaned back in her chair with the same-ealm, Berene. queenly- indifffirence, holding the rich feathers of her fan against her white breast, proud that no feather fluttered or moved; proud that her jeweled hands did not tremble; proud that he should see that he had no power to make her tremble or to move her. “Irene!” he cried, “for heaven’s sake, speak to me; are driving me mad!” Unutterable scorn and contempt deepened in those beautiful eyes. “If you are speaking to me,” she replied, “Sir Hulbert Estmere, I am the Duchess of Bayard.” “Speak to me,” he cried, “whoever you may be now. You have been Irene Darcy, and so can never be a stranger to „ _ ft me. “There is no greater stranger to you than I am,” she said. He thought she was rising to go away, and with eager carelessness laid his hand on her arm as though to detain her. In one moment he saw his mistake; she had flung U from her as though it had been the poison sting of an adder. Her face grew deadly pale with anger; she trembled with indignation that he should dare to lay even one finger on her. “I beg you to forgive me," ho said, “I crave your pardon.” “Be careful that you do not repeat the offense,” she said, imperiously. “Irene,” he repeated, “for heaven’s sake do not drive me mad. I would not have presumed to touch you but that I was afraid you were going to leave me. Do you think I have no heart, no feeling?” Nothing could have been more proud, or still, or contemptuous than that beautiful face. She made no answer. “Do you think," he cried,“that I can forget?” Then she spoke. “There can be nothing to remember, HotHing to forget,” she said calmly. “You are Sir Hulbert Estmere of the Mere; I am the Duchess of Bayard. There can be nothing in common between us.” “You cannot forget; you must, you shall remember,” he cried. Then she opened her beautiful eyes quite wide and looked at bis with supreme contempt. “It would be well for you,” she said, “if I could forget. Ido not; I remember many things, and, above all, I remember my vow.” "Your vow! What vow?" he asked. “My vow of vengeance," she said. “I made it, and I shall keep it—let it be a long time or a short time before the opportunity comes, I do not care—l shall keep it to the end.” "Your vow against me—of vengeance against iqg?” he said. "Yes, my vow of vengeance against you,” she repeated. He drew back a little, as though he did not like the words.

“It is best as it is. Ido not see any occasion for melodrama of auy kind,” lie said. “You could not ask for a more brilliant lot in life than you have now, could you, in all fair dealing, Irene? I must speak frankly to you, aud I pray you most humbly to listen. You see that our family aud the house of Bayard are on tfce most friendly terms. I heard of the cuke's marriage, but I need not tell you that in my wildest dreams I could jiever guess who the duchess was. I have thought of you a thousand times each day, Irene, but my thoughts were all fears. If I had known that you were the duke's wife I should not have come. You see the position is an awkward one for nre, unless you are kind euough to enligliteu me.” “I do not see that you have any position to mention," she said, haughtily. lie was in a fever of impatience aud suspShse. “Ofl, Irene, do not trifle with me; I can ill btar suspense. Tell me in one word, does the duke know your story?” “I cannot see how that interests you, Sir Uulhert,” she replied. "It interests me this much,” he said, “that if he knows it I leave the house to-night never to re-enter it, and that there will be bitter war between us.” Shi looked at him with angry indignation. “Do you suppose for one moment,” she •aid, “that if that honorable, loyal gentleman whom I call my husband knew your real character he would uliow you to cross his threshold?" “There are worse characters than mine,’’ he said, sullenly. “I think not, Sir Hulbert. A traitor ranks with a spy, and you are the very king of traitors.” “You are very kind." he auswered, his handsome face growing palp with anger. tthc looked at him from head to foot, with one of the long, lingering, contemptuous glances that sting a man like the lash of a whip. “As though I could speak kindly to you, a vile traitor,” she said. "Irene, I will try to he patient. You are torturing me as a cat tqrtures a mouse. Will you tell me if the duke kn ows the story of what you call my fraud?" “Yes," she answered; “he knows the story. I did uot keep one detail from him; I did not excuse myself.or others.. I told him the simple, unvarnished truth." she replied. “Did you tell him my name, or give hint any clew by which he could know 'U?" he asked. “No, I did not," was the brief reply. “Would yon mind telling me what he aaid?" asked Sir Hulbert, gravely.

He began to have gome kind of Idea that danger was in store for him. “I will tell you with pleasure,” she answered. “He asked me your name aud I declined to tell him. He said that he should be quite sure to find it out, and when that happened be would never rest until he had set his foot on the traitor’s faee.” “Well,” said Sir Hulbert, with a faint attempt at a sneer, “it seems to me that I am likely to have a lively tinhruf it. But as lam no coward Ido not fear. What do you threaten me with, Irene?” “It Would please me if you would try to remember that my title is Duchess of Bayard,” she said, imperiously. “I threaten you with nothing. I owe you my vengeance.” And again a certain expression of anxiety crossed his face. He did not like the frequent repetition of the word “vengeance.” (To be continued.)