A LADY OF QUALITY

Being a most curious, hitherto unknownhistory, as related by Mr. Isaac Bickerstaffbut not presented to the World ofFashion through the pages ofThe Tatler, and now for thefirst time written downbyFrancis Hodgson Burnett

 Were Nature just to Man from his first hour, he need not ask for Mercy; then 'tis for us--the toys of Nature--to be both just and merciful, for so only can the wrongs she does be undone. 

CHAPTER I--The twenty-fourth day of November 1690

On a wintry morning at the close of 1690, the sun shining faint and redthrough a light fog, there was a great noise of baying dogs, loud voices, and trampling of horses in the courtyard at Wildairs Hall; Sir Jeoffrybeing about to go forth a-hunting, and being a man with a choleric temperand big, loud voice, and given to oaths and noise even when ingood-humour, his riding forth with his friends at any time was attendedwith boisterous commotion. This morning it was more so than usual, forhe had guests with him who had come to his house the day before, and hadsupped late and drunk deeply, whereby the day found them, some withheadaches, some with a nausea at their stomachs, and some only in an evilhumour which made them curse at their horses when they were restless, andbreak into loud surly laughs when a coarse joke was made. There weremany such jokes, Sir Jeoffry and his boon companions being renownedthroughout the county for the freedom of their conversation as for thescandal of their pastimes, and this day 'twas well indeed, as their loud-voiced, oath-besprinkled jests rang out on the cold air, that there wereno ladies about to ride forth with them. 

'Twas Sir Jeoffry who was louder than any other, he having drunk evendeeper than the rest, and though 'twas his boast that he could carry abottle more than any man, and see all his guests under the table, hislast night's bout had left him in ill-humour and boisterous. He strodeabout, casting oaths at the dogs and rating the servants, and when hemounted his big black horse 'twas amid such a clamour of voices andbaying hounds that the place was like Pandemonium. 

He was a large man of florid good looks, black eyes, and full habit ofbody, and had been much renowned in his youth for his great strength, which was indeed almost that of a giant, and for his deeds of prowess inthe saddle and at the table when the bottle went round. There were manyevil stories of his roysterings, but it was not his way to think of themas evil, but rather to his credit as a man of the world, for, when heheard that they were gossiped about, he greeted the information with aloud triumphant laugh. He had married, when she was fifteen, theblooming toast of the county, for whom his passion had long died out, having indeed departed with the honeymoon, which had been of thebriefest, and afterwards he having borne her a grudge for what he choseto consider her undutiful conduct. This grudge was founded on the factthat, though she had presented him each year since their marriage with achild, after nine years had passed none had yet been sons, and, as he wasbitterly at odds with his next of kin, he considered each of hisoffspring an ill turn done him. 

He spent but little time in her society, for she was a poor, gentlecreature of no spirit, who found little happiness in her lot, since herlord treated her with scant civility, and her children one after anothersickened and died in their infancy until but two were left. He scarceremembered her existence when he did not see her face, and he wascertainly not thinking of her this morning, having other things in view, and yet it so fell out that, while a groom was shortening a stirrup andbeing sworn at for his awkwardness, he by accident cast his eye upward toa chamber window peering out of the thick ivy on the stone. Doing so hesaw an old woman draw back the curtain and look down upon him as ifsearching for him with a purpose. 

He uttered an exclamation of anger. 

"Damnation! Mother Posset again, " he said. "What does she there, oldfrump?"

The curtain fell and the woman disappeared, but in a few minutes more anunheard-of thing happened--among the servants in the hall, the same oldwoman appeared making her way with a hurried fretfulness, and shedescended haltingly the stone steps and came to his side where he sat onhis black horse. 

"The Devil!" he exclaimed--"what are you here for? 'Tis not time foranother wench upstairs, surely?"

"'Tis not time, " answered the old nurse acidly, taking her tone from hisown. "But there is one, but an hour old, and my lady--"

"Be damned to her!" quoth Sir Jeoffry savagely. "A ninth one--and 'tisnine too many. 'Tis more than man can bear. She does it but to spiteme. "

"'Tis ill treatment for a gentleman who wants an heir, " the old womananswered, as disrespectful of his spouse as he was, being a time-servingcrone, and knowing that it paid but poorly to coddle women who did not astheir husbands would have them in the way of offspring. "It should havebeen a fine boy, but it is not, and my lady--"

"Damn her puling tricks!" said Sir Jeoffry again, pulling at his horse'sbit until the beast reared. 

"She would not let me rest until I came to you, " said the nurseresentfully. "She would have you told that she felt strangely, andbefore you went forth would have a word with you. "

"I cannot come, and am not in the mood for it if I could, " was hisanswer. "What folly does she give way to? This is the ninth time shehath felt strangely, and I have felt as squeamish as she--but nine ismore than I have patience for. "

"She is light-headed, mayhap, " said the nurse. "She lieth huddled in aheap, staring and muttering, and she would leave me no peace till Ipromised to say to you, 'For the sake of poor little Daphne, whom youwill sure remember. ' She pinched my hand and said it again and again. "

Sir Jeoffry dragged at his horse's mouth and swore again. 

"She was fifteen then, and had not given me nine yellow-faced wenches, "he said. "Tell her I had gone a-hunting and you were too late;" and hestruck his big black beast with the whip, and it bounded away with him, hounds and huntsmen and fellow-roysterers galloping after, his guests, who had caught at the reason of his wrath, grinning as they rode. 

* * * * *

In a huge chamber hung with tattered tapestries and barely set forth withcumbersome pieces of furnishing, my lady lay in a gloomy, canopied bed, with her new-born child at her side, but not looking at or touching it, seeming rather to have withdrawn herself from the pillow on which it layin its swaddling-clothes. 

She was but a little lady, and now, as she lay in the large bed, her faceand form shrunken and drawn with suffering, she looked scarce bigger thana child. In the brief days of her happiness those who toasted her hadcalled her Titania for her fairy slightness and delicate beauty, but thenher fair wavy locks had been of a length that touched the ground when herwoman unbound them, and she had had the colour of a wild rose and theeyes of a tender little fawn. Sir Jeoffry for a month or so had paidtempestuous court to her, and had so won her heart with his dashing wayof love-making and the daringness of his reputation, that she had thoughtherself--being child enough to think so--the luckiest young lady in theworld that his black eye should have fallen upon her with favour. Eachyear since, with the bearing of each child, she had lost some of herbeauty. With each one her lovely hair fell out still more, her wild-rosecolour faded, and her shape was spoiled. She grew thin and yellow, onlya scant covering of the fair hair was left her, and her eyes were big andsunken. Her marriage having displeased her family, and Sir Jeoffryhaving a distaste for the ceremonies of visiting and entertainment, savewhere his own cronies were concerned, she had no friends, and grewlonelier and lonelier as the sad years went by. She being so withouthope and her life so dreary, her children were neither strong norbeautiful, and died quickly, each one bringing her only the anguish ofbirth and death. This wintry morning her ninth lay slumbering by herside; the noise of baying dogs and boisterous men had died away with thelast sound of the horses' hoofs; the little light which came into theroom through the ivied window was a faint yellowish red; she was cold, because the fire in the chimney was but a scant, failing one; she wasalone--and she knew that the time had come for her death. This she knewfull well. 

She was alone, because, being so disrespected and deserted by her lord, and being of a timid and gentle nature, she could not command herinsufficient retinue of servants, and none served her as was their duty. The old woman Sir Jeoffry had dubbed Mother Posset had been her soleattendant at such times as these for the past five years, because shewould come to her for a less fee than a better woman, and Sir Jeoffry hadsworn he would not pay for wenches being brought into the world. She wasa slovenly, guzzling old crone, who drank caudle from morning till night, and demanded good living as a support during the performance of hertrying duties; but these last she contrived to make wondrous light, knowing that there was none to reprove her. 

"A fine night I have had, " she had grumbled when she brought back SirJeoffry's answer to her lady's message. "My old bones are like to break, and my back will not straighten itself. I will go to the kitchen to getvictuals and somewhat to warm me; your ladyship's own woman shall sitwith you. "

Her ladyship's "own woman" was also the sole attendant of the two littlegirls, Barbara and Anne, whose nursery was in another wing of the house, and my lady knew full well she would not come if she were told, and thatthere would be no message sent to her. 

She knew, too, that the fire was going out, but, though she shiveredunder the bed-clothes, she was too weak to call the woman back when shesaw her depart without putting fresh fuel upon it. 

So she lay alone, poor lady, and there was no sound about her, and herthin little mouth began to feebly quiver, and her great eyes, whichstared at the hangings, to fill with slow cold tears, for in sooth theywere not warm, but seemed to chill her poor cheeks as they rolled slowlydown them, leaving a wet streak behind them which she was too far gone inweakness to attempt to lift her hand to wipe away. 

"Nine times like this, " she panted faintly, "and 'tis for naught butoaths and hard words that blame me. I was but a child myself and heloved me. When 'twas 'My Daphne, ' and 'My beauteous little Daphne, ' heloved me in his own man's way. But now--" she faintly rolled her headfrom side to side. "Women are poor things"--a chill salt tear slidingpast her lips so that she tasted its bitterness--"only to be kissed foran hour, and then like this--only for this and nothing else. I wouldthat this one had been dead. "

Her breath came slower and more pantingly, and her eyes stared morewidely. 

"I was but a child, " she whispered--"a child--as--as this will be--if shelives fifteen years. "

Despite her weakness, and it was great and woefully increasing with eachpanting breath, she slowly laboured to turn herself towards the pillow onwhich her offspring lay, and, this done, she lay staring at the child andgasping, her thin chest rising and falling convulsively. Ah, how shepanted, and how she stared, the glaze of death stealing slowly over herwide-opened eyes; and yet, dimming as they were, they saw in the sleepinginfant a strange and troublous thing--though it was but a few hours old'twas not as red and crumple visaged as new-born infants usually are, itslittle head was covered with thick black silk, and its small featureswere of singular definiteness. She dragged herself nearer to gaze. 

"She looks not like the others, " she said. "They had no beauty--and aresafe. She--she will be like--Jeoffry--and like _me_. "

The dying fire fell lower with a shuddering sound. 

"If she is--beautiful, and has but her father, and no mother!" shewhispered, the words dragged forth slowly, "only evil can come to her. From her first hour--she will know naught else, poor heart, poor heart!"

There was a rattling in her throat as she breathed, but in her glazingeyes a gleam like passion leaped, and gasping, she dragged nearer. 

"'Tis not fair, " she cried. "If I--if I could lay my hand upon thymouth--and stop thy breathing--thou poor thing, 'twould be fairer--but--Ihave no strength. "

She gathered all her dying will and brought her hand up to the infant'smouth. A wild look was on her poor, small face, she panted and fellforward on its breast, the rattle in her throat growing louder. Thechild awakened, opening great black eyes, and with her dying weakness itsnew-born life struggled. Her cold hand lay upon I its mouth, and herhead upon its body, for she was too far gone to move if she had willed todo so. But the tiny creature's strength was marvellous. It gasped, itfought, its little limbs struggled beneath her, it writhed until the coldhand fell away, and then, its baby mouth set free, it fell a-shrieking. Its cries were not like those of a new-born thing, but fierce and shrill, and even held the sound of infant passion. 'Twas not a thing to let itslife go easily, 'twas of those born to do battle. 

Its lusty screaming pierced her ear perhaps--she drew a long, slowbreath, and then another, and another still--the last one trembled andstopped short, and the last cinder fell dead from the fire. 

* * * * *

When the nurse came bustling and fretting back, the chamber was cold asthe grave's self--there were only dead embers on the hearth, the new-bornchild's cries filled all the desolate air, and my lady was lying stonedead, her poor head resting on her offspring's feet, the while her openglazed eyes seemed to stare at it as if in asking Fate some awfulquestion. 

CHAPTER II--In which Sir Jeoffry encounters his offspring

In a remote wing of the house, in barren, ill-kept rooms, the poorinfants of the dead lady had struggled through their brief lives, andgiven them up, one after the other. Sir Jeoffry had not wished to seethem, nor had he done so, but upon the rarest occasions, and then nearlyalways by some untoward accident. The six who had died, even theirmother had scarcely wept for; her weeping had been that they should havebeen fated to come into the world, and when they went out of it she knewshe need not mourn their going as untimely. The two who had notperished, she had regarded sadly day by day, seeing they had no beautyand that their faces promised none. Naught but great beauty would haveexcused their existence in their father's eyes, as beauty might havehelped them to good matches which would have rid him of them. But 'twasthe sad ill fortune of the children Anne and Barbara to have been treatedby Nature in a way but niggardly. They were pale young misses, withinsignificant faces and snub noses, resembling an aunt who died aspinster, as they themselves seemed most likely to. Sir Jeoffry couldnot bear the sight of them, and they fled at the sound of his footsteps, if it so happened that by chance they heard it, huddling together incorners, and slinking behind doors or anything big enough to hide them. They had no playthings and no companions and no pleasures but such as theinnocent invention of childhood contrives for itself. 

After their mother's death a youth desolate and strange indeed lay beforethem. A spinster who was a poor relation was the only person ofrespectable breeding who ever came near them. To save herself fromgenteel starvation, she had offered herself for the place of governess tothem, though she was fitted for the position neither by education norcharacter. Mistress Margery Wimpole was a poor, dull creature, having nowilful harm in her, but endowed with neither dignity nor wit. She livedin fear of Sir Jeoffry, and in fear of the servants, who knew full wellthat she was an humble dependant, and treated her as one. She hid awaywith her pupils' in the bare school-room in the west wing, and taughtthem to spell and write and work samplers. She herself knew no more. 

The child who had cost her mother her life had no happier prospect thanher sisters. Her father felt her more an intruder than they had been, hebeing of the mind that to house and feed and clothe, howsoever poorly, these three burdens on him was a drain scarcely to be borne. His wifehad been a toast and not a fortune, and his estate not being great, hepossessed no more than his drinking, roystering, and gambling made fulldemands upon. 

The child was baptized Clorinda, and bred, so to speak, from her firsthour, in the garret and the servants' hall. Once only did her fatherbehold her during her infancy, which event was a mere accident, as he hadexpressed no wish to see her, and only came upon her in the nurse's armssome weeks after her mother's death. 'Twas quite by chance. The woman, who was young and buxom, had begun an intrigue with a groom, and having amind to see him, was crossing the stable-yard, carrying her charge withher, when Sir Jeoffry came by to visit a horse. 

The woman came plump upon him, entering a stable as he came out of it;she gave a frightened start, and almost let the child drop, at which itset up a strong, shrill cry, and thus Sir Jeoffry saw it, and seeing it, was thrown at once into a passion which expressed itself after the mannerof all his emotion, and left the nurse quaking with fear. 

"Thunder and damnation!" he exclaimed, as he strode away after theencounter; "'tis the ugliest yet. A yellow-faced girl brat, with eyeslike an owl's in an ivy-bush, and with a voice like a very peacocks. Another mawking, plain slut that no man will take off my hands. "

He did not see her again for six years. But little wit was needed tolearn that 'twas best to keep her out of his sight, as her sisters werekept, and this was done without difficulty, as he avoided the wing of thehouse where the children lived, as if it were stricken with the plague. 

But the child Clorinda, it seemed, was of lustier stock than her oldersisters, and this those about her soon found out to their grievousdisturbance. When Mother Posset had drawn her from under her deadmother's body she had not left shrieking for an hour, but had kept up herfierce cries until the roof rang with them, and the old woman had joggedher about and beat her back in the hopes of stifling her, until she wasexhausted and dismayed. For the child would not be stilled, and seemedto have such strength and persistence in her as surely infant nevershowed before. 

"Never saw I such a brat among all I have brought into the world, " oldPosset quavered. "She hath the voice of a six-months boy. It cracks myvery ears. Hush thee, then, thou little wild cat. "

This was but the beginning. From the first she grew apace, and in a fewmonths was a bouncing infant, with a strong back, and a power to makeherself heard such as had not before appeared in the family. When shedesired a thing, she yelled and roared with such a vigour as left nopeace for any creature about her until she was humoured, and this beingthe case, rather than have their conversation and love-making put a stopto, the servants gave her her way. In this they but followed the exampleof their betters, of whom we know that it is not to the most virtuousthey submit or to the most learned, but to those who, being crossed, canconduct themselves in a manner so disagreeable, shrewish or violent, thatlife is a burden until they have their will. This the child Clorinda hadthe infant wit to discover early, and having once discovered it, shenever ceased to take advantage of her knowledge. Having found in thedays when her one desire was pap, that she had but to roar lustily enoughto find it beside her in her porringer, she tried the game upon all otheroccasions. When she had reached but a twelvemonth, she stood stoutlyupon her little feet, and beat her sisters to gain their playthings, andher nurse for wanting to change her smock. She was so easily thrown intofuries, and so raged and stamped in her baby way that she was a sight tobehold, and the men-servants found amusement in badgering her. To setMistress Clorinda in their midst on a winter's night when they were dull, and to torment her until her little face grew scarlet with the bloodwhich flew up into it, and she ran from one to the other beating them andscreaming like a young spitfire, was among them a favouriteentertainment. 

"Ifackens!" said the butler one night, "but she is as like Sir Jeoffry inher temper as one pea is like another. Ay, but she grows blood red justas he does, and curses in her little way as he does in man's words amonghis hounds in their kennel. "

"And she will be of his build, too, " said the housekeeper. "What mishapchanged her to a maid instead of a boy, I know not. She would have madea strapping heir. She has the thigh and shoulders of a handsomeman-child at this hour, and she is not three years old. "

"Sir Jeoffry missed his mark when he called her an ugly brat, " said thewoman who had nursed her. "She will be a handsome woman--though large inbuild, it may be. She will be a brown beauty, but she will have a colourin her cheeks and lips like the red of Christmas holly, and her owl'seyes are as black as sloes, and have fringes on them like the curtains ofa window. See how her hair grows thick on her little head, and how itcurls in great rings. My lady, her poor mother, was once a beauty, butshe was no such beauty as this one will be, for she has her father's longlimbs and fine shoulders, and the will to make every man look her way. "

"Yes, " said the housekeeper, who was an elderly woman, "there will bedoings--there will be doings when she is a ripe young maid. She willtake her way, and God grant she mayn't be _too_ like her father andfollow his. "

It was true that she had no resemblance to her plain sisters, and bore nolikeness to them in character. The two elder children, Anne and Barbara, were too meek-spirited to be troublesome; but during Clorinda's infancyMistress Margery Wimpole watched her rapid growth with fear and qualms. She dare not reprove the servants who were ruining her by theirtreatment, and whose manners were forming her own. Sir Jeoffry'sservants were no more moral than their master, and being brought up asshe was among them, their young mistress became strangely familiar withmany sights and sounds it is not the fortune of most young misses ofbreeding to see and hear. The cooks and kitchen-wenches were flightywith the grooms and men-servants, and little Mistress Clorinda, having apassion for horses and dogs, spent many an hour in the stables with thewomen who, for reasons of their own, were pleased enough to take herthere as an excuse for seeking amusement for themselves. She played inthe kennels and among the horses' heels, and learned to use oaths asroundly as any Giles or Tom whose work was to wield the curry comb. Itwas indeed a curious thing to hear her red baby mouth pour forth cursesand unseemly words as she would at any one who crossed her. Her temperand hot-headedness carried all before them, and the grooms and stable-boys found great sport in the language my young lady used in her innocentfuries. But balk her in a whim, and she would pour forth the eloquenceof a fish-wife or a lady of easy virtue in a pot-house quarrel. Therewas no human creature near her who had mind or heart enough to see theawfulness of her condition, or to strive to teach her to check herpassions; and in the midst of these perilous surroundings the littlevirago grew handsomer and of finer carriage every hour, as if on the rankdiet that fed her she throve and flourished. 

There came a day at last when she had reached six years old, when by atrick of chance a turn was given to the wheel of her fate. 

She had not reached three when a groom first set her on a horse's backand led her about the stable-yard, and she had so delighted in herexalted position, and had so shouted for pleasure and clutched hersteed's rein and clucked at him, that her audience had looked on withroars of laughter. From that time she would be put up every day, and astime went on showed such unchildish courage and spirit that she furnishedto her servant companions a new pastime. Soon she would not be held on, but riding astride like a boy, would sit up as straight as a man andswear at her horse, beating him with her heels and little fists if hispace did not suit her. She knew no fear, and would have used a whip soreadily that the men did not dare to trust her with one, and knew theymust not mount her on a steed too mettlesome. By the time she passed hersixth birthday she could ride as well as a grown man, and was as familiarwith her father's horses as he himself, though he knew nothing of thematter, it being always contrived that she should be out of sight when hevisited his hunters. 

It so chanced that the horse he rode the oftenest was her favourite, andmany were the tempests of rage she fell into when she went to the stableto play with the animal and did not find him in his stall, because hismaster had ordered him out. At such times she would storm at the men inthe stable-yard and call them ill names for their impudence in lettingthe beast go, which would cause them great merriment, as she knew nothingof who the man was who had balked her, since she was, in truth, not somuch as conscious of her father's existence, never having seen or evenheard more of him than his name, which she in no manner connected withherself. 

"Could Sir Jeoffry himself but once see and hear her when she storms atus and him, because he dares to ride his own beast, " one of the older mensaid once, in the midst of their laughter, "I swear he would burst forthlaughing and be taken with her impudent spirit, her temper is so like hisown. She is his own flesh and blood, and as full of hell-fire as he. "

Upon this morning which proved eventful to her, she had gone to thestables, as was her daily custom, and going into the stall where the bigblack horse was wont to stand, she found it empty. Her spirit rose hotwithin her in the moment. She clenched her fists, and began to stamp andswear in such a manner as it would be scarce fitting to record. 

"Where is he now?" she cried. "He is my own horse, and shall not beridden. Who is the man who takes him? Who? Who?"

"'Tis a fellow who hath no manners, " said the man she stormed at, grinning and thrusting his tongue in his cheek. "He says 'tis his beast, and not yours, and he will have him when he chooses. "

"'Tis not his--'tis mine!" shrieked Miss, her little face inflamed withpassion. "I will kill him! 'Tis my horse. He _shall_ be mine!"

For a while the men tormented her, to hear her rave and see her passion, for, in truth, the greater tempest she was in, the better she was worthbeholding, having a colour so rich, and eyes so great and black andflaming. At such times there was naught of the feminine in her, andindeed always she looked more like a handsome boy than a girl, her growthbeing for her age extraordinary. At length a lad who was a helper saidto mock her--

"The man hath him at the door before the great steps now. I saw himstand there waiting but a moment ago. The man hath gone in the house. "

She turned and ran to find him. The front part of the house she barelyknew the outside of, as she was kept safely in the west wing and belowstairs, and when taken out for the air was always led privately by a sideway--never passing through the great hall, where her father might chanceto encounter her. 

She knew best this side-entrance, and made her way to it, meaning tosearch until she found the front. She got into the house, and her spiritbeing roused, marched boldly through corridors and into rooms she hadnever seen before, and being so mere a child, notwithstanding her strangewilfulness and daring, the novelty of the things she saw so fardistracted her mind from the cause of her anger that she stopped morethan once to stare up at a portrait on a wall, or to take in her handsomething she was curious concerning. 

When she at last reached the entrance-hall, coming into it through a doorshe pushed open, using all her childish strength, she stood in the midstof it and gazed about her with a new curiosity and pleasure. It was afine place, with antlers, and arms, and foxes' brushes hung upon thewalls, and with carved panels of black oak, and oaken floor andfurnishings. All in it was disorderly and showed rough usage; but onceit had been a notable feature of the house, and well worth better carethan had been bestowed upon it. She discovered on the walls manytrophies that attracted her, but these she could not reach, and couldonly gaze and wonder at; but on an old oaken settle she found some thingsshe could lay hands on, and forthwith seized and sat down upon the floorto play with them. One of them was a hunting-crop, which she brandishedgrandly, until she was more taken with a powder-flask which it sohappened her father, Sir Jeoffry, had lain down but a few minutes before, in passing through. He was going forth coursing, and had stepped intothe dining-hall to toss off a bumper of brandy. 

When he had helped himself from the buffet, and came back in haste, thefirst thing he clapped eyes on was his offspring pouring forth the powderfrom his flask upon the oaken floor. He had never seen her since thatfirst occasion after the unfortunate incident of her birth, and beholdinga child wasting his good powder at the moment he most wanted it and hadno time to spare, and also not having had it recalled to his mind foryears that he was a parent, except when he found himself forcedreluctantly to pay for some small need, he beheld in the young offenderonly some impudent servant's brat, who had strayed into his domain andapplied itself at once to mischief. 

He sprang upon her, and seizing her by the arm, whirled her to her feetwith no little violence, snatching the powder-flask from her, and dealingher a sound box on the ear. 

"Blood and damnation on thee, thou impudent little baggage!" he shouted. "I'll break thy neck for thee, little scurvy beast;" and pulled the bellas he were like to break the wire. 

But he had reckoned falsely on what he dealt with. Miss uttered a shriekof rage which rang through the roof like a clarion. She snatched thecrop from the floor, rushed at him, and fell upon him like a thousandlittle devils, beating his big legs with all the strength of her passion, and pouring forth oaths such as would have done credit to Doll Lightfootherself. 

"Damn _thee_!--damn _thee_!"--she roared and screamed, flogging him. "I'll tear thy eyes out! I'll cut thy liver from thee! Damn thy soul tohell!"

And this choice volley was with such spirit and fury poured forth, thatSir Jeoffry let his hand drop from the bell, fell into a great burst oflaughter, and stood thus roaring while she beat him and shrieked andstormed. 

The servants, hearing the jangled bell, attracted by the tumult, and of asudden missing Mistress Clorinda, ran in consternation to the hall, andthere beheld this truly pretty sight--Miss beating her father's legs, andtearing at him tooth and nail, while he stood shouting with laughter asif he would split his sides. 

"Who is the little cockatrice?" he cried, the tears streaming down hisflorid cheeks. "Who is the young she-devil? Ods bodikins, who is she?"

For a second or so the servants stared at each other aghast, not knowingwhat to say, or venturing to utter a word; and then the nurse, who hadcome up panting, dared to gasp forth the truth. 

"'Tis Mistress Clorinda, Sir Jeoffry, " she stammered--"my lady's lastinfant--the one of whom she died in childbed. "

His big laugh broke in two, as one might say. He looked down at theyoung fury and stared. She was out of breath with beating him, and hadceased and fallen back apace, and was staring up at him also, breathingdefiance and hatred. Her big black eyes were flames, her head was thrownup and back, her cheeks were blood scarlet, and her great crop of crow-black hair stood out about her beauteous, wicked little virago face, asif it might change into Medusa's snakes. 

"Damn thee!" she shrieked at him again. "I'll kill thee, devil!"

Sir Jeoffry broke into his big laugh afresh. 

"Clorinda do they call thee, wench?" he said. "Jeoffry thou shouldsthave been but for thy mother's folly. A fiercer little devil for thysize I never saw--nor a handsomer one. "

And he seized her from where she stood, and held her at his big arms'length, gazing at her uncanny beauty with looks that took her in fromhead to foot. 

CHAPTER III--Wherein Sir Jeoffry's boon companions drink a toast

Her beauty of face, her fine body, her strength of limb, and great growthfor her age, would have pleased him if she had possessed no otherattraction, but the daring of her fury and her stable-boy breeding soamused him and suited his roystering tastes that he took to her as thefinest plaything in the world. 

He set her on the floor, forgetting his coursing, and would have madefriends with her, but at first she would have none of him, and scowled athim in spite of all he did. The brandy by this time had mounted to hishead and put him in the mood for frolic, liquor oftenest making himgamesome. He felt as if he were playing with a young dog or marking thespirit of a little fighting cock. He ordered the servants back to theirkitchen, who stole away, the women amazed, and the men concealing grinswhich burst forth into guffaws of laughter when they came into their hallbelow. 

"'Tis as we said, " they chuckled. "He had but to see her beauty and findher a bigger devil than he, and 'twas done. The mettle of her--damningand flogging him! Never was there a finer sight! She feared him no morethan if he had been a spaniel--and he roaring and laughing till he waslike to burst. "

"Dost know who I am?" Sir Jeoffry was asking the child, grinning himselfas he stood before her where she sat on the oaken settle on which he hadlifted her. 

"No, " quoth little Mistress, her black brows drawn down, her handsomeowl's eyes verily seeming to look him through and through in search ofsomewhat; for, in sooth, her rage abating before his jovial humour, thebig burly laugher attracted her attention, though she was not disposed toshow him that she leaned towards any favour or yielding. 

"I am thy Dad, " he said. "'Twas thy Dad thou gavest such a trouncing. And thou hast an arm, too. Let's cast an eye on it. "

He took her wrist and pushed up her sleeve, but she dragged back. 

"Will not be mauled, " she cried. "Get away from me!"

He shouted with laughter again. He had seen that the little arm was aswhite and hard as marble, and had such muscles as a great boy might havebeen a braggart about. 

"By Gad!" he said, elated. "What a wench of six years old. Wilt have mycrop and trounce thy Dad again!"

He picked up the crop from the place where she had thrown it, andforthwith gave it in her hand. She took it, but was no more in thehumour to beat him, and as she looked still frowning from him to thewhip, the latter brought back to her mind the horse she had set out insearch of. 

"Where is my horse?" she said, and 'twas in the tone of an imperialdemand. "Where is he?"

"Thy horse!" he echoed. "Which is thy horse then?"

"Rake is my horse, " she answered--"the big black one. The man took himagain;" and she ripped out a few more oaths and unchaste expressions, threatening what she would do for the man in question; the whichdelighted him more than ever. "Rake is my horse, " she ended. "None elseshall ride him. "

"None else?" cried he. "Thou canst not ride him, baggage!"

She looked at him with scornful majesty. 

"Where is he?" she demanded. And the next instant hearing the beast'srestless feet grinding into the gravel outside as he fretted at havingbeen kept waiting so long, she remembered what the stable-boy had said ofhaving seen her favourite standing before the door, and struggling anddropping from the settle, she ran to look out; whereupon having done so, she shouted in triumph. 

"He is here!" she said. "I see him;" and went pell-mell down the stonesteps to his side. 

Sir Jeoffry followed her in haste. 'Twould not have been to his humournow to have her brains kicked out. 

"Hey!" he called, as he hurried. "Keep away from his heels, thou littledevil. "

But she had run to the big beast's head with another shout, and caughthim round his foreleg, laughing, and Rake bent his head down and nosedher in a fumbling caress, on which, the bridle coming within her reach, she seized it and held his head that she might pat him, to whichfamiliarity the beast was plainly well accustomed. 

"He is my horse, " quoth she grandly when her father reached her. "Hewill not let Giles play so. "

Sir Jeoffry gazed and swelled with pleasure in her. 

"Would have said 'twas a lie if I had not seen it, " he said to himself. "'Tis no girl this, I swear. I thought 'twas my horse, " he said to her, "but 'tis plain enough he is thine. "

"Put me up!" said his new-found offspring. 

"Hast rid him before?" Sir Jeoffry asked, with some lingering misgiving. "Tell thy Dad if thou hast rid him. "

She gave him a look askance under her long fringed lids--a surly yet half-slyly relenting look, because she wanted to get her way of him, and hadthe cunning wit and shrewdness of a child witch. 

"Ay!" quoth she. "Put me up--Dad!"

He was not a man of quick mind, his brain having been too many yearsbemuddled with drink, but he had a rough instinct which showed him allthe wondrous shrewdness of her casting that last word at him to wheedlehim, even though she looked sullen in the saying it. It made him roaragain for very exultation. 

"Put me up, Dad!" he cried. "That will I--and see what thou wilt do. "

He lifted her, she springing as he set his hands beneath her arms, andflinging her legs over astride across the saddle when she reached it. Shewas all fire and excitement, and caught the reins like an old huntsman, and with such a grasp as was amazing. She sat up with a straight, strongback, her whole face glowing and sparkling with exultant joy. Rakeseemed to answer to her excited little laugh almost as much as to herhand. It seemed to wake his spirit and put him in good-humour. Hestarted off with her down the avenue at a light, spirited trot, whileshe, clinging with her little legs and sitting firm and fearless, madehim change into canter and gallop, having actually learned all his paceslike a lesson, and knowing his mouth as did his groom, who was herfamiliar and slave. Had she been of the build ordinary with children ofher age, she could not have stayed upon his back; but she sat him like achild jockey, and Sir Jeoffry, watching and following her, clapped hishands boisterously and hallooed for joy. 

"Lord, Lord!" he said. "There's not a man in the shire has such anotherlittle devil--and Rake, 'her horse, '" grinning--"and she to ride him so. I love thee, wench--hang me if I do not!"

She made him play with her and with Rake for a good hour, and then tookhim back to the stables, and there ordered him about finely among thedogs and horses, perceiving that somehow this great man she had got holdof was a creature who was in power and could be made use of. 

When they returned to the house, he had her to eat her mid-day meal withhim, when she called for ale, and drank it, and did good trencher duty, making him the while roar with laughter at her impudent child-talk. 

"Never have I so split my sides since I was twenty, " he said. "It makesme young again to roar so. She shall not leave my sight, since by chanceI have found her. 'Tis too good a joke to lose, when times are dull, asthey get to be as a man's years go on. "

He sent for her woman and laid strange new commands on her. 

"Where hath she hitherto been kept?" he asked. 

"In the west wing, where are the nurseries, and where Mistress Wimpoleabides with Mistress Barbara and Mistress Anne, " the woman answered, witha frightened curtsey. 

"Henceforth she shall live in this part of the house where I do, " hesaid. "Make ready the chambers that were my lady's, and prepare to staythere with her. "

From that hour the child's fate was sealed. He made himself herplayfellow, and romped with and indulged her until she became fonder ofhim than of any groom or stable-boy she had been companions with before. But, indeed, she had never been given to bestowing much affection onthose around her, seeming to feel herself too high a personage to showsoftness. The ones she showed most favour to were those who served herbest; and even to them it was always _favour_ she showed, not tenderness. Certain dogs and horses she was fond of, Rake coming nearest to herheart, and the place her father won in her affections was somewhat liketo Rake's. She made him her servant and tyrannised over him, but at thesame time followed and imitated him as if she had been a young spaniel hewas training. The life the child led, it would have broken a motherlywoman's heart to hear about; but there was no good woman near her, hermother's relatives, and even Sir Jeoffry's own, having cut themselves offearly from them--Wildairs Hall and its master being no great credit tothose having the misfortune to be connected with them. The neighbouringgentry had gradually ceased to visit the family some time before herladyship's death, and since then the only guests who frequented the placewere a circle of hunting, drinking, and guzzling boon companions of SirJeoffry's own, who joined him in all his carousals and debaucheries. 

To these he announced his discovery of his daughter with tumultuousdelight. He told them, amid storms of laughter, of his first encounterwith her; of her flogging him with his own crop, and cursing him like atrooper; of her claiming Rake as her own horse, and swearing at the manwho had dared to take him from the stable to ride; and of her sitting himlike an infant jockey, and seeming, by some strange power, to havemastered him as no other had been able heretofore to do. Then he had herbrought into the dining-room, where they sat over their bottles drinkingdeep, and setting her on the table, he exhibited her to them, boasting ofher beauty, showing them her splendid arm and leg and thigh, measuringher height, and exciting her to test the strength of the grip of her handand the power of her little fist. 

"Saw you ever a wench like her?" he cried, as they all shouted withlaughter and made jokes not too polite, but such as were of the sole kindthey were given to. "Has any man among you begot a boy as big andhandsome? Hang me! if she would not knock down any lad of ten if shewere in a fury. "

"We wild dogs are out of favour with the women, " cried one of the bestpleased among them, a certain Lord Eldershawe, whose seat was a few milesfrom Wildairs Hall--"women like nincompoops and chaplains. Let us takethis one for our toast, and bring her up as girls should be brought up tobe companions for men. I give you, Mistress Clorinda Wildairs--MistressClorinda, the enslaver of six years old--bumpers, lads!--bumpers!"

And they set her in the very midst of the big table and drank her health, standing, bursting into a jovial, ribald song; and the child, excited bythe noise and laughter, actually broke forth and joined them in a high, strong treble, the song being one she was quite familiar with, havingheard it often enough in the stable to have learned the words pat. 

* * * * *

Two weeks after his meeting with her, Sir Jeoffry was seized with thewhim to go up to London and set her forth with finery. 'Twas but rarelyhe went up to town, having neither money to waste, nor finding greatattraction in the more civilised quarters of the world. He brought herback such clothes as for richness and odd, unsuitable fashion child neverwore before. There were brocades that stood alone with splendour offabric, there was rich lace, fine linen, ribbands, farthingales, swansdown tippets, and little slippers with high red heels. He had awardrobe made for her such as the finest lady of fashion could scarcelyboast, and the tiny creature was decked out in it, and on great occasionseven strung with her dead mother's jewels. 

Among these strange things, he had the fantastical notion to have madefor her several suits of boy's clothes: pink and blue satin coats, littlewhite, or amber, or blue satin breeches, ruffles of lace, and waistcoatsembroidered with colours and silver or gold. There was also a smallscarlet-coated hunting costume and all the paraphernalia of the chase. Itwas Sir Jeoffry's finest joke to bid her woman dress her as a boy, andthen he would have her brought to the table where he and his fellows weredining together, and she would toss off her little bumper with the bestof them, and rip out childish oaths, and sing them, to their delight, songs she had learned from the stable-boys. She cared more for dogs andhorses than for finery, and when she was not in the humour to be made apuppet of, neither tirewoman nor devil could put her into her brocades;but she liked the excitement of the dining-room, and, as time went on, would be dressed in her flowered petticoats in a passion of eagerness togo and show herself, and coquet in her lace and gewgaws with men oldenough to be her father, and loose enough to find her premature airs andgraces a fine joke indeed. She ruled them all with her temper and hershrewish will. She would have her way in all things, or there should beno sport with her, and she would sing no songs for them, but would floutthem bitterly, and sit in a great chair with her black brows drawn down, and her whole small person breathing rancour and disdain. 

Sir Jeoffry, who had bullied his wife, had now the pleasurable experienceof being henpecked by his daughter; for so, indeed, he was. Miss ruledhim with a rod of iron, and wielded her weapon with such skill thatbefore a year had elapsed he obeyed her as the servants below stairs haddone in her infancy. She had no fear of his great oaths, for shepossessed a strangely varied stock of her own upon which she could alwaysdraw, and her voice being more shrill than his, if not of such bigness, her ear-piercing shrieks and indomitable perseverance always proved toomuch for him in the end. It must be admitted likewise that her violenceof temper and power of will were somewhat beyond his own, notwithstandingher tender years and his reputation. In fact, he found himself obligedto observe this, and finally made something of a merit and joke of it. 

"There is no managing of the little shrew, " he would say. "Neither mannor devil can bend or break her. If I smashed every bone in her carcass, she would die shrieking hell at me and defiance. "

If one admits the truth, it must be owned that if she had not hadbestowed upon her by nature gifts of beauty and vivacity soextraordinary, and had been cursed with a thousandth part of thevixenishness she displayed every day of her life, he would have brokenevery bone in her carcass without a scruple or a qualm. But her beautyseemed but to grow with every hour that passed, and it was by exceedinggood fortune exactly the fashion of beauty which he admired the most. When she attained her tenth year she was as tall as a fine boy of twelve, and of such a shape and carriage as young Diana herself might haveenvied. Her limbs were long, and most divinely moulded, and of astrength that caused admiration and amazement in all beholders. Herfather taught her to follow him in the hunting-field, and when sheappeared upon her horse, clad in her little breeches and top-boots andscarlet coat, child though she was, she set the field on fire. Shelearned full early how to coquet and roll her fine eyes; but it is alsotrue that she was not much of a languisher, as all her ogling was of adestructive or proudly-attacking kind. It was her habit to leave othersto languish, and herself to lead them with disdainful vivacity to doingso. She was the talk, and, it must be admitted, the scandal, of thecounty by the day she was fifteen. The part wherein she lived was aboisterous hunting shire where there were wide ditches and high hedges toleap, and rough hills and moors to gallop over, and within the regionneither polite life nor polite education were much thought of; but evenin the worst portions of it there were occasional virtuous matrons whoshook their heads with much gravity and wonder over the beautifulMistress Clorinda. 

CHAPTER IV--Lord Twemlow's chaplain visits his patron's kinsman, andMistress Clorinda shines on her birthday night

Uncivilised and almost savage as her girlish life was, and unregulated byany outward training as was her mind, there were none who came in contactwith her who could be blind to a certain strong, clear wit, andunconquerableness of purpose, for which she was remarkable. She everknew full well what she desired to gain or to avoid, and once havingfixed her mind upon any object, she showed an adroitness and brilliancyof resource, a control of herself and others, the which there was nocircumventing. She never made a blunder because she could not controlthe expression of her emotions; and when she gave way to a passion, 'twasbecause she chose to do so, having naught to lose, and in the midst ofall their riotous jesting with her the boon companions of Sir Jeoffryknew this. 

"Had she a secret to keep, child though she is, " said Eldershawe, "thereis none--man or woman--who could scare or surprise it from her; and 'tisa strange quality to note so early in a female creature. "

She spent her days with her father and his dissolute friends, treatedhalf like a boy, half a fantastical queen, until she was fourteen. Shehunted and coursed, shot birds, leaped hedges and ditches, reigned at theriotous feastings, and coquetted with these mature, and in some caseselderly, men, as if she looked forward to doing naught else all her life. 

But one day, after she had gone out hunting with her father, riding Rake, who had been given to her, and wearing her scarlet coat, breeches, andtop-boots, one of the few remaining members of her mother's family senthis chaplain to remonstrate and advise her father to command her toforbear from appearing in such impudent attire. 

There was, indeed, a stirring scene when this message was delivered byits bearer. The chaplain was an awkward, timid creature, who had heardstories enough of Wildairs Hall and its master to undertake his missionwith a quaking soul. To have refused to obey any behest of his patronwould have cost him his living, and knowing this beyond a doubt, he wasforced to gird up his loins and gather together all the little courage hecould muster to beard the lion in his den. 

The first thing he beheld on entering the big hall was a beautiful tallyouth wearing his own rich black hair, and dressed in scarlet coat forhunting. He was playing with a dog, making it leap over his crop, andboth laughing and swearing at its clumsiness. He glanced at the chaplainwith a laughing, brilliant eye, returning the poor man's humble bow witha slight nod as he plainly hearkened to what he said as he explained hiserrand. 

"I come from my Lord Twemlow, who is your master's kinsman, " the chaplainfaltered; "I am bidden to see and speak to him if it be possible, and hislordship much desires that Sir Jeoffry will allow it to be so. My LordTwemlow--"

The beautiful youth left his playing with the dog and came forward withall the air of the young master of the house. 

"My Lord Twemlow sends you?" he said. "'Tis long since his lordshipfavoured us with messages. Where is Sir Jeoffry, Lovatt?"

"In the dining-hall, " answered the servant. "He went there but a momentpast, Mistress. "

The chaplain gave such a start as made him drop his shovel hat. "Mistress!" And this was she--this fine young creature who was tall andgrandly enough built and knit to seem a radiant being even when clad inmasculine attire. He picked up his hat and bowed so low that it almostswept the floor in his obeisance. He was not used to female beauty whichdeigned to cast great smiling eyes upon him, for at my Lord Twemlow'stable he sat so far below the salt that women looked not his way. 

This beauty looked at him as if she was amused at the thought ofsomething in her own mind. He wondered tremblingly if she guessed whathe came for and knew how her father would receive it. 

"Come with me, " she said; "I will take you to him. He would not see youif I did not. He does not love his lordship tenderly enough. "

She led the way, holding her head jauntily and high, while he cast downhis eyes lest his gaze should be led to wander in a way unseemly in oneof his cloth. Such a foot and such--! He felt it more becoming andsafer to lift his eyes to the ceiling and keep them there, which gave himsomewhat the aspect of one praying. 

Sir Jeoffry stood at the buffet with a flagon of ale in his hand, takinghis stirrup cup. At the sight of a stranger and one attired in the garbof a chaplain, he scowled surprisedly. 

"What's this?" quoth he. "What dost want, Clo? I have no leisure for asermon. "

Mistress Clorinda went to the buffet and filled a tankard for herself andcarried it back to the table, on the edge of which she half sat, with oneleg bent, one foot resting on the floor. 

"Time thou wilt have to take, Dad, " she said, with an arch grin, showingtwo rows of gleaming pearls. "This gentleman is my Lord Twemlow'schaplain, whom he sends to exhort you, requesting you to have thecivility to hear him. "

"Exhort be damned, and Twemlow be damned too!" cried Sir Jeoffry, who hada great quarrel with his lordship and hated him bitterly. "What does thecanting fool mean?"

"Sir, " faltered the poor message-bearer, "his lordship hath--hath beenconcerned--having heard--"

The handsome creature balanced against the table took the tankard fromher lips and laughed. 

"Having heard thy daughter rides to field in breeches, and is an unseemly-behaving wench, " she cried, "his lordship sends his chaplain to deliver adiscourse thereon--not choosing to come himself. Is not that thy errand, reverend sir?"

The chaplain, poor man, turned pale, having caught, as she spoke, aglimpse of Sir Jeoffry's reddening visage. 

"Madam, " he faltered, bowing--"Madam, I ask pardon of you most humbly! Ifit were your pleasure to deign to--to--allow me--"

She set the tankard on the table with a rollicking smack, and thrust herhands in her breeches-pockets, swaying with laughter; and, indeed, 'twasringing music, her rich great laugh, which, when she grew of riper years, was much lauded and written verses on by her numerous swains. 

"If 'twere my pleasure to go away and allow you to speak, free from theawkwardness of a young lady's presence, " she said. "But 'tis not, as ithappens, and if I stay here, I shall be a protection. "

In truth, he required one. Sir Jeoffry broke into a torrent ofblasphemy. He damned both kinsman and chaplain, and raged at theimpudence of both in daring to approach him, swearing to horsewhip mylord if they ever met, and to have the chaplain kicked out of the house, and beyond the park gates themselves. But Mistress Clorinda chose tomake it her whim to take it in better humour, and as a joke with a finepoint to it. She laughed at her father's storming, and while thechaplain quailed before it with pallid countenance and fairly hang-doglook, she seemed to find it but a cause for outbursts of merriment. 

"Hold thy tongue a bit, Dad, " she cried, when he had reached his loudest, "and let his reverence tell us what his message is. We have not evenheard it. "

"Want not to hear it!" shouted Sir Jeoffry. "Dost think I'll stand hisimpudence? Not I!"

"What was your message?" demanded the young lady of the chaplain. "Youcannot return without delivering it. Tell it to me. _I_ choose it shallbe told. "

The chaplain clutched and fumbled with his hat, pale, and dropping hiseyes upon the floor, for very fear. 

"Pluck up thy courage, man, " said Clorinda. "I will uphold thee. Themessage?"

"Your pardon, Madam--'twas this, " the chaplain faltered. "My lordcommanded me to warn your honoured father--that if he did not beg you toleave off wearing--wearing--"

"Breeches, " said Mistress Clorinda, slapping her knee. 

The chaplain blushed with modesty, though he was a man of sallowcountenance. 

"No gentleman, " he went on, going more lamely at eachword--"notwithstanding your great beauty--no gentleman--"

"Would marry me?" the young lady ended for him, with mercifulgood-humour. 

"For if you--if a young lady be permitted to bear herself in such amanner as will cause her to be held lightly, she can make no match thatwill not be a dishonour to her family--and--and--"

"And may do worse!" quoth Mistress Clo, and laughed until the room rang. 

Sir Jeoffry's rage was such as made him like to burst; but she restrainedhim when he would have flung his tankard at the chaplain's head, and amidhis storm of curses bundled the poor man out of the room, picking up hishat which in his hurry and fright he let fall, and thrusting it into hishand. 

"Tell his lordship, " she said, laughing still as she spoke the finalwords, "that I say he is right--and I will see to it that no disgracebefalls him. "

"Forsooth, Dad, " she said, returning, "perhaps the old son ofa--"--something unmannerly--"is not so great a fool. As for me, I meanto make a fine marriage and be a great lady, and I know of nonehereabouts to suit me but the old Earl of Dunstanwolde, and 'tis said herates at all but modest women, and, in faith, he might not find breechesmannerly. I will not hunt in them again. "

She did not, though once or twice when she was in a wild mood, and herfather entertained at dinner those of his companions whom she was themost inclined to, she swaggered in among them in her daintiest suits ofmale attire, and caused their wine-shot eyes to gloat over her boyish-maiden charms and jaunty airs and graces. 

On the night of her fifteenth birthday Sir Jeoffry gave a great dinner tohis boon companions and hers. She had herself commanded that thereshould be no ladies at the feast; for she chose to announce that sheshould appear at no more such, having the wit to see that she was tootall a young lady for childish follies, and that she had now arrived atan age when her market must be made. 

"I shall have women enough henceforth to be dull with, " she said. "Thouart but a poor match-maker, Dad, or wouldst have thought of it for me. But not once has it come into thy pate that I have no mother to angle inmy cause and teach me how to cast sheep's eyes at bachelors. Long-tailedpetticoats from this time for me, and hoops and patches, and ogling overfans--until at last, if I play my cards well, some great lord will lookmy way and be taken by my shape and my manners. "

"With thy shape, Clo, God knows every man will, " laughed Sir Jeoffry, "but I fear me not with thy manners. Thou hast the manners of a baggage, and they are second nature to thee. "

"They are what I was born with, " answered Mistress Clorinda. "They camefrom him that begot me, and he has not since improved them. Butnow"--making a great sweeping curtsey, her impudent bright beauty almostdazzling his eyes--"now, after my birth-night, they will be bettered; butthis one night I will have my last fling. "

When the men trooped into the black oak wainscotted dining-hall on theeventful night, they found their audacious young hostess awaiting them ingreater and more daring beauty than they had ever before beheld. Shewore knee-breeches of white satin, a pink satin coat embroidered withsilver roses, white silk stockings, and shoes with great buckles ofbrilliants, revealing a leg so round and strong and delicately moulded, and a foot so arched and slender, as surely never before, they swore oneand all, woman had had to display. She met them standing jauntilyastride upon the hearth, her back to the fire, and she greeted each oneas he came with some pretty impudence. Her hair was tied back andpowdered, her black eyes were like lodestars, drawing all men, and hercolour was that of a ripe pomegranate. She had a fine, haughty littleRoman nose, a mouth like a scarlet bow, a wonderful long throat, andround cleft chin. A dazzling mien indeed she possessed, and ready enoughshe was to shine before them. Sir Jeoffry was now elderly, having been aman of forty when united to his conjugal companion. Most of his friendswere of his own age, so that it had not been with unripe youth MistressClorinda had been in the habit of consorting. But upon this night anewcomer was among the guests. He was a young relation of one of theolder men, and having come to his kinsman's house upon a visit, andhaving proved himself, in spite of his youth, to be a young fellow ofhumour, high courage in the hunting-field, and by no means averse eitherto entering upon or discussing intrigue and gallant adventure, had madehimself something of a favourite. His youthful beauty for a man almostequalled that of Mistress Clorinda herself. He had an elegant, fineshape, of great strength and vigour, his countenance was delicately ruddyand handsomely featured, his curling fair hair flowed loose upon hisshoulders, and, though masculine in mould, his ankle was as slender andhis buckled shoe as arched as her own. 

He was, it is true, twenty-four years of age and a man, while she was butfifteen and a woman, but being so tall and built with such unusual vigourof symmetry, she was a beauteous match for him, and both being attired infashionable masculine habit, these two pretty young fellows standingsmiling saucily at each other were a charming, though singular, spectacle. 

This young man was already well known in the modish world of town for hisbeauty and adventurous spirit. He was indeed already a beau andconqueror of female hearts. It was suspected that he cherished a privateambition to set the modes in beauties and embroidered waistcoats himselfin time, and be as renowned abroad and as much the town talk as certainother celebrated beaux had been before him. The art of ogling tenderlyand of uttering soft nothings he had learned during his first season intown, and as he had a great melting blue eye, the figure of an Adonis, and a white and shapely hand for a ring, he was well equipped forconquest. He had darted many an inflaming glance at Mistress Clorindabefore the first meats were removed. Even in London he had heard a vaguerumour of this handsome young woman, bred among her father's dogs, horses, and boon companions, and ripening into a beauty likely to maketown faces pale. He had almost fallen into the spleen on hearing thatshe had left her boy's clothes and vowed she would wear them no more, asabove all things he had desired to see how she carried them and whatcharms they revealed. On hearing from his host and kinsman that she hadsaid that on her birth-night she would bid them farewell for ever bydonning them for the last time, he was consumed with eagerness to obtainan invitation. This his kinsman besought for him, and, behold! the firstglance the beauty shot at him pierced his inflammable bosom like a dart. Never before had it been his fortune to behold female charms so dazzlingand eyes of such lustre and young majesty. The lovely baggage had asaucy way of standing with her white jewelled hands in her pockets like apretty fop, and throwing up her little head like a modish beauty who wasof royal blood; and these two tricks alone, he felt, might have set onfire the heart of a man years older and colder than himself. 

If she had been of the order of soft-natured charmers, they would havefallen into each other's eyes before the wine was changed; but thisMistress Clorinda was not. She did not fear to meet the full battery ofhis enamoured glances, but she did not choose to return them. She playedher part of the pretty young fellow who was a high-spirited beauty, withmore of wit and fire than she had ever played it before. The rollickinghunting-squires, who had been her play-fellows so long, devoured her withtheir delighted glances and roared with laughter at her sallies. Theirjokes and flatteries were not of the most seemly, but she had not beenbred to seemliness and modesty, and was no more ignorant than if she hadbeen, in sooth, some gay young springald of a lad. To her it was part ofthe entertainment that upon this last night they conducted themselves asbeseemed her boyish masquerading. Though country-bred, she had livedamong companions who were men of the world and lived without restraints, and she had so far learned from them that at fifteen years old she was asworldly and as familiar with the devices of intrigue as she would be atforty. So far she had not been pushed to practising them, her singularlife having thrown her among few of her own age, and those had chanced tobe of a sort she disdainfully counted as country bumpkins. 

But the young gallant introduced to-night into the world she lived in wasno bumpkin, and was a dandy of the town. His name was Sir John Oxon, andhe had just come into his title and a pretty property. His hands were aswhite and bejewelled as her own, his habit was of the latest fashionablecut, and his fair flowing locks scattered a delicate French perfume shedid not even know the name of. 

But though she observed all these attractions and found them powerful, young Sir John remarked, with a slight sinking qualm, that her great eyedid not fall before his amorous glances, but met them with high smilingreadiness, and her colour never blanched or heightened a whit for alltheir masterly skilfulness. But he had sworn to himself that he wouldapproach close enough to her to fire off some fine speech before thenight was ended, and he endeavoured to bear himself with at least anoutward air of patience until he beheld his opportunity. 

When the last dish was removed and bottles and bumpers stood upon theboard, she sprang up on her chair and stood before them all, smiling downthe long table with eyes like flashing jewels. Her hands were thrust inher pockets--with her pretty young fop's air, and she drew herself to herfull comely height, her beauteous lithe limbs and slender feet setsmartly together. Twenty pairs of masculine eyes were turned upon herbeauty, but none so ardently as the young one's across the table. 

"Look your last on my fine shape, " she proclaimed in her high, richvoice. "You will see but little of the lower part of it when it is hidin farthingales and petticoats. Look your last before I go to don myfine lady's furbelows. "

And when they filled their glasses and lifted them and shouted admiringjests to her, she broke into one of her stable-boy songs, and sang it inthe voice of a skylark. 

No man among them was used to showing her the courtesies of politebreeding. She had been too long a boy to them for that to have enteredany mind, and when she finished her song, sprang down, and made for thedoor, Sir John beheld his long-looked-for chance, and was there beforeher to open it with a great bow, made with his hand upon his heart andhis fair locks falling. 

"You rob us of the rapture of beholding great beauties, Madam, " he saidin a low, impassioned voice. "But there should be indeed but _one_ happyman whose bliss it is to gaze upon such perfections. "

"I am fifteen years old to-night, " she answered; "and as yet I have notset eyes upon him. "

"How do you know that, madam?" he said, bowing lower still. 

She laughed her great rich laugh. 

"Forsooth, I do not know, " she retorted. "He may be here this very nightamong this company; and as it might be so, I go to don my modesty. "

And she bestowed on him a parting shot in the shape of one of herprettiest young fop waves of the hand, and was gone from him. 

* * * * *

When the door closed behind her and Sir John Oxon returned to the table, for a while a sort of dulness fell upon the party. Not being of quickminds or sentiments, these country roisterers failed to understand theheavy cloud of spleen and lack of spirit they experienced, and as theyfilled their glasses and tossed off one bumper after another to cure it, they soon began again to laugh and fell into boisterous joking. 

They talked mostly, indeed, of their young playfellow, of whom they felt, in some indistinct manner, they were to be bereft; they rallied SirJeoffry, told stories of her childhood and made pictures of her buddingbeauties, comparing them with those of young ladies who were celebratedtoasts. 

"She will sail among them like a royal frigate, " said one; "and they willpale before her lustre as a tallow dip does before an illumination. "

The clock struck twelve before she returned to them. Just as the laststroke sounded the door was thrown open, and there she stood, a woman oneach side of her, holding a large silver candelabra bright with waxtapers high above her, so that she was in a flood of light. 

She was attired in rich brocade of crimson and silver, and wore a greathooped petticoat, which showed off her grandeur, her waist of no morebigness than a man's hands could clasp, set in its midst like the stem ofa flower; her black hair was rolled high and circled with jewels, herfair long throat blazed with a collar of diamonds, and the majesty of hereye and lip and brow made up a mien so dazzling that every man sprang tohis feet beholding her. 

She made a sweeping obeisance and then stood up before them, her headthrown back and her lips curving in the triumphant mocking smile of agreat beauty looking upon them all as vassals. 

"Down upon your knees, " she cried, "and drink to me kneeling. From thisnight all men must bend so--all men on whom I deign to cast my eyes. "

CHAPTER V--"Not I, " said she. "There thou mayst trust me. I would notbe found out. "

She went no more a-hunting in boy's clothes, but from this time forwardwore brocades and paduasoys, fine lawn and lace. Her tirewoman was keptso busily engaged upon making rich habits, fragrant waters and essences, and so running at her bidding to change her gown or dress her head insome new fashion, that her life was made to her a weighty burden to bear, and also a painful one. Her place had before been an easy one but forher mistress's choleric temper, but it was so no more. Never had younglady been so exacting and so tempestuous when not pleased with theadorning of her face and shape. In the presence of polite strangers, whether ladies or gentlemen, Mistress Clorinda in these days chose tochasten her language and give less rein to her fantastical passions, butalone in her closet with her woman, if a riband did but not suit herfancy, or a hoop not please, she did not fear to be as scurrilous as shechose. In this discreet retirement she rapped out oaths and boxed herwoman's ears with a vigorous hand, tore off her gowns and stamped thembeneath her feet, or flung pots of pomade at the poor woman's head. Shetook these freedoms with such a readiness and spirit that she was servedwith a despatch and humbleness scarcely to be equalled, and, it iscertain, never excelled. 

The high courage and undaunted will which had been the engines she hadused to gain her will from her infant years aided her in these days tocarry out what her keen mind and woman's wit had designed, which was totake the county by storm with her beauty, and reign toast and enslaveruntil such time as she won the prize of a husband of rich estates andnotable rank. 

It was soon bruited abroad, to the amazement of the county, that MistressClorinda Wildairs had changed her strange and unseemly habits of life, and had become as much a young lady of fashion and breeding as her birthand charm demanded. This was first made known by her appearing oneSunday morning at church, accompanied--as though attended with a retinueof servitors--by Mistress Wimpole and her two sisters, whose plain faces, awkward shape, and still more awkward attire were such a foil to herglowing loveliness as set it in high relief. It was seldom that thecoach from Wildairs Hall drew up before the lych-gate, but upon rareSunday mornings Mistress Wimpole and her two charges contrived, if SirJeoffry was not in an ill-humour and the coachman was complaisant, to bedriven to service. Usually, however, they trudged afoot, and, if the daychanced to be sultry, arrived with their snub-nosed faces of a high andshiny colour, or if the country roads were wet, with their petticoatsbemired. 

This morning, when the coach drew up, the horses were well groomed, thecoachman smartly dressed, and a footman was in attendance, who sprang toearth and opened the door with a flourish. 

The loiterers in the churchyard, and those who were approaching the gateor passing towards the church porch, stared with eyes wide stretched inwonder and incredulity. Never had such a thing before been beheld orheard of as what they now saw in broad daylight. 

Mistress Clorinda, clad in highest town fashion, in brocades and silverlace and splendid furbelows, stepped forth from the chariot with the airof a queen. She had the majestic composure of a young lady who had wornnothing less modish than such raiment all her life, and who had prayeddecorously beneath her neighbours' eyes since she had left her nurse'scare. 

Her sisters and their governess looked timorous, and as if they knew notwhere to cast their eyes for shamefacedness; but not so MistressClorinda, who moved forward with a stately, swimming gait, her fine headin the air. As she stepped into the porch a young gentleman drew backand made a profound obeisance to her. She cast her eyes upon him andreturned it with a grace and condescension which struck the beholdersdumb with admiring awe. To some of the people of a commoner sort he wasa stranger, but all connected with the gentry knew he was Sir John Oxon, who was staying at Eldershawe Park with his relative, whose estate itwas. 

How Mistress Clorinda contrived to manage it no one was aware butherself, but after a few appearances at church she appeared at otherplaces. She was seen at dinners at fine houses, and began to be seen atrouts and balls. Where she was seen she shone, and with such radiance ascaused matchmaking matrons great dismay, and their daughters woefulqualms. Once having shone, she could not be extinguished or hidden undera bushel; for, being of rank and highly connected through mother as wellas father, and playing her cards with great wit and skill, she could notbe thrust aside. 

At her first hunt ball she set aflame every male breast in the shire, unmasking such a battery of charms as no man could withstand the fire of. Her dazzling eye, her wondrous shape, the rich music of her laugh, andthe mocking wit of her sharp saucy tongue were weapons to have armed adozen women, and she was but one, and in the first rich tempting glow ofblooming youth. 

She turned more heads and caused more quarrels than she could havecounted had she sat up half the night. She went to her coach with herfather followed by a dozen gallants, each ready to spit the other for asmile. Her smiles were wondrous, but there seemed always a touch ofmockery or disdain in them which made them more remembered than if theyhad been softer. 

One man there was, who perchance found something in her high glance notwholly scornful, but he was used to soft treatment from women, and had, in sooth, expected milder glances than were bestowed upon him. This wasyoung Sir John Oxon, who had found himself among the fair sex that nightas great a beau as she had been a belle; but two dances he had won fromher, and this was more than any other man could boast, and what othergallants envied him with darkest hatred. 

Sir Jeoffry, who had watched her as she queened it amongst rakes and fopsand honest country squires and knights, had marked the vigour with whichthey plied her with an emotion which was a new sensation to his drink-bemuddled brain. So far as it was in his nature to love another thanhimself, he had learned to love this young lovely virago of his own fleshand blood, perchance because she was the only creature who had neverquailed before him, and had always known how to bend him to her will. 

When the chariot rode away, he looked at her as she sat erect in theearly morning light, as unblenching, bright, and untouched in bloom as ifshe had that moment risen from her pillow and washed her face in dew. Hewas not so drunk as he had been at midnight, but he was a little maudlin. 

"By God, thou art handsome, Clo!" he said. "By God, I never saw a finerwoman!"

"Nor I, " she answered back, "which I thank Heaven for. "

"Thou pretty, brazen baggage, " her father laughed. "Old Dunstanwoldelooked thee well over to-night. He never looked away from the moment heclapped eyes on thee. "

"That I knew better than thee, Dad, " said the beauty; "and I saw that hecould not have done it if he had tried. If there comes no richer, younger great gentleman, he shall marry me. "

"Thou hast a sharp eye and a keen wit, " said Sir Jeoffry, looking askanceat her with a new maggot in his brain. "Wouldst never play the fool, Iwarrant. They will press thee hard and 'twill be hard to withstand theirlove-making, but I shall never have to mount and ride off with pistols inmy holsters to bring back a man and make him marry thee, as Chris Crowellhad to do for his youngest wench. Thou wouldst never play the fool, Iwarrant--wouldst thou, Clo?"

She tossed her head and laughed like a young scornful devil, showing herwhite pearl teeth between her lips' scarlet. 

"Not I, " she said. "There thou mayst trust me. _I_ would not be foundout. "

She played her part as triumphant beauty so successfully that thecleverest managing mother in the universe could not have bettered herposition. Gallants brawled for her; honest men fell at her feet;romantic swains wrote verses to her, praising her eyes, her delicatebosom, the carnation of her cheek, and the awful majesty of her mien. Inevery revel she was queen, in every contest of beauties Venus, in everyspectacle of triumph empress of them all. 

The Earl of Dunstanwolde, who had the oldest name and the richest estatesin his own county and the six adjoining ones, who, having made a love-match in his prime, and lost wife and heir but a year after his nuptials, had been the despair of every maid and mother who knew him, because hewould not be melted to a marriageable mood. After the hunt ball thismourning nobleman, who was by this time of ripe years, had appeared inthe world again as he had not done for many years. Before many monthshad elapsed, it was known that his admiration of the new beauty wasconfessed, and it was believed that he but waited further knowledge ofher to advance to the point of laying his title and estates at her feet. 

But though, two years before, the entire county would have rated lowindeed the wit and foresight of the man who had even hinted thepossibility of such honour and good fortune being in prospect for theyoung lady, so great was Mistress Clorinda's brilliant and noble beauty, and with such majesty she bore herself in these times, that there wereeven those who doubted whether she would think my lord a rich enoughprize for her, and if, when he fell upon his knees, she would deign tobecome his countess, feeling that she had such splendid wares to disposeof as might be bartered for a duke, when she went to town and to court. 

During the length of more than one man's lifetime after, the reign ofMistress Clorinda Wildairs was a memory recalled over the bottle at thedining-table among men, some of whom had but heard their fathers vaunther beauties. It seemed as if in her person there was not a single flaw, or indeed a charm, which had not reached the highest point of beauty. Forshape she might have vied with young Diana, mounted side by side with herupon a pedestal; her raven locks were of a length and luxuriance toclothe her as a garment, her great eye commanded and flashed as Juno'smight have done in the goddess's divinest moments of lovely pride, andthough it was said none ever saw it languish, each man who adored her wasmaddened by the secret belief that Venus' self could not so melt in loveas she if she would stoop to loving--as each one prayed shemight--himself. Her hands and feet, her neck, the slimness of her waist, her mantling crimson and ivory white, her little ear, her scarlet lip, the pearls between them and her long white throat, were perfection eachand all, and catalogued with oaths of rapture. 

"She hath such beauties, " one admirer said, "that a man must toast themall and cannot drink to her as to a single woman. And she hath so manythat to slight none her servant must go from the table reeling. "

There was but one thing connected with her which was not a weapon to herhand, and this was, that she was not a fortune. Sir Jeoffry had drunkand rioted until he had but little left. He had cut his timber and lethis estate go to rack, having, indeed, no money to keep it up. The greatHall, which had once been a fine old place, was almost a ruin. Itscarved oak and noble rooms and galleries were all of its past splendoursthat remained. All had been sold that could be sold, and all the outcomehad been spent. The county, indeed, wondered where Mistress Clorinda'sfine clothes came from, and knew full well why she was not taken to courtto kneel to the Queen. That she was waiting for this to make her match, the envious were quite sure, and did not hesitate to whisper prettyloudly. 

The name of one man of rank and fortune after another was spoken of asthat of a suitor to her hand, but in some way it was discovered that sherefused them all. It was also known that they continued to worship her, and that at any moment she could call even the best among them back. Itseemed that, while all the men were enamoured of her, there was not onewho could cure himself of his passion, however hopeless it might be. 

Her wit was as great as her beauty, and she had a spirit before which noman could stand if she chose to be disdainful. To some she was so, andhad the whim to flout them with great brilliancy. Encounters with herwere always remembered, and if heard by those not concerned, wereconsidered worthy both of recollection and of being repeated to theworld; she had a tongue so nimble and a wit so full of fire. 

Young Sir John Oxon's visit to his relative at Eldershawe being at anend, he returned to town, and remaining there through a few weeks offashionable gaiety, won new reputations as a triumpher over the femaleheart. He made some renowned conquests and set the mode in some newessences and sword-knots. But even these triumphs appeared to pall uponhim shortly, since he deserted the town and returned again to thecountry, where, on this occasion, he did not stay with his relative, butwith Sir Jeoffry himself, who had taken a boisterous fancy to him. 

It had been much marked since the altered life of Mistress Clorinda thatshe, who had previously defied all rules laid down on behaviour for youngladies, and had been thought to do so because she knew none of them, nowproved that her wild fashion had been but wilfulness, since it was seenthat she must have observed and marked manners with the best. Thereseemed no decorum she did not know how to observe with the most naturalgrace. It was, indeed, all grace and majesty, there being no suggestionof the prude about her, but rather the manner of a young lady having beenborn with pride and stateliness, and most carefully bred. This was theresult of her wondrous wit, the highness of her talents, and the strengthof her will, which was of such power that she could carry out withoutfail anything she chose to undertake. There are some women who havebeauty, and some who have wit or vigour of understanding, but shepossessed all three, and with them such courage and strength of nerve aswould have well equipped a man. 

Quick as her wit was and ready as were her brilliant quips and sallies, there was no levity in her demeanour, and she kept Mistress MargeryWimpole in discreet attendance upon her, as if she had been the daughterof a Spanish Hidalgo, never to be approached except in the presence ofher duenna. Poor Mistress Margery, finding her old fears removed, wasoverpowered with new ones. She had no lawlessness or hoyden manners tocontend with, but instead a haughtiness so high and demands so great thather powers could scarcely satisfy the one or her spirit stand up beforethe other. 

"It is as if one were lady-in-waiting to her Majesty's self, " she used towhimper when she was alone and dare do so. "Surely the Queen has notsuch a will and such a temper. She will have me toil to look worthy ofher in my habit, and bear myself like a duchess in dignity. Alack! Ihave practised my obeisance by the hour to perfect it, so that I mayescape her wrath. And I must know how to look, and when and where tosit, and with what air of being near at hand, while I must see nothing!And I must drag my failing limbs hither and thither with genteel easewhile I ache from head to foot, being neither young nor strong. "

The poor lady was so overawed by, and yet so admired, her charge, that itwas piteous to behold. 

"She is an arrant fool, " quoth Mistress Clorinda to her father. "A niceduenna she would be, forsooth, if she were with a woman who neededwatching. She could be hoodwinked as it pleased me a dozen times a day. It is I who am her guard, not she mine! But a beauty must drag some spyabout with her, it seems, and she I can make to obey me like a spaniel. We can afford no better, and she is well born, and since I bought her thepurple paduasoy and the new lappets she has looked well enough to serve. "

"Dunstanwolde need not fear for thee now, " said Sir Jeoffry. "Thou art aclever and foreseeing wench, Clo. "

"Dunstanwolde nor any man!" she answered. "There will be no gossip ofme. It is Anne and Barbara thou must look to, Dad, lest their plainfaces lead them to show soft hearts. My face is my fortune!"

When Sir John Oxon paid his visit to Sir Jeoffry the days of MistressMargery were filled with carking care. The night before he arrived, Mistress Clorinda called her to her closet and laid upon her her commandsin her own high way. She was under her woman's hands, and while hergreat mantle of black hair fell over the back of her chair and lay on thefloor, her tirewoman passing the brush over it, lock by lock, she was ather greatest beauty. Either she had been angered or pleased, for hercheek wore a bloom even deeper and richer than usual, and there was aspark like a diamond under the fringe of her lashes. 

At her first timorous glance at her, Mistress Margery thought she musthave been angered, the spark so burned in her eyes, and so evident wasthe light but quick heave of her bosom; but the next moment it seemed asif she must be in a pleasant humour, for a little smile deepened thedimples in the corner of her bowed, full lips. But quickly she looked upand resumed her stately air. 

"This gentleman who comes to visit to-morrow, " she said, "Sir JohnOxon--do you know aught of him?"

"But little, Madame, " Mistress Margery answered with fear and humility. 

"Then it will be well that you should, since I have commands to lay uponyou concerning him, " said the beauty. 

"You do me honour, " said the poor gentlewoman. 

Mistress Clorinda looked her straight in the face. 

"He is a gentleman from town, the kinsman of Lord Eldershawe, " she said. "He is a handsome man, concerning whom many women have been fools. Hechooses to allow it to be said that he is a conqueror of female heartsand virtue, even among women of fashion and rank. If this be said in thetown, what may not be said in the country? He shall wear no such graceshere. He chooses to pay his court to me. He is my father's guest and aman of fashion. Let him make as many fine speeches as he has the willto. I will listen or not as I choose. I am used to words. But see thatwe are not left alone. "

The tirewoman pricked up her ears. Clorinda saw her in the glass. 

"Attend to thy business if thou dost not want a box o' the ear, " she saidin a tone which made the woman start. 

"You would not be left alone with the gentleman, Madam?" falteredMistress Margery. 

"If he comes to boast of conquests, " said Mistress Clorinda, looking ather straight again and drawing down her black brows, "I will play ascleverly as he. He cannot boast greatly of one whom he never makes hiscourt to but in the presence of a kinswoman of ripe years. Understandthat this is to be your task. "

"I will remember, " Madam, answered Mistress Margery. "I will bear myselfas you command. "

"That is well, " said Mistress Clorinda. "I will keep you no more. Youmay go. "

CHAPTER VI--Relating how Mistress Anne discovered a miniature

The good gentlewoman took her leave gladly. She had spent a life intimid fears of such things and persons as were not formed by Nature toexcite them, but never had she experienced such humble terrors as thosewith which Mistress Clorinda inspired her. Never did she approach herwithout inward tremor, and never did she receive permission to departfrom her presence without relief. And yet her beauty and wit and spirithad no admirer regarding them with more of wondering awe. 

In the bare west wing of the house, comfortless though the neglect of itsmaster had made it, there was one corner where she was unafraid. Herfirst charges, Mistress Barbara and Mistress Anne, were young ladies ofgentle spirit. Their sister had said of them that their spirit was aspoor as their looks. It could not be said of them by any one that theyhad any pretension to beauty, but that which Mistress Clorinda rated atas poor spirit was the one element of comfort in their poor dependentkinswoman's life. They gave her no ill words, they indulged in nofantastical whims and vapours, and they did not even seem to expect otherentertainment than to walk the country roads, to play with their littlelap-dog Cupid, wind silks for their needlework, and please themselveswith their embroidery-frames. 

To them their sister appeared a goddess whom it would be presumptuous toapproach in any frame of mind quite ordinary. Her beauty must beheightened by rich adornments, while their plain looks were left withoutthe poorest aid. It seemed but fitting that what there was to spend mustbe spent on her. They showed no signs of resentment, and took withgratitude such cast-off finery as she deigned at times to bestow uponthem, when it was no longer useful to herself. She was too full of theoccupations of pleasure to have had time to notice them, even if hernature had inclined her to the observance of family affections. It wastheir habit, when they knew of her going out in state, to watch herincoming and outgoing through a peep-hole in a chamber window. MistressMargery told them stories of her admirers and of her triumphs, of thecounty gentlemen of fortune who had offered themselves to her, and of themodes of life in town of the handsome Sir John Oxon, who, without doubt, was of the circle of her admiring attendants, if he had not fallentotally her victim, as others had. 

Of the two young women, it was Mistress Anne who had the more parts, andthe attraction of the mind the least dull. In sooth, Nature had dealtwith both in a niggardly fashion, but Mistress Barbara was the plainerand the more foolish. Mistress Anne had, perchance, the tendererfeelings, and was in secret given to a certain sentimentality. She wasthin and stooping, and had but a muddy complexion; her hair was heavy, itis true, but its thickness and weight seemed naught but an ungratefulburden; and she had a dull, soft eye. In private she was fond of readingsuch romances as she could procure by stealth from the library of booksgathered together in past times by some ancestor Sir Jeoffry regarded asan idiot. Doubtless she met with strange reading in the volumes she tookto her closet, and her simple virgin mind found cause for the solving ofmany problems; but from the pages she contrived to cull stories of lordlylovers and cruel or kind beauties, whose romances created for her astrange world of pleasure in the midst of her loneliness. Poor, neglected young female, with every guileless maiden instinct withered atbirth, she had need of some tender dreams to dwell upon, though Fateherself seemed to have decreed that they must be no more than visions. 

It was, in sooth, always the beauteous Clorinda about whose charms shebuilded her romances. In her great power she saw that for which knightsfought in tourney and great kings committed royal sins, and to hersplendid beauty she had in secrecy felt that all might be forgiven. Shecherished such fancies of her, that one morning, when she believed herabsent from the house, she stole into the corridor upon which Clorinda'sapartment opened. Her first timid thought had been, that if a chamberdoor were opened she might catch a glimpse of some of the splendours hersister's woman was surely laying out for her wearing at a birth-nightball, at the house of one of the gentry of the neighbourhood. But it sohappened that she really found the door of entrance open, which, indeed, she had not more than dared to hope, and finding it so, she stayed herfootsteps to gaze with beating heart within. On the great bed, which wasof carved oak and canopied with tattered tapestry, there lay spread suchsplendours as she had never beheld near to before. 'Twas blue and silverbrocade Mistress Clorinda was to shine in to-night; it lay spread forthin all its dimensions. The beautiful bosom and shoulders were to bebared to the eyes of scores of adorers, but rich lace was to set theirbeauties forth, and strings of pearls. Why Sir Jeoffry had not sold hislady's jewels before he became enamoured of her six-year-old child itwould be hard to explain. There was a great painted fan with jewels inthe sticks, and on the floor--as if peeping forth from beneath thebravery of the expanded petticoats--was a pair of blue and silver shoes, high-heeled and arched and slender. In gazing at them Mistress Anne losther breath, thinking that in some fashion they had a regal air of beingmade to trample hearts beneath them. 

To the gentle, hapless virgin, to whom such possessions were as thewardrobe of a queen, the temptation to behold them near was too great. She could not forbear from passing the threshold, and she did withheaving breast. She approached the bed and gazed; she dared to touch thescented gloves that lay by the outspread petticoat of blue and silver;she even laid a trembling finger upon the pointed bodice, which was soslender that it seemed small enough for even a child. 

"Ah me, " she sighed gently, "how beautiful she will be! How beautiful!And all of them will fall at her feet, as is not to be wondered at. Andit was always so all her life, even when she was an infant, and all gaveher her will because of her beauty and her power. She hath a greatpower. Barbara and I are not so. We are dull and weak, and dare notspeak our minds. It is as if we were creatures of another world; but Hewho rules all things has so willed it for us. He has given it to us forour portion--our portion. "

Her dull, poor face dropped a little as she spoke the words, and her eyesfell upon the beauteous tiny shoes, which seemed to trample even when nofoot was within them. She stooped to take one in her hand, but as shewas about to lift it something which seemed to have been dropped upon thefloor, and to have rolled beneath the valance of the bed, touched herhand. It was a thing to which a riband was attached--an ivoryminiature--and she picked it up wondering. She stood up gazing at it, insuch bewilderment to find her eyes upon it that she scarce knew what shedid. She did not mean to pry; she would not have had the daring so to doif she had possessed the inclination. But the instant her eyes told herwhat they saw, she started and blushed as she had never blushed before inher tame life. The warm rose mantled her cheeks, and even suffused theneck her chaste kerchief hid. Her eye kindled with admiration and anemotion new to her indeed. 

"How beautiful!" she said. "He is like a young Adonis, and has thebearing of a royal prince! How can it--by what strange chance hath itcome here?"

She had not regarded it more than long enough to have uttered thesewords, when a fear came upon her, and she felt that she had fallen intomisfortune. 

"What must I do with it?" she trembled. "What will she say, whether sheknows of its being within the chamber or not? She will be angry with methat I have dared to touch it. What shall I do?"

She regarded it again with eyes almost suffused. Her blush and thesensibility of her emotion gave to her plain countenance a new livelinessof tint and expression. 

"I will put it back where I found it, " she said, "and the one who knowsit will find it later. It cannot be she--it cannot be she! If I laid iton her table she would rate me bitterly--and she can be bitter when shewill. "

She bent and placed it within the shadow of the valance again, and as shefelt it touch the hard oak of the polished floor her bosom rose with asoft sigh. 

"It is an unseemly thing to do, " she said; "'tis as though one wereuncivil; but I dare not--I dare not do otherwise. "

She would have turned to leave the apartment, being much overcome by theincident, but just as she would have done so she heard the sound ofhorses' feet through the window by which she must pass, and looked out tosee if it was Clorinda who was returning from her ride. MistressClorinda was a matchless horsewoman, and a marvel of loveliness andspirit she looked when she rode, sitting upon a horse such as no otherwoman dared to mount--always an animal of the greatest beauty, but of sodangerous a spirit that her riding-whip was loaded like a man's. 

This time it was not she; and when Mistress Anne beheld the younggentleman who had drawn rein in the court she started backward and puther hand to her heart, the blood mantling her pale cheek again in aflood. But having started back, the next instant she started forward togaze again, all her timid soul in her eyes. 

"'Tis he!" she panted; "'tis he himself! He hath come in hope to speakwith my sister, and she is abroad. Poor gentleman, he hath come in suchhigh spirit, and must ride back heavy of heart. How comely, and howfinely clad he is!"

He was, in sooth, with his rich riding-habit, his handsome face, hisplumed hat, and the sun shining on the fair luxuriant locks which fellbeneath it. It was Sir John Oxon, and he was habited as when he rode inthe park in town and the court was there. Not so were attired thecountry gentry whom Anne had been wont to see, though many of them werewell mounted, knowing horseflesh and naught else, as they did. 

She pressed her cheek against the side of the oriel window, over whichthe ivy grew thickly. She was so intent that she could not withdraw hergaze. She watched him as he turned away, having received his dismissal, and she pressed her face closer that she might follow him as he rode downthe long avenue of oak-trees, his servant riding behind. 

Thus she bent forward gazing, until he turned and the oaks hid him fromher sight; and even then the spell was not dissolved, and she stillregarded the place where he had passed, until a sound behind her made herstart violently. It was a peal of laughter, high and rich, and when sheso started and turned to see whom it might be, she beheld her sisterClorinda, who was standing just within the threshold, as if movement hadbeen arrested by what had met her eye as she came in. Poor Anne put herhand to her side again. 

"Oh sister!" she gasped; "oh sister!" but could say no more. 

She saw that she had thought falsely, and that Clorinda had not been outat all, for she was in home attire; and even in the midst of hertrepidation there sprang into Anne's mind the awful thought that throughsome servant's blunder the comely young visitor had been sent away. Forherself, she expected but to be driven forth with wrathful, disdainfulwords for her presumption. For what else could she hope from thissplendid creature, who, while of her own flesh and blood, had neverseemed to regard her as being more than a poor superfluous underling? Butstrangely enough, there was no anger in Clorinda's eyes; she but laughed, as though what she had seen had made her merry. 

"You here, Anne, " she said, "and looking with light-mindedness aftergallant gentlemen! Mistress Margery should see to this and watch moreclosely, or we shall have unseemly stories told. _You_, sister, withyour modest face and bashfulness! I had not thought it of you. "

Suddenly she crossed the room to where her sister stood drooping, andseized her by the shoulder, so that she could look her well in the face. 

"What, " she said, with a mocking not quite harsh--"What is this? Does aglance at a fine gallant, even taken from behind an oriel window, makesuch change indeed? I never before saw this look, nor this colour, forsooth; it hath improved thee wondrously, Anne--wondrously. "

"Sister, " faltered Anne, "I so desired to see your birth-night ball-gown, of which Mistress Margery hath much spoken--I so desired--I thought itwould not matter if, the door being open and it spread forth upon thebed--I--I stole a look at it. And then I was tempted--and came in. "

"And then was tempted more, " Clorinda laughed, still regarding herdowncast countenance shrewdly, "by a thing far less to be resisted--afine gentleman from town, with love-locks falling on his shoulders andladies' hearts strung at his saddle-bow by scores. Which found you themost beautiful?"

"Your gown is splendid, sister, " said Anne, with modest shyness. "Therewill be no beauty who will wear another like it; or should there be one, she will not carry it as you will. "

"But the man--the man, Anne, " Clorinda laughed again. "What of the man?"

Anne plucked up just enough of her poor spirit to raise her eyes to thebrilliant ones that mocked at her. 

"With such gentlemen, sister, " she said, "is it like that _I_ have aughtto do?"

Mistress Clorinda dropped her hand and left laughing. 

"'Tis true, " she said, "it is not; but for this one time, Anne, thoulookest almost a woman. "

"'Tis not beauty alone that makes womanhood, " said Anne, her head on herbreast again. "In some book I have read that--that it is mostly pain. Iam woman enough for that. "

"You have read--you have read, " quoted Clorinda. "You are the bookworm, I remember, and filch romances and poems from the shelves. And you haveread that it is mostly pain that makes a woman? 'Tis not true. 'Tis apoor lie. _I_ am a woman and I do not suffer--for I _will_ not, that Iswear! And when I take an oath I keep it, mark you! It is men womensuffer for; that was what your scholar meant--for such fine gentlemen asthe one you have just watched while he rode away. More fools they! Noman shall make _me_ womanly in such a fashion, I promise you! Let _them_wince and kneel; _I_ will not. "

"Sister, " Anne faltered, "I thought you were not within. The gentlemanwho rode away--did the servants know?"

"That did they, " quoth Clorinda, mocking again. "They knew that I wouldnot receive him to-day, and so sent him away. He might have known asmuch himself, but he is an arrant popinjay, and thinks all women wish tolook at his fine shape, and hear him flatter them when he is in themood. "

"You would not--let him enter?"

Clorinda threw her graceful body into a chair with more light laughter. 

"I would not", she answered. "You cannot understand such ingratitude, poor Anne; you would have treated him more softly. Sit down and talk tome, and I will show thee my furbelows myself. All women like to chatterof their laced bodices and petticoats. _That_ is what makes a woman. "

Anne was tremulous with relief and pleasure. It was as if a queen hadbid her to be seated. She sat almost with the humble lack of case aserving-woman might have shown. She had never seen Clorinda wear such anair before, and never had she dreamed that she would so open herself toany fellow-creature. She knew but little of what her sister wascapable--of the brilliancy of her charm when she chose to condescend, ofthe deigning softness of her manner when she chose to please, of her arch-pleasantries and cutting wit, and of the strange power she could wieldover any human being, gentle or simple, with whom she came in contact. But if she had not known of these things before, she learned to know themthis morning. For some reason best known to herself, Mistress Clorindawas in a high good humour. She kept Anne with her for more than an hour, and was dazzling through every moment of its passing. She showed her thesplendours she was to shine in at the birth-night ball, even bringingforth her jewels and displaying them. She told her stories of the houseof which the young heir to-day attained his majority, and mocked at thepoor youth because he was ungainly, and at a distance had been her slavesince his nineteenth year. 

"I have scarce looked at him, " she said. "He is a lout, with great eyesstaring, and a red nose. It does not need that one should look at men towin them. They look at us, and that is enough. "

To poor Mistress Anne, who had seen no company and listened to no wits, the entertainment bestowed upon her was as wonderful as a night at theplayhouse would have been. To watch the vivid changing face; to hearkento jesting stories of men and women who seemed like the heroes andheroines of her romances; to hear love itself--the love she trembled andpalpitated at the mere thought of--spoken of openly as an experiencewhich fell to all; to hear it mocked at with dainty or biting quips; tolearn that women of all ages played with, enjoyed, or lost themselves forit--it was with her as if a nun had been withdrawn from her cloister andplunged into the vortex of the world. 

"Sister, " she said, looking at the Beauty with humble, adoring eyes, "youmake me feel that my romances are true. You tell such things. It islike seeing pictures of things to hear you talk. No wonder that alllisten to you, for indeed 'tis wonderful the way you have with words. Youuse them so that 'tis as though they had shapes of their own and colours, and you builded with them. I thank you for being so gracious to me, whohave seen so little, and cannot tell the poor, quiet things I have seen. "

And being led into the loving boldness by her gratitude, she bent forwardand touched with her lips the fair hand resting on the chair's arm. 

Mistress Clorinda fixed her fine eyes upon her in a new way. 

"I' faith, it doth not seem fair, Anne, " she said. "I should not like tochange lives with thee. Thou hast eyes like a shot pheasant--soft, andwith the bright hid beneath the dull. Some man might love them, even ifthou art no beauty. Stay, " suddenly; "methinks--"

She uprose from her chair and went to the oaken wardrobe, and threw thedoor of it open wide while she looked within. 

"There is a gown and tippet or so here, and a hood and some ribands Imight do without, " she said. "My woman shall bear them to your chamber, and show you how to set them to rights. She is a nimble-fingeredcreature, and a gown of mine would give almost stuff enough to make youtwo. Then some days, when I am not going abroad and Mistress Margeryfrets me too much, I will send for you to sit with me, and you shalllisten to the gossip when a visitor drops in to have a dish of tea. "

Anne would have kissed her feet then, if she had dared to do so. Sheblushed red all over, and adored her with a more worshipping gaze thanbefore. 

"I should not have dared to hope so much, " she stammered. "I couldnot--perhaps it is not fitting--perhaps I could not bear myself as Ishould. I would try to show myself a gentlewoman and seemly. I--I _am_a gentlewoman, though I have learned so little. I could not be aught buta gentlewoman, could I, sister, being of your own blood and my parents'child?" half afraid to presume even this much. 

"No, " said Clorinda. "Do not be a fool, Anne, and carry yourself toohumbly before the world. You can be as humble as you like to me. "

"I shall--I shall be your servant and worship you, sister, " cried thepoor soul, and she drew near and kissed again the white hand which hadbestowed with such royal bounty all this joy. It would not have occurredto her that a cast-off robe and riband were but small largesse. 

It was not a minute after this grateful caress that Clorinda made a sharpmovement--a movement which was so sharp that it seemed to be one ofdismay. At first, as if involuntarily, she had raised her hand to hertucker, and after doing so she started--though 'twas but for a second'sspace, after which her face was as it had been before. 

"What is it?" exclaimed Anne. "Have you lost anything?"

"No, " quoth Mistress Clorinda quite carelessly, as she once more turnedto the contents of the oaken wardrobe; "but I thought I missed a trinketI was wearing for a wager, and I would not lose it before the bet iswon. "

"Sister, " ventured Anne before she left her and went away to her own dullworld in the west wing, "there is a thing I can do if you will allow me. I can mend your tapestry hangings which have holes in them. I am quickat my needle, and should love to serve you in such poor ways as I can;and it is not seemly that they should be so worn. All things about youshould be beautiful and well kept. "

"Can you make these broken things beautiful?" said Clorinda. "Thenindeed you shall. You may come here to mend them when you will. "

"They are very fine hangings, though so old and ill cared for, " saidAnne, looking up at them; "and I shall be only too happy sitting herethinking of all you are doing while I am at my work. "

"Thinking of all I am doing?" laughed Mistress Clorinda. "That wouldgive you such wondrous things to dream of, Anne, that you would have notime for your needle, and my hangings would stay as they are. "

"I can think and darn also, " said Mistress Anne, "so I will come. "

CHAPTER VII--'Twas the face of Sir John Oxon the moon shone upon

From that time henceforward into the young woman's dull life there came alittle change. It did not seem a little change to her, but a great one, though to others it would have seemed slight indeed. She was anaffectionate, house-wifely creature, who would have made the best ofwives and mothers if it had been so ordained by Fortune, and something ofher natural instincts found outlet in the furtive service she paid hersister, who became the empress of her soul. She darned and patched thetattered hangings with a wonderful neatness, and the hours she spent atwork in the chamber were to her almost as sacred as hours spent atreligious duty, or as those nuns and novices give to embroidering altar-cloths. There was a brightness in the room that seemed in no other inthe house, and the lingering essences in the air of it were as incense toher. In secrecy she even busied herself with keeping things in betterorder than Rebecca, Mistress Clorinda's woman, had ever had time to dobefore. She also contrived to get into her own hands some duties thatwere Rebecca's own. She could mend lace cleverly and arrangeriband-knots with taste, and even change the fashion of a gown. The hard-worked tirewoman was but too glad to be relieved, and kept her secretwell, being praised many times for the set or fashion of a thing intowhich she had not so much as set a needle. Being a shrewd baggage, shewas wise enough always to relate to Anne the story of her mistress'spleasure, having the wit to read in her delight that she would beencouraged to fresh effort. 

At times it so befell that, when Anne went into the bed-chamber, shefound the beauty there, who, if she chanced to be in the humour, woulddetain her in her presence for a space and bewitch her over again. Insooth, it seemed that she took a pleasure in showing her female adorerhow wondrously full of all fascinations she could be. At such timesAnne's plain face would almost bloom with excitement, and her shotpheasant's eyes would glow as if beholding a goddess. 

She neither saw nor heard more of the miniature on the riband. It usedto make her tremble at times to fancy that by some strange chance itmight still be under the bed, and that the handsome face smiled and theblue eyes gazed in the very apartment where she herself sat and hersister was robed and disrobed in all her beauty. 

She used all her modest skill in fitting to her own shape andrefurnishing the cast-off bits of finery bestowed upon her. It was allset to rights long before Clorinda recalled to mind that she had promisedthat Anne should sometime see her chance visitors take their dish of teawith her. 

But one day, for some cause, she did remember, and sent for her. 

Anne ran to her bed-chamber and donned her remodelled gown with shakinghands. She laughed a little hysterically as she did it, seeing her plainsnub-nosed face in the glass. She tried to dress her head in a fashionnew to her, and knew she did it ill and untidily, but had no time tochange it. If she had had some red she would have put it on, but suchvanities were not in her chamber or Barbara's. So she rubbed her cheekshard, and even pinched them, so that in the end they looked as if theywere badly rouged. It seemed to her that her nose grew red too, andindeed 'twas no wonder, for her hands and feet were like ice. 

"She must be ashamed of me, " the humble creature said to herself. "Andif she is ashamed she will be angered and send me away and be friends nomore. "

She did not deceive herself, poor thing, and imagine she had the chanceof being regarded with any great lenience if she appeared ill. 

"Mistress Clorinda begged that you would come quickly, " said Rebecca, knocking at the door. 

So she caught her handkerchief, which was scented, as all her garmentswere, with dried rose-leaves from the garden, which she had conservedherself, and went down to the chintz parlour trembling. 

It was a great room with white panels, and flowered coverings to thefurniture. There were a number of ladies and gentlemen standing talkingand laughing loudly together. The men outnumbered the women, and most ofthem stood in a circle about Mistress Clorinda, who sat upright in agreat flowered chair, smiling with her mocking, stately air, as if shedefied them to dare to speak what they felt. 

Anne came in like a mouse. Nobody saw her. She did not, indeed, knowwhat to do. She dared not remain standing all alone, so she crept to theplace where her sister's chair was, and stood a little behind its highback. Her heart beat within her breast till it was like to choke her. 

They were only country gentlemen who made the circle, but to her theyseemed dashing gallants. That some of them had red noses as well ascheeks, and that their voices were big and their gallantries boisterous, was no drawback to their manly charms, she having seen no other finergentlemen. They were specimens of the great conquering creature Man, whom all women must aspire to please if they have the fortunate power;and each and all of them were plainly trying to please Clorinda, and notshe them. 

And so Anne gazed at them with admiring awe, waiting until there shouldcome a pause in which she might presume to call her sister's attention toher presence; but suddenly, before she had indeed made up her mind howshe might best announce herself, there spoke behind her a voice ofsilver. 

"It is only goddesses, " said the voice, "who waft about them as they movethe musk of the rose-gardens of Araby. When you come to reign over us intown, Madam, there will be no perfume in the mode but that ofrose-leaves, and in all drawing-rooms we shall breathe but theirperfume. "

And there, at her side, was bowing, in cinnamon and crimson, withjewelled buttons on his velvet coat, the beautiful being whose fair locksthe sun had shone on the morning she had watched him ride away--the manwhom the imperial beauty had dismissed and called a popinjay. 

Clorinda looked under her lashes towards him without turning, but in sodoing beheld Anne standing in waiting. 

"A fine speech lost, " she said, "though 'twas well enough for thecountry, Sir John. 'Tis thrown away, because 'tis not I who am scentedwith rose-leaves, but Anne there, whom you must not ogle. Come hither, sister, and do not hide as if you were ashamed to be looked at. "

And she drew her forward, and there Anne stood, and all of them stared ather poor, plain, blushing face, and the Adonis in cinnamon and crimsonbowed low, as if she had been a duchess, that being his conqueror's waywith gentle or simple, maid, wife, or widow, beauty or homespununcomeliness. 

It was so with him always; he could never resist the chance of luring tohimself a woman's heart, whether he wanted it or not, and he had a charm, a strange and wonderful one, it could not be denied. Anne palpitatedindeed as she made her curtsey to him, and wondered if Heaven had everbefore made so fine a gentleman and so beautiful a being. 

She went but seldom to this room again, and when she went she stoodalways in the background, far more in fear that some one would addressher than that she should meet with neglect. She was used to neglect, andto being regarded as a nonentity, and aught else discomfited her. Allher pleasure was to hear what was said, though 'twas not always of thefinest wit--and to watch Clorinda play the queen among her admirers andher slaves. She would not have dared to speak of Sir John Oxonfrequently--indeed, she let fall his name but rarely; but she learned acurious wit in contriving to hear all things concerning him. It was herhabit cunningly to lead Mistress Margery to talking about him andrelating long histories of his conquests and his grace. Mistress Wimpoleknew many of them, having, for a staid and prudent matron, a livelyinterest in his ways. It seemed, truly--if one must believe her long-winded stories--that no duchess under seventy had escaped weeping for himand losing rest, and that ladies of all ranks had committed follies forhis sake. 

Mistress Anne, having led her to this fruitful subject, would sit andlisten, bending over her embroidery frame with strange emotions, causingher virgin breast to ache with their swelling. She would lie awake atnight thinking in the dark, with her heart beating. Surely, surely therewas no other man on earth who was so fitted to Clorinda, and to whom itwas so suited that this empress should give her charms. Surely no woman, however beautiful or proud, could dismiss his suit when he pressed it. And then, poor woman, her imagination strove to paint the splendour oftheir mutual love, though of such love she knew so little. But it must, in sooth, be bliss and rapture; and perchance, was her humble thought, she might see it from afar, and hear of it. And when they went to court, and Clorinda had a great mansion in town, and many servants who needed ahousewife's eye upon their doings to restrain them from wastefulness andriot, might it not chance to be that if she served well now, and had thecourage to plead with her then, she might be permitted to serve herthere, living quite apart in some quiet corner of the house. And thenher wild thoughts would go so far that she would dream--reddening at herown boldness--of a child who might be born to them, a lordly infant sonand heir, whose eyes might be blue and winning, and his hair in greatfair locks, and whom she might nurse and tend and be a slave to--andlove--and love--and love, and who might end by knowing she was his tenderservant, always to be counted on, and might look at her with that wooing, laughing glance, and even love her too. 

The night Clorinda laid her commands upon Mistress Wimpole concerning thecoming of Sir John Oxon, that matron, after receiving them, hurried toher other charges, flurried and full of talk, and poured forth her wonderand admiration at length. 

"She is a wondrous lady!" she said--"she is indeed! It is not alone herbeauty, but her spirit and her wit. Mark you how she sees all things andlets none pass, and can lay a plan as prudent as any lady old enough tobe twice her mother. She knows all the ways of the world of fashion, andwill guard herself against gossip in such a way that none can gainsay herhigh virtue. Her spirit is too great to allow that she may even _seem_to be as the town ladies. She will not have it! Sir John will not findhis court easy to pay. She will not allow that he shall be able to sayto any one that he has seen her alone a moment. Thus, she says, hecannot boast. If all ladies were as wise and cunning, there would be notales to tell. " She talked long and garrulously, and set forth to themhow Mistress Clorinda had looked straight at her with her black eyes, until she had almost shaken as she sat, because it seemed as though shedared her to disobey her will; and how she had sat with her hair trailingupon the floor over the chair's back, and at first it had seemed that shewas flushed with anger, but next as if she had smiled. 

"Betimes, " said Mistress Wimpole, "I am afraid when she smiles, but to-night some thought had crossed her mind that pleased her. I think it wasthat she liked to think that he who has conquered so many ladies willfind that he is to be outwitted and made a mock of. She likes thatothers shall be beaten if she thinks them impudent. She liked it as achild, and would flog the stable-boys with her little whip until theyknelt to beg her pardon for their freedoms. "

That night Mistress Anne went to her bed-chamber with her head full ofwandering thoughts, and she had not the power to bid them dispersethemselves and leave her--indeed, she scarce wished for it. She wasthinking of Clorinda, and wondering sadly that she was of so high a pridethat she could bear herself as though there were no human weakness in herbreast, not even the womanly weakness of a heart. How could it bepossible that she could treat with disdain this gallant gentleman, if heloved her, as he surely must? Herself she had been sure that she hadseen an ardent flame in his blue eyes, even that first day when he hadbowed to her with that air of grace as he spoke of the fragrance of therose leaves he had thought wafted from her robe. How could a woman whomhe loved resist him? How could she cause him to suffer by forcing him tostand at arm's length when he sighed to draw near and breathe his passionat her feet?

In the silence of her chamber as she disrobed, she sighed with restlesspain, but did not know that her sighing was for grief that love--of whichthere seemed so little in some lives--could be wasted and flung away. Shecould not fall into slumber when she lay down upon her pillow, but tossedfrom side to side with a burdened heart. 

"She is so young and beautiful and proud, " she thought. "It is because Iam so much older that I can see these things--that I see that this issurely the one man who should be her husband. There may be many others, but they are none of them her equals, and she would scorn and hate themwhen she was once bound to them for life. This one is as beautiful asshe--and full of grace, and wit, and spirit. She could not look downupon him, however wrath she was at any time. Ah me! She should notspurn him, surely she should not!"

She was so restless and ill at ease that she could not lie upon her bed, but rose therefrom, as she often did in her wakeful hours, and went toher lattice, gently opening it to look out upon the night, and calmherself by sitting with her face uplifted to the stars, which from herchildhood she had fancied looked down upon her kindly and as if theywould give her comfort. 

To-night there were no stars. There should have been a moonthree-quarters full, but, in the evening, clouds had drifted across thesky and closed over all heavily, so that no moonlight was to be seen, save when a rare sudden gust made a ragged rent, for a moment, in theblackness. 

She did not sit this time, but knelt, clad in her night-rail as she was. All was sunk into the profoundest silence of the night. By this time theentire household had been long enough abed to be plunged in sleep. Shealone was waking, and being of that simple mind which, like a child's, must ever bear its trouble to a protecting strength, she looked up at thedarkness of the cloudy sky and prayed for the better fortune of the manwho had indeed not remembered her existence after the moment he had madeher his obeisance. She was too plain and sober a creature to beremembered. 

"Perchance, " she murmured, "he is at this moment also looking at theclouds from his window, because he cannot sleep for thinking that in twodays he will be beneath her father's roof and will see her loveliness, and he must needs be contriving within his mind what he will say, if shedo but look as if she might regard him with favour, which I pray shewill. "

From the path below, that moment there rose a slight sound, so slight aone that for a moment she thought she must have been deceived inbelieving it had fallen upon her ear. All was still after it for fulltwo minutes, and had she heard no more she would have surely forgottenshe had heard aught, or would have believed herself but the victim offancy. But after the long pause the same sound came again, though thistime it was slighter; yet, despite its slightness, it seemed to her to bethe crushing of the earth and stone beneath a cautious foot. It was afoot so cautious that it was surely stealthy and scarce dared to advanceat all. And then all was still again. She was for a moment overcomewith fears, not being of a courageous temper, and having heard, but oflate, of a bold gipsy vagabond who, with a companion, had broken into thelower rooms of a house of the neighbourhood, and being surprised by itsowner, had only been overcome and captured after a desperate fight, inwhich shots were exchanged, and one of the hurriedly-awakened servantskilled. So she leaned forward to hearken further, wondering what sheshould do to best alarm the house, and, as she bent so, she heard thesound again and a smothered oath, and with her straining eyes saw thatsurely upon the path there stood a dark-draped figure. She rose withgreat care to her feet, and stood a moment shaking and clinging to thewindow-ledge, while she bethought her of what servants she could wakefirst, and how she could reach her father's room. Her poor heart beat inher side, and her breath came quickly. The soundlessness of the nightwas broken by one of the strange sudden gusts of wind which tossed thetrees, and tore at the clouds as they hurried. She heard the footstepsagain, as if it feared its own sound the less when the wind might coverit. A faint pale gleam showed between two dark clouds behind which themoon had been hidden; it grew brighter, and a jagged rent was torn, sothat the moon herself for a second or so shone out dazzling bright beforethe clouds rushed over her again and shut her in. 

It was at this very instant Mistress Anne heard the footsteps once more, and saw full well a figure in dark cloak and hat which stepped quicklyinto the shade of a great tree. But more she saw--and clapped her handupon her mouth to stifle the cry that would have otherwise risen in spiteof her--that notwithstanding his fair locks were thrust out of sightbeneath his hat, and he looked strange and almost uncomely, it was theface of Sir John Oxon, the moon, bursting through the jagged clouds, hadshone upon. 

CHAPTER VIII--Two meet in the deserted rose garden, and the old Earl ofDunstanwolde is made a happy man

It was not until three days later, instead of two, that Sir John Oxonrode into the courtyard with his servant behind him. He had beendetained on his journey, but looked as if his impatience had not causedhim to suffer, for he wore his finest air of spirit and beauty, and whenhe was alone with Sir Jeoffry, made his compliments to the absent ladies, and inquired of their health with his best town grace. 

Mistress Clorinda did not appear until the dining hour, when she sweptinto the room like a queen, followed by her sister, Anne, and MistressWimpole, this being the first occasion of Mistress Anne's dining, as itwere, in state with her family. 

The honour had so alarmed her, that she looked pale, and so ugly that SirJeoffry scowled at sight of her, and swore under his breath to Clorindathat she should have been allowed to come. 

"I know my own affairs the best, by your leave, sir, " answered Clorinda, as low and with a grand flash of her eye. "She hath been drilled well. "

This she had indeed, and so had Mistress Wimpole, and throughout Sir JohnOxon's stay they were called upon to see that they played well theirparts. Two weeks he stayed and then rode gaily back to town, and whenClorinda made her sweeping curtsey to the ground to him upon thethreshold of the flowered room in which he bade her farewell, both Anneand Mistress Wimpole curtseyed a step behind her. 

"Now that he has gone and you have shown me that you can attend me as Iwish, " she said, turning to them as the sound of his horse's hoofs diedaway, "it will not trouble me should he choose some day to come again. Hehas not carried with him much that he can boast of. "

In truth, it seemed to the outer world that she had held him well inhand. If he had come as a sighing lover, the whole county knew she hadshown him but small favour. She had invited companies to the house onseveral occasions, and all could see how she bore herself towards him. She carried herself with a certain proud courtesy as becoming thedaughter of his host, but her wit did not spare him, and sometimes whenit was more than in common cutting he was seen to wince though he heldhimself gallantly. There were one or two who thought they now and thenhad seen his blue eyes fall upon her when he believed none were looking, and rest there burningly for a moment, but 'twas never for more than aninstant, when he would rouse himself with a start and turn away. 

She had been for a month or two less given to passionate outbreaks, having indeed decided that it was to her interest as a young lady and afuture great one to curb herself. Her tirewoman, Rebecca, had begun todare to breathe more freely when she was engaged about her person, andhad, in truth, spoken of her pleasanter fortune among her fellows in theservants' hall. 

But a night or two after the visitor took his departure, she gave way tosuch an outburst as even Rebecca had scarce ever beheld, being roused toit by a small thing in one sense, though in yet another perhaps greatenough, since it touched upon the despoiling of one of her beauties. 

She was at her toilet-table being prepared for the night, and her longhair brushed and dressed before retiring. Mistress Wimpole had come into the chamber to do something at her bidding, and chancing to standgazing at her great and heavy fall of locks as she was waiting, sheobserved a thing which caused her, foolish woman that she was, to give astart and utter an unwise exclamation. 

"Madam!" she gasped--"madam!"

"What then!" quoth Mistress Clorinda angrily. "You bring my heart to mythroat!"

"Your hair!" stammered Wimpole, losing all her small wit--"your beauteoushair! A lock is gone, madam!"

Clorinda started to her feet, and flung the great black mass over herwhite shoulder, that she might see it in the glass. 

"Gone!" she cried. "Where? How? What mean you? Ah-h!"

Her voice rose to a sound that was well-nigh a scream. She saw therifled spot--a place where a great lock had been severed jaggedly--and itmust have been five feet long. 

She turned and sprang upon her woman, her beautiful face distorted withfury, and her eyes like flames of fire. She seized her by each shoulderand boxed her ears until her head spun round and bells rang within it. 

"'Twas you!" she shrieked. "'Twas you--she-devil-beast--slut that youare! 'Twas when you used your scissors to the new head you made for me. You set it on my hair that you might set a loop--and in your sluttish wayyou snipped a lock by accident and hid it from me. "

She beat her till her own black hair flew about her like the mane of afury; and having used her hands till they were tired, she took her brushfrom the table and beat her with that till the room echoed with the blowson the stout shoulders. 

"Mistress, 'twas not so!" cried the poor thing, sobbing and struggling. "'Twas not so, madam!"

"Madam, you will kill the woman, " wept Mistress Wimpole. "I beseechyou--! 'Tis not seemly, I beseech--"

Mistress Clorinda flung her woman from her and threw the brush atMistress Wimpole, crying at her with the lordly rage she had been wont toshriek with when she wore breeches. 

"Damnation to thy seemliness!" she cried, "and to thee too! Get theegone--from me, both--get thee gone from my sight!"

And both women fled weeping, and sobbing, and gasping from the roomincontinently. 

She was shrewish and sullen with her woman for days after, and it was thepoor creature's labour to keep from her sight, when she dressed her head, the place from whence the lock had been taken. In the servants' hall thewoman vowed that it was not she who had cut it, that she had had noaccident, though it was true she had used the scissors about her head, yet it was but in snipping a ribbon, and she had not touched a hair. 

"If she were another lady, " she said, "I should swear some gallant hadrobbed her of it; but, forsooth, she does not allow them to come nearenough for such sport, and with five feet of hair wound up in coronals, how could a man unwind a lock, even if 'twas permitted him to stand ather very side. "

Two years passed, and the beauty had no greater fields to conquer thanthose she found in the country, since her father, Sir Jeoffry, had notthe money to take her to town, he becoming more and more involved and sofallen into debt that it was even whispered that at times it went hardwith him to keep even the poor household he had. 

Mistress Clorinda's fortunes the gentry of the neighbourhood discussedwith growing interest and curiosity. What was like to become of hergreat gifts and powers in the end, if she could never show them to thegreat world, and have the chance to carry her splendid wares to thefashionable market where there were men of quality and wealth who wouldbe like to bid for them. She had not chosen to accept any of those whohad offered themselves so far, and it was believed that for some reasonshe had held off my lord of Dunstanwolde in his suit. 'Twas evident thathe admired her greatly, and why he had not already made her his countesswas a sort of mystery which was productive of many discussions and boremuch talking over. Some said that, with all her beauty and hisadmiration, he was wary and waited, and some were pleased to say that thereason he waited was because the young lady herself contrived that heshould, it being her desire to make an open conquest of Sir John Oxon, and show him to the world as her slave, before she made up her mind tomake even a much greater match. Some hinted that for all herdisdainfulness and haughty pride she would marry Sir John if he askedher, but that he being as brilliant a beau as she a beauty, he was toofond of his pleasures and his gay town life to give them up even to agoddess who had no fortune. His own had not been a great one, and he hadsquandered it magnificently, his extravagances being renowned in theworld of fashion, and having indeed founded for him his reputation. 

It was, however, still his way to accept frequent hospitalities from hiskinsman Eldershawe, and Sir Jeoffry was always rejoiced enough to securehim as his companion for a few days when he could lure him from thedissipation of the town. At such times it never failed that MistressWimpole and poor Anne kept their guard. Clorinda never allowed them torelax their vigilance, and Mistress Wimpole ceased to feel afraid, andbecame accustomed to her duties, but Anne never did so. She lookedalways her palest and ugliest when Sir John was in the house, and shewould glance with sad wonder and timid adoration from him to Clorinda;but sometimes when she looked at Sir John her plain face would growcrimson, and once or twice he caught her at the folly, and when shedropped her eyes overwhelmed with shame, he faintly smiled to himself, seeing in her a new though humble conquest. 

There came a day when in the hunting-field there passed from mouth tomouth a rumour, and Sir Jeoffry, hearing it, came pounding over on hisbig black horse to his daughter and told it to her in great spirits. 

"He is a sly dog, John Oxon, " he said, a broad grin on his rubicund face. "This very week he comes to us, and he and I are cronies, yet he hasblabbed nothing of what is being buzzed about by all the world. "

"He has learned how to keep a closed mouth, " said Mistress Clorinda, without asking a question. 

"But 'tis marriage he is so mum about, bless ye!" said Sir Jeoffry. "Andthat is not a thing to be hid long. He is to be shortly married, theysay. My lady, his mother, has found him a great fortune in a new beautybut just come to town. She hath great estates in the West Indies, aswell as a fine fortune in England--and all the world is besieging her;but Jack hath come and bowed sighing before her, and writ some verses, and borne her off from them all. "

"'Tis time, " said Clorinda, "that he should marry some woman who can payhis debts and keep him out of the spunging house, for to that he willcome if he does not play his cards with skill. "

Sir Jeoffry looked at her askance and rubbed his red chin. 

"I wish thou hadst liked him, Clo, " he said, "and ye had both hadfortunes to match. I love the fellow, and ye would have made a handsomepair. "

Mistress Clorinda laughed, sitting straight in her saddle, her fine eyesunblenching, though the sun struck them. 

"We had fortunes to match, " she said--"I was a beggar and he was aspendthrift. Here comes Lord Dunstanwolde. "

And as the gentleman rode near, it seemed to his dazzled eyes that thesun so shone down upon her because she was a goddess and drew it from theheavens. 

In the west wing of the Hall 'twas talked of between Mistress Wimpole andher charges, that a rumour of Sir John Oxon's marriage was afloat. 

"Yet can I not believe it, " said Mistress Margery; "for if ever agentleman was deep in love, though he bitterly strove to hide it, 'twasSir John, and with Mistress Clorinda. "

"But she, " faltered Anne, looking pale and even agitated--"she was alwaysdisdainful to him and held him at arm's length. I--I wished she wouldhave treated him more kindly. "

"'Tis not her way to treat men kindly, " said Mistress Wimpole. 

But whether the rumour was true or false--and there were those whobestowed no credit upon it, and said it was mere town talk, and that thesame things had been bruited abroad before--it so chanced that Sir Johnpaid no visit to his relative or to Sir Jeoffry for several months. 'Twasheard once that he had gone to France, and at the French Court was makingas great a figure as he had made at the English one, but of this even hiskinsman Lord Eldershawe could speak no more certainly than he could ofthe first matter. 

The suit of my Lord of Dunstanwolde--if suit it was--during these monthsappeared to advance somewhat. All orders of surmises were madeconcerning it--that Mistress Clorinda had privately quarrelled with SirJohn and sent him packing; that he had tired of his love-making, as 'twaswell known he had done many times before, and having squandered hispossessions and finding himself in open straits, must needs patch up hisfortunes in a hurry with the first heiress whose estate suited him. But'twas the women who said these things; the men swore that no man couldtire of or desert such spirit and beauty, and that if Sir John Oxonstayed away 'twas because he had been commanded to do so, it never havingbeen Mistress Clorinda's intention to do more than play with him awhile, she having been witty against him always for a fop, and meaning herselfto accept no man as a husband who could not give her both rank andwealth. 

"We know her, " said the old boon companions of her childhood, as theytalked of her over their bottles. "She knew her price and would bargainfor it when she was not eight years old, and would give us songs andkisses but when she was paid for them with sweet things and knickknacksfrom the toy-shops. She will marry no man who cannot make her at least acountess, and she would take him but because there was not a duke athand. We know her, and her beauty's ways. "

But they did not know her; none knew her, save herself. 

In the west wing, which grew more bare and ill-furnished as things woreout and time went by, Mistress Anne waxed thinner and paler. She was sothin in two months' time, that her soft, dull eyes looked twice theirnatural size, and seemed to stare piteously at people. One day, indeed, as she sat at work in her sister's room, Clorinda being there at thetime, the beauty, turning and beholding her face suddenly, uttered aviolent exclamation. 

"Why look you at me so?" she said. "Your eyes stand out of your headlike a new-hatched, unfeathered bird's. They irk me with their strangeasking look. Why do you stare at me?"

"I do not know, " Anne faltered. "I could not tell you, sister. My eyesseem to stare so because of my thinness. I have seen them in my mirror. "

"Why do you grow thin?" quoth Clorinda harshly. "You are not ill. "

"I--I do not know, " again Anne faltered. "Naught ails me. I do notknow. For--forgive me!"

Clorinda laughed. 

"Soft little fool, " she said, "why should you ask me to forgive you? Imight as fairly ask you to forgive _me_, that I keep my shape and show nowasting. "

Anne rose from her chair and hurried to her sister's side, sinking uponher knees there to kiss her hand. 

"Sister, " she said, "one could never dream that you could need pardon. Ilove you so--that all you do, it seems to me must be right--whatsoever itmight be. "

Clorinda drew her fair hands away and clasped them on the top of herhead, proudly, as if she crowned herself thereby, her great and splendideyes setting themselves upon her sister's face. 

"All that I do, " she said slowly, and with the steadfast high arroganceof an empress' self--"All that I do _is_ right--for me. I make it so bydoing it. Do you think that I am conquered by the laws that other womencrouch and whine before, because they dare not break them, though theylong to do so? _I_ am my own law--and the law of some others. "

It was by this time the first month of the summer, and to-night there wasagain a birth-night ball, at which the beauty was to dazzle all eyes; but'twas of greater import than the one she had graced previously, it beingto celebrate the majority of the heir to an old name and estate, who hadbeen orphaned early, and was highly connected, counting, indeed, amongthe members of his family the Duke of Osmonde, who was one of the richestand most envied nobles in Great Britain, his dukedom being of the oldest, his numerous estates the most splendid and beautiful, and the longhistory of his family full of heroic deeds. This nobleman was also adistant kinsman to the Earl of Dunstanwolde, and at this ball, for thefirst time for months, Sir John Oxon appeared again. 

He did not arrive on the gay scene until an hour somewhat late. Butthere was one who had seen him early, though no human soul had known ofthe event. 

In the rambling, ill-cared for grounds of Wildairs Hall there was an oldrose-garden, which had once been the pride and pleasure of some lady ofthe house, though this had been long ago; and now it was but a lonelywilderness where roses only grew because the dead Lady Wildairs had lovedthem, and Barbara and Anne had tended them, and with their own handsplanted and pruned during their childhood and young maiden days. But oflate years even they had seemed to have forgotten it, having becomediscouraged, perchance, having no gardeners to do the rougher work, andthe weeds and brambles so running riot. There were high hedges andwinding paths overgrown and run wild; the stronger rose-bushes grew intangled masses, flinging forth their rich blooms among the weeds; such aswere more delicate, struggling to live among them, became more frail andscant-blossoming season by season; a careless foot would have troddenthem beneath it as their branches grew long and trailed in the grass; butfor many months no foot had trodden there at all, and it was a beauteousplace deserted. 

In the centre was an ancient broken sun-dial, which was in these days inthe midst of a sort of thicket, where a bold tangle of the finest redroses clambered, and, defying neglect, flaunted their rich colour in thesun. 

And though the place had been so long forgotten, and it was not thecustom for it to be visited, about this garlanded broken sun-dial thegrass was a little trodden, and on the morning of the young heir's comingof age some one stood there in the glowing sunlight as if waiting. 

This was no less than Mistress Clorinda herself. She was clad in amorning gown of white, which seemed to make of her more than ever a tall, transcendent creature, less a woman than a conquering goddess; and shehad piled the dial with scarlet red roses, which she was choosing toweave into a massive wreath or crown, for some purpose best known toherself. Her head seemed haughtier and more splendidly held on high eventhan was its common wont, but upon these roses her lustrous eyes weredowncast and were curiously smiling, as also was her ripe, arching lip, whose scarlet the blossoms vied with but poorly. It was a smile likethis, perhaps, which Mistress Wimpole feared and trembled before, for'twas not a tender smile nor a melting one. If she was waiting, she didnot wait long, nor, to be sure, would she have long waited if she hadbeen kept by any daring laggard. This was not her way. 

'Twas not a laggard who came soon, stepping hurriedly with light feetupon the grass, as though he feared the sound which might be made if hehad trodden upon the gravel. It was Sir John Oxon who came towards herin his riding costume. 

He came and stood before her on the other side of the dial, and made hera bow so low that a quick eye might have thought 'twas almost mocking. His feather, sweeping the ground, caught a fallen rose, which clung toit. His beauty, when he stood upright, seemed to defy the very morning'sself and all the morning world; but Mistress Clorinda did not lift hereyes, but kept them upon her roses, and went on weaving. 

"Why did you choose to come?" she asked. 

"Why did you choose to keep the tryst in answer to my message?" hereplied to her. 

At this she lifted her great shining eyes and fixed them full upon him. 

"I wished, " she said, "to hear what you would say--but more to _see_ youthan to hear. "

"And I, " he began--"I came--"

She held up her white hand with a long-stemmed rose in it--as though aqueen should lift a sceptre. 

"You came, " she answered, "more to see _me_ than to hear. You made thatblunder. "

"You choose to bear yourself like a goddess, and disdain me from Olympianheights, " he said. "I had the wit to guess it would be so. "

She shook her royal head, faintly and most strangely smiling. 

"That you had not, " was her clear-worded answer. "That is a laterthought sprung up since you have seen my face. 'Twas quick--for you--butnot quick enough. " And the smile in her eyes was maddening. "Youthought to see a woman crushed and weeping, her beauty bent before you, her locks dishevelled, her streaming eyes lifted to Heaven--and you--withprayers, swearing that not Heaven could help her so much as your deigningmagnanimity. You have seen women do this before, you would have seen_me_ do it--at your feet--crying out that I was lost--lost for ever. _That_ you expected! 'Tis not here. "

Debauched as his youth was, and free from all touch of heart orconscience--for from his earliest boyhood he had been the pupil of rakesand fashionable villains--well as he thought he knew all women and theirways, betraying or betrayed--this creature taught him a new thing, a newmood in woman, a new power which came upon him like a thunderbolt. 

"Gods!" he exclaimed, catching his breath, and even falling back apace, "Damnation! you are _not_ a woman!"

She laughed again, weaving her roses, but not allowing that his eyesshould loose themselves from hers. 

"But now, you called me a goddess and spoke of Olympian heights, " shesaid; "I am not one--I am a woman who would show other women how to bearthemselves in hours like these. Because I am a woman why should I kneel, and weep, and rave? What have I lost--in losing you? I should have lostthe same had I been twice your wife. What is it women weep and beattheir breasts for--because they love a man--because they lose his love. They never have them. "

She had finished the wreath, and held it up in the sun to look at it. What a strange beauty was hers, as she held it so--a heavy, sumptuousthing--in her white hands, her head thrown backward. 

"You marry soon, " she asked--"if the match is not broken?"

"Yes, " he answered, watching her--a flame growing in his eyes and in hissoul in his own despite. 

"It cannot be too soon, " she said. And she turned and faced him, holdingthe wreath high in her two hands poised like a crown above her head--thebrilliant sun embracing her, her lips curling, her face uplifted as ifshe turned to defy the light, the crimson of her cheek. 'Twas as if fromfoot to brow the woman's whole person was a flame, rising and burningtriumphant high above him. Thus for one second's space she stood, dazzling his very eyesight with her strange, dauntless splendour; andthen she set the great rose-wreath upon her head, so crowning it. 

"You came to see me, " she said, the spark in her eyes growing to the sizeof a star; "I bid you look at me--and see how grief has faded me thesepast months, and how I am bowed down by it. Look well--that you mayremember. "

"I look, " he said, almost panting. 

"Then, " she said, her fine-cut nostril pinching itself with her breath, as she pointed down the path before her--"_go_!--back to your kennel!"

* * * * *

That night she appeared at the birth-night ball with the wreath of roseson her head. No other ladies wore such things, 'twas a fashion of herown; but she wore it in such beauty and with such state that it became acrown again even as it had been the first moment that she had put it on. All gazed at her as she entered, and a murmur followed her as she movedwith her father up the broad oak staircase which was known through allthe country for its width and massive beauty. In the hall below guestswere crowded, and there were indeed few of them who did not watch her asshe mounted by Sir Jeoffry's side. In the upper hall there were guestsalso, some walking to and fro, some standing talking, many looking downat the arrivals as they came up. 

"'Tis Mistress Wildairs, " these murmured as they saw her. "Clorinda, byGod!" said one of the older men to his crony who stood near him. "Andcrowned with roses! The vixen makes them look as if they were built ofrubies in every leaf. "

At the top of the great staircase there stood a gentleman, who had indeedpaused a moment, spellbound, as he saw her coming. He was a man ofunusual height and of a majestic mien; he wore a fair periwig, whichadded to his tallness; his laces and embroiderings were marvels of artand richness, and his breast blazed with orders. Strangely, she did notseem to see him; but when she reached the landing, and her face wasturned so that he beheld the full blaze of its beauty, 'twas so great awonder and revelation to him that he gave a start. The next momentalmost, one of the red roses of her crown broke loose from its fasteningsand fell at his very feet. His countenance changed so that it seemedalmost, for a second, to lose some of its colour. He stooped and pickedthe rose up and held it in his hand. But Mistress Clorinda was lookingat my Lord of Dunstanwolde, who was moving through the crowd to greether. She gave him a brilliant smile, and from her lustrous eyes surelythere passed something which lit a fire of hope in his. 

After she had made her obeisance to her entertainers, and her birthdaygreetings to the young heir, he contrived to draw closely to her side andspeak a few words in a tone those near her could not hear. 

"To-night, madam, " he said, with melting fervour, "you deign to bring memy answer as you promised. "

"Yes, " she murmured. "Take me where we may be a few moments alone. "

He led her to an antechamber, where they were sheltered from the gaze ofthe passers-by, though all was moving gaiety about them. He fell uponhis knee and bowed to kiss her fair hand. Despite the sobriety of hisyears, he was as eager and tender as a boy. 

"Be gracious to me, madam, " he implored. "I am not young enough to wait. Too many months have been thrown away. "

"You need wait no longer, my lord, " she said--"not one single hour. "

And while he, poor gentleman, knelt, kissing her hand with adoringhumbleness, she, under the splendour of her crown of roses, gazed down athis grey-sprinkled head with her great steady shining orbs, as if gazingat some almost uncomprehended piteous wonder. 

In less than an hour the whole assemblage knew of the event and talked ofit. Young men looked daggers at Dunstanwolde and at each other; andolder men wore glum or envious faces. Women told each other 'twas asthey had known it would be, or 'twas a wonder that at last it had comeabout. Upon the arm of her lord that was to be, Mistress Clorinda passedfrom room to room like a royal bride. 

As she made her first turn of the ballroom, all eyes upon her, her beautyblazing at its highest, Sir John Oxon entered and stood at the door. Hewore his gallant air, and smiled as ever; and when she drew near him hebowed low, and she stopped, and bent lower in a curtsey sweeping theground. 

'Twas but in the next room her lord led her to a gentleman who stood witha sort of court about him. It was the tall stranger, with the fairperiwig, and the orders glittering on his breast--the one who had startedat sight of her as she had reached the landing of the stairs. He heldstill in his hand a broken red rose, and when his eye fell on her crownthe colour mounted to his cheek. 

"My honoured kinsman, his Grace the Duke of Osmonde, " said her affiancedlord. "Your Grace--it is this lady who is to do me the great honour ofbecoming my Lady Dunstanwolde. "

And as the deep, tawny brown eye of the man bending before her flashedinto her own, for the first time in her life Mistress Clorinda's lidsfell, and as she swept her curtsey of stately obeisance her heart strucklike a hammer against her side. 

CHAPTER IX--"I give to him the thing he craves with all his soul--myself"

In a month she was the Countess of Dunstanwolde, and reigned in herlord's great town house with a retinue of servants, her powdered lackeysamong the tallest, her liveries and equipages the richest the world offashion knew. She was presented at the Court, blazing with theDunstanwolde jewels, and even with others her bridegroom had bought inhis passionate desire to heap upon her the magnificence which became herso well. From the hour she knelt to kiss the hand of royalty she set thetown on fire. It seemed to have been ordained by Fate that her passagethrough this world should be always the triumphant passage of aconqueror. As when a baby she had ruled the servants' hall, the kennel, and the grooms' quarters, later her father and his boisterous friends, and from her fifteenth birthday the whole hunting shire she lived in, soshe held her sway in the great world, as did no other lady of her rank orany higher. Those of her age seemed but girls yet by her side, whethermarried or unmarried, and howsoever trained to modish ways. She was butscarce eighteen at her marriage, but she was no girl, nor did she lookone, glowing as was the early splendour of her bloom. Her height was farbeyond the ordinary for a woman; but her shape so faultless and hercarriage so regal, that though there were men upon whom she was tallenough to look down with ease, the beholder but felt that her tallnesswas an added grace and beauty with which all women should have beenendowed, and which, as they were not, caused them to appear butinsignificant. What a throat her diamonds blazed on, what shoulders andbosom her laces framed, on what a brow her coronet sat and glittered. Herlord lived as 'twere upon his knees in enraptured adoration. Since hisfirst wife's death in his youth, he had dwelt almost entirely in thecountry at his house there, which was fine and stately, but had been keptgloomily half closed for a decade. His town establishment had, in truth, never been opened since his bereavement; and now--an elderly man--hereturned to the gay world he had almost forgotten, with a bride whoseyouth and beauty set it aflame. What wonder that his head almost reeledat times and that he lost his breath before the sum of his strange latebliss, and the new lease of brilliant life which seemed to have beengiven to him. 

In the days when, while in the country, he had heard such rumours of thelawless days of Sir Jeoffry Wildairs' daughter, when he had heard of herdauntless boldness, her shrewish temper, and her violent passions, he hadbeen awed at the thought of what a wife such a woman would make for agentleman accustomed to a quiet life, and he had indeed striven hard torestrain the desperate admiration he was forced to admit she had inspiredin him even at her first ball. 

The effort had, in sooth, been in vain, and he had passed many asleepless night; and when, as time went on, he beheld her again andagain, and saw with his own eyes, as well as heard from others, of thegreat change which seemed to have taken place in her manners andcharacter, he began devoutly to thank Heaven for the alteration, as for amerciful boon vouchsafed to him. He had been wise enough to know thateven a stronger man than himself could never conquer or rule her; andwhen she seemed to begin to rule herself and bear herself as befitted herbirth and beauty, he had dared to allow himself to dream of whatperchance might be if he had great good fortune. 

In these days of her union with him, he was, indeed, almost humbly amazedat the grace and kindness she showed him every hour they passed in eachother's company. He knew that there were men, younger and handsomer thanhimself, who, being wedded to beauties far less triumphant than she, found that their wives had but little time to spare them from the world, which knelt at their feet, and that in some fashion they themselvesseemed to fall into the background. But 'twas not so with this woman, powerful and worshipped though she might be. She bore herself with thehigh dignity of her rank, but rendered to him the gracious respect anddeference due both to his position and his merit. She stood by his sideand not before him, and her smiles and wit were bestowed upon him asgenerously as to others. If she had once been a vixen, she was surely sono longer, for he never heard a sharp or harsh word pass her lips, thoughit is true her manner was always somewhat imperial, and her lacqueys andwaiting women stood in greatest awe of her. There was that in herpresence and in her eye before which all commoner or weaker creaturesquailed. The men of the world who flocked to pay their court to her, andthe popinjays who followed them, all knew this look, and a tone in herrich voice which could cut like a knife when she chose that it should doso. But to my Lord of Dunstanwolde she was all that a worshipped ladycould be. 

"Your ladyship has made of me a happier man than I ever dared to dream ofbeing, even when I was but thirty, " he would say to her, with reverentdevotion. "I know not what I have done to deserve this late summer whichhath been given me. "

"When I consented to be your wife, " she answered once, "I swore to myselfthat I would make one for you;" and she crossed the hearth to where hesat--she was attired in all her splendour for a Court ball, and starredwith jewels--bent over his chair and placed a kiss upon his grizzledhair. 

Upon the night before her wedding with him, her sister, Mistress Anne, had stolen to her chamber at a late hour. When she had knocked upon thedoor, and had been commanded to enter, she had come in, and closing thedoor behind her, had stood leaning against it, looking before her, withher eyes wide with agitation and her poor face almost grey. 

All the tapers for which places could be found had been gatheredtogether, and the room was a blaze of light. In the midst of it, beforeher mirror, Clorinda stood attired in her bridal splendour of white satinand flowing rich lace, a diamond crescent on her head, sparks of lightflaming from every point of her raiment. When she caught sight of Anne'sreflection in the glass before her, she turned and stood staring at herin wonder. 

"What--nay, what is this?" she cried. "What do you come for? On mysoul, you come for something--or you have gone mad. "

Anne started forward, trembling, her hands clasped upon her breast, andfell at her feet with sobs. 

"Yes, yes, " she gasped, "I came--for something--to speak--to pray you--!Sister--Clorinda, have patience with me--till my courage comes again!"and she clutched her robe. 

Something which came nigh to being a shudder passed through MistressClorinda's frame; but it was gone in a second, and she touchedAnne--though not ungently--with her foot, withdrawing her robe. 

"Do not stain it with your tears, " she said "'twould be a bad omen. "

Anne buried her face in her hands and knelt so before her. 

"'Tis not too late!" she said--"'tis not too late yet. "

"For what?" Clorinda asked. "For what, I pray you tell me, if you canfind your wits. You go beyond my patience with your folly. "

"Too late to stop, " said Anne--"to draw back and repent. "

"What?" commanded Clorinda--"what then should I repent me?"

"This marriage, " trembled Mistress Anne, taking her poor hands from herface to wring them. "It should not be. "

"Fool!" quoth Clorinda. "Get up and cease your grovelling. Did you cometo tell me it was not too late to draw back and refuse to be the Countessof Dunstanwolde?" and she laughed bitterly. 

"But it should not be--it must not!" Anne panted. "I--I know, sister, Iknow--"

Clorinda bent deliberately and laid her strong, jewelled hand on hershoulder with a grasp like a vice. There was no hurry in her movement orin her air, but by sheer, slow strength she forced her head backward sothat the terrified woman was staring in her face. 

"Look at me, " she said. "I would see you well, and be squarely lookedat, that my eyes may keep you from going mad. You have pondered overthis marriage until you have a frenzy. Women who live alone aresometimes so, and your brain was always weak. What is it that you know. Look--in my eyes--and tell me. "

It seemed as if her gaze stabbed through Anne's eyes to the very centreof her brain. Anne tried to bear it, and shrunk and withered; she wouldhave fallen upon the floor at her feet a helpless, sobbing heap, but thewhite hand would not let her go. 

"Find your courage--if you have lost it--and speak plain words, " Clorindacommanded. Anne tried to writhe away, but could not again, and burstinto passionate, hopeless weeping. 

"I cannot--I dare not!" she gasped. "I am afraid. You are right; mybrain is weak, and I--but that--that gentleman--who so loved you--"

"Which?" said Clorinda, with a brief scornful laugh. 

"The one who was so handsome--with the fair locks and the gallant air--"

"The one you fell in love with and stared at through the window, " saidClorinda, with her brief laugh again. "John Oxon! He has victimsenough, forsooth, to have spared such an one as you are. "

"But he loved you!" cried Anne piteously, "and it must have been thatyou--you too, sister--or--or else--" She choked again with sobs, andClorinda released her grasp upon her shoulder and stood upright. 

"He wants none of me--nor I of him, " she said, with strange sternness. "We have done with one another. Get up upon your feet if you would nothave me thrust you out into the corridor. "

She turned from her, and walking back to her dressing-table, stood theresteadying the diadem on her hair, which had loosed a fastening when Annetried to writhe away from her. Anne half sat, half knelt upon the floor, staring at her with wet, wild eyes of misery and fear. 

"Leave your kneeling, " commanded her sister again, "and come here. "

Anne staggered to her feet and obeyed her behest. In the glass she couldsee the resplendent reflection; but Clorinda did not deign to turntowards her while she addressed her, changing the while the brilliants inher hair. 

"Hark you, sister Anne, " she said. "I read you better than you think. You are a poor thing, but you love me and--in my fashion--I think I loveyou somewhat too. You think I should not marry a gentleman whom youfancy I do not love as I might a younger, handsomer man. You are full oflove, and spinster dreams of it which make you flighty. I love my Lordof Dunstanwolde as well as any other man, and better than some, for I donot hate him. He has a fine estate, and is a gentleman--and worships me. Since I have been promised to him, I own I have for a moment seen anothergentleman who _might_--but 'twas but for a moment, and 'tis done with. 'Twas too late then. If we had met two years agone 'twould not have beenso. My Lord Dunstanwolde gives to me wealth, and rank, and life atCourt. I give to him the thing he craves with all his soul--myself. Itis an honest bargain, and I shall bear my part of it with honesty. Ihave no virtues--where should I have got them from, forsooth, in a lifelike mine? I mean I have no women's virtues; but I have one that issometimes--not always--a man's. 'Tis that I am not a coward and atrickster, and keep my word when 'tis given. You fear that I shall leadmy lord a bitter life of it. 'Twill not be so. He shall live smoothly, and not suffer from me. What he has paid for he shall honestly have. Iwill not cheat him as weaker women do their husbands; for he pays--poorgentleman--he pays. "

And then, still looking at the glass, she pointed to the doorway throughwhich her sister had come, and in obedience to her gesture of command, Mistress Anne stole silently away. 

CHAPTER X--"Yes--I have marked him"

Through the brilliant, happy year succeeding to his marriage my Lord ofDunstanwolde lived like a man who dreams a blissful dream and knows it isone. 

"I feel, " he said to his lady, "as if 'twere too great rapture to last, and yet what end could come, unless you ceased to be kind to me; and, intruth, I feel that you are too noble above all other women to change, unless I were more unworthy than I could ever be since you are mine. "

Both in the town and in the country, which last place heard many thingsof his condition and estate through rumour, he was the man most wonderedat and envied of his time--envied because of his strange happiness;wondered at because having, when long past youth, borne off this arrogantbeauty from all other aspirants she showed no arrogance to him, and wasas perfect a wife as could have been some woman without gifts whom he hadlifted from low estate and endowed with rank and fortune. She seemedboth to respect himself and her position as his lady and spouse. Hermanner of reigning in his household was among his many delights thegreatest. It was a great house, and an old one, built long before by aDunstanwolde whose lavish feasts and riotous banquets had been thenotable feature of his life. It was curiously rambling in its structure. The rooms of entertainment were large and splendid, the halls andstaircases stately; below stairs there was space for an army of servantsto be disposed of; and its network of cellars and wine-vaults was sobeyond all need that more than one long arched stone passage was shut upas being without use, and but letting cold, damp air into corridorsleading to the servants' quarters. It was, indeed, my Lady Dunstanwoldewho had ordered the closing of this part when it had been her pleasure tobe shown her domain by her housekeeper, the which had greatly awed andimpressed her household as signifying that, exalted lady as she was, herwit was practical as well as brilliant, and that her eyes being open toher surroundings, she meant not that her lacqueys should rob her and herscullions filch, thinking that she was so high that she was ignorant ofcommon things and blind. 

"You will be well housed and fed and paid your dues, " she said to them;"but the first man or woman who does a task ill or dishonestly will beturned from his place that hour. I deal justice--not mercy. "

"Such a mistress they have never had before, " said my lord when sherelated this to him. "Nay, they have never dreamed of such a lady--onewho can be at once so severe and so kind. But there is none other such, my dearest one. They will fear and worship you. "

She gave him one of her sweet, splendid smiles. It was the sweetness sheat rare times gave her splendid smile which was her marvellous power. 

"I would not be too grand a lady to be a good housewife, " she said. "Imay not order your dinners, my dear lord, or sweep your corridors, butthey shall know I rule your household and would rule it well. "

"You are a goddess!" he cried, kneeling to her, enraptured. "And youhave given yourself to a poor mortal man, who can but worship you. "

"You give me all I have, " she said, "and you love me nobly, and I amgrateful. "

Her assemblies were the most brilliant in the town, and the most to bedesired entrance to. Wits and beauties planned and intrigued that theymight be bidden to her house; beaux and fine ladies fell into the spleenif she neglected them. Her lord's kinsman the Duke of Osmonde, who hadbeen present when she first knelt to Royalty, had scarce removed his eyesfrom her so long as he could gaze. He went to Dunstanwolde afterwardsand congratulated him with stately courtesy upon his great good fortuneand happiness, speaking almost with fire of her beauty and majesty, andthanking his kinsman that through him such perfections had been given totheir name and house. From that time, at all special assemblies given byhis kinsman he was present, the observed of all observers. He was a manof whom 'twas said that he was the most magnificent gentleman in Europe;that there was none to compare with him in the combination of gifts givenboth by Nature and Fortune. His beauty both of feature and carriage wasof the greatest, his mind was of the highest, and his education farbeyond that of the age he lived in. It was not the fashion of the daythat men of his rank should devote themselves to the cultivation of theirintellects instead of to a life of pleasure; but this he had done fromhis earliest youth, and now, in his perfect though early maturity, he hadno equal in polished knowledge and charm of bearing. He was the patronof literature and art; men of genius were not kept waiting in hisantechamber, but were received by him with courtesy and honour. At theCourt 'twas well known there was no man who stood so near the throne infavour, and that there was no union so exalted that he might not havemade his suit as rather that of a superior than an equal. The Queen bothloved and honoured him, and condescended to avow as much with graciousfrankness. She knew no other man, she deigned to say, who was so worthyof honour and affection, and that he had not married must be becausethere was no woman who could meet him on ground that was equal. If therewere no scandals about him--and there were none--'twas not because he wascold of heart or imagination. No man or woman could look into his deepeye and not know that when love came to him 'twould be a burning passion, and an evil fate if it went ill instead of happily. 

"Being past his callow, youthful days, 'tis time he made some woman aduchess, " Dunstanwolde said reflectively once to his wife. "'Twould bemore fitting that he should; and it is his way to honour his house in allthings, and bear himself without fault as the head of it. Methinks itstrange he makes no move to do it. "

"No, 'tis not strange, " said my lady, looking under her black-fringedlids at the glow of the fire, as though reflecting also. "There is nostrangeness in it. "

"Why not?" her lord asked. 

"There is no mate for him, " she answered slowly. "A man like him mustmate as well as marry, or he will break his heart with silent raging atthe weakness of the thing he is tied to. He is too strong and splendidfor a common woman. If he married one, 'twould be as if a lion had takento himself for mate a jackal or a sheep. Ah!" with a long drawnbreath--"he would go mad--mad with misery;" and her hands, which lay uponher knee, wrung themselves hard together, though none could see it. 

"He should have a goddess, were they not so rare, " said Dunstanwolde, gently smiling. "He should hold a bitter grudge against me, that I, hisunworthy kinsman, have been given the only one. "

"Yes, he should have a goddess, " said my lady slowly again; "and thereare but women, naught but women. "

"You have marked him well, " said her lord, admiring her wisdom. "Methinksthat you--though you have spoken to him but little, and have but of latebecome his kinswoman--have marked and read him better than the rest ofus. "

"Yes--I have marked him, " was her answer. 

"He is a man to mark, and I have a keen eye. " She rose up as she spoke, and stood before the fire, lifted by some strong feeling to her fullestheight, and towering there, splendid in the shadow--for 'twas by twilightthey talked. "He is a Man, " she said--"he is a Man! Nay, he is as Godmeant man should be. And if men were so, there would be women greatenough for them to mate with and to give the world men like them. " Andbut that she stood in the shadow, her lord would have seen the crimsontorrent rush up her cheek and brow, and overspread her long round throatitself. 

If none other had known of it, there was one man who knew that she hadmarked him, though she had borne herself towards him always with herstateliest grace. This man was his Grace the Duke himself. From thehour that he had stood transfixed as he watched her come up the broad oakstair, from the moment that the red rose fell from her wreath at hisfeet, and he had stooped to lift it in his hand, he had seen her as noother man had seen her, and he had known that had he not come but justtoo late, she would have been his own. Each time he had beheld her sincethat night he had felt this burn more deeply in his soul. He was toohigh and fine in all his thoughts to say to himself that in her he sawfor the first time the woman who was his peer; but this was very truth--ormight have been, if Fate had set her youth elsewhere, and a lady who wasnoble and her own mother had trained and guarded her. When he saw her atthe Court surrounded, as she ever was, by a court of her own; when he sawher reigning in her lord's house, receiving and doing gracious honour tohis guests and hers; when she passed him in her coach, drawing every eyeby the majesty of her presence, as she drove through the town, he felt adeep pang, which was all the greater that his honour bade him conquer it. He had no ignoble thought of her, he would have scorned to sully his soulwith any light passion; to him she was the woman who might have been hisbeloved wife and duchess, who would have upheld with him the honour andtraditions of his house, whose strength and power and beauty would havebeen handed down to his children, who so would have been born endowedwith gifts befitting the state to which Heaven had called them. It wasof this he thought when he saw her, and of naught less like to do herhonour. And as he had marked her so, he saw in her eyes, despite herdignity and grace, she had marked him. He did not know how closely, orthat she gave him the attention he could not restrain himself frombestowing upon her. But when he bowed before her, and she greeted himwith all courtesy, he saw in her great, splendid eye that had Fate willedit so, she would have understood all his thoughts, shared all hisambitions, and aided him to uphold his high ideals. Nay, he knew sheunderstood him even now, and was stirred by what stirred him also, eventhough they met but rarely, and when they encountered each other, spokebut as kinsman and kinswoman who would show each other all graciousrespect and honour. It was because of this pang which struck his greatheart at times that he was not a frequent visitor at my LordDunstanwolde's mansion, but appeared there only at such assemblies aswere matters of ceremony, his absence from which would have been a notedthing. His kinsman was fond of him, and though himself of so much riperage, honoured him greatly. At times he strove to lure him into visits ofgreater familiarity; but though his kindness was never met coldly orrepulsed, a further intimacy was in some gracious way avoided. 

"My lady must beguile you to be less formal with us, " said Dunstanwolde. And later her ladyship spoke as her husband had privately desired: "Mylord would be made greatly happy if your Grace would honour our houseoftener, " she said one night, when at the end of a great ball he wasbidding her adieu. 

Osmonde's deep eye met hers gently and held it. "My Lord Dunstanwolde isalways gracious and warm of heart to his kinsman, " he replied. "Do notlet him think me discourteous or ungrateful. In truth, your ladyship, Iam neither the one nor the other. "

The eyes of each gazed into the other's steadfastly and gravely. TheDuke of Osmonde thought of Juno's as he looked at hers; they were of suchvelvet, and held such fathomless deeps. 

"Your Grace is not so free as lesser men, " Clorinda said. "You cannotcome and go as you would. "

"No, " he answered gravely, "I cannot, as I would. "

And this was all. 

It having been known by all the world that, despite her beauty and herconquests, Mistress Clorinda Wildairs had not smiled with great favourupon Sir John Oxon in the country, it was not wondered at or made anymatter of gossip that the Countess of Dunstanwolde was but littlefamiliar with him and saw him but rarely at her house in town. 

Once or twice he had appeared there, it is true, at my LordDunstanwolde's instance, but my lady herself scarce seemed to see himafter her first courtesies as hostess were over. 

"You never smiled on him, my love, " Dunstanwolde said to his wife. "Youbore yourself towards him but cavalierly, as was your ladyship's way--withall but one poor servant, " tenderly; "but he was one of the many whofollowed in your train, and if these gay young fellows stay away, 'twillbe said that I keep them at a distance because I am afraid of their youthand gallantry. I would not have it fancied that I was so ungrateful asto presume upon your goodness and not leave to you your freedom. "

"Nor would I, my lord, " she answered. "But he will not come often; I donot love him well enough. "

His marriage with the heiress who had wealth in the West Indies wasbroken off, or rather 'twas said had come to naught. All the town knewit, and wondered, and talked, because it had been believed at first thatthe young lady was much enamoured of him, and that he would soon lead herto the altar, the which his creditors had greatly rejoiced over aspromising them some hope that her fortune would pay their bills of whichthey had been in despair. Later, however, gossip said that the heiresshad not been so tender as was thought; that, indeed, she had been foundto be in love with another man, and that even had she not, she had heardsuch stories of Sir John as promised but little nuptial happiness for anywoman that took him to husband. 

When my Lord Dunstanwolde brought his bride to town, and she soared atonce to splendid triumph and renown, inflaming every heart, and settingevery tongue at work, clamouring her praises, Sir John Oxon saw her fromafar in all the scenes of brilliant fashion she frequented and reignedqueen of. 'Twas from afar, it might be said, he saw her only, though hewas often near her, because she bore herself as if she did not observehim, or as though he were a thing which did not exist. The first timethat she deigned to address him was upon an occasion when she foundherself standing so near him at an assembly that in the crowd she brushedhim with her robe. His blue eyes were fixed burningly upon her, and asshe brushed him he drew in a hard breath, which she hearing, turnedslowly and let her own eyes fall upon his face. 

"You did not marry, " she said. 

"No, I did not marry, " he answered, in a low, bitter voice. "'Twas yourladyship who did that. "

She faintly, slowly smiled. 

"I should not have been like to do otherwise, " she said; "'tis anhonourable condition. I would advise you to enter it. "

CHAPTER XI--Wherein a noble life comes to an end

When the earl and his countess went to their house in the country, therefell to Mistress Anne a great and curious piece of good fortune. In herwildest dreams she had never dared to hope that such a thing might be. 

My Lady Dunstanwolde, on her first visit home, bore her sister back withher to the manor, and there established her. She gave her a suite ofrooms and a waiting woman of her own, and even provided her with asuitable wardrobe. This last she had chosen herself with a taste andfitness which only such wit as her own could have devised. 

"They are not great rooms I give thee, Anne, " she said, "but quiet andsmall ones, which you can make home-like in such ways as I know yourtaste lies. My lord has aided me to choose romances for your shelves, heknowing more of books than I do. And I shall not dress thee out like apeacock with gay colours and great farthingales. They would frightenthee, poor woman, and be a burden with their weight. I have chosen suchthings as are not too splendid, but will suit thy pale face and shotpartridge eyes. "

Anne stood in the middle of her room and looked about at its comforts, wondering. 

"Sister, " she said, "why are you so good to me? What have I done toserve you? Why is it Anne instead of Barbara you are so gracious to?"

"Perchance because I am a vain woman and would be worshipped as youworship me. "

"But you are always worshipped, " Anne faltered. 

"Ay, by men!" said Clorinda, mocking; "but not by women. And it may bethat my pride is so high that I must be worshipped by a woman too. Youwould always love me, sister Anne. If you saw me break the law--if yousaw me stab the man I hated to the heart, you would think it must bepardoned to me. "

She laughed, and yet her voice was such that Anne lost her breath andcaught at it again. 

"Ay, I should love you, sister!" she cried. "Even then I could not butlove you. I should know you could not strike so an innocent creature, and that to be so hated he must have been worthy of hate. You--are notlike other women, sister Clorinda; but you could not be base--for youhave a great heart. "

Clorinda put her hand to her side and laughed again, but with lessmocking in her laughter. 

"What do you know of my heart, Anne?" she said. "Till late I did notknow it beat, myself. My lord says 'tis a great one and noble, but Iknow 'tis his own that is so. Have I done honestly by him, Anne, as Itold you I would? Have I been fair in my bargain--as fair as an honestman, and not a puling, slippery woman. "

"You have been a great lady, " Anne answered, her great dull, soft eyesfilling with slow tears as she gazed at her. "He says that you havegiven to him a year of Heaven, and that you seem to him like somearchangel--for the lower angels seem not high enough to set beside you. "

"'Tis as I said--'tis his heart that is noble, " said Clorinda. "But Ivowed it should be so. He paid--he paid!"

The country saw her lord's happiness as the town had done, and wonderedat it no less. The manor was thrown open, and guests came down fromtown; great dinners and balls being given, at which all the country sawthe mistress reign at her consort's side with such a grace as no ladyever had worn before. Sir Jeoffry, appearing at these assemblies, was soamazed that he forgot to muddle himself with drink, in gazing at hisdaughter and following her in all her movements. 

"Look at her!" he said to his old boon companions and hers, who were asmuch awed as he. "Lord! who would think she was the strapping, handsomeshrew that swore, and sang men's songs to us, and rode to the hunt inbreeches. "

He was awed at the thought of paying fatherly visits to her house, andwould have kept away, but that she was kind to him in the way he was bestable to understand. 

"I am country-bred, and have not the manners of your town men, my lady, "he said to her, as he sat with her alone on one of the first mornings hespent with her in her private apartment. "I am used to rap out an oathor an ill-mannered word when it comes to me. Dunstanwolde has weaned youof hearing such things--and I am too old a dog to change. "

"Wouldst have thought I was too old to change, " answered she, "but I wasnot. Did I not tell thee I would be a great lady. There is naught a manor woman cannot learn who hath the wit. "

"Thou hadst it, Clo, " said Sir Jeoffry, gazing at her with a sort of slowwonder. "Thou hadst it. If thou hadst not--!" He paused, and shook hishead, and there was a rough emotion in his coarse face. "I was not theman to have made aught but a baggage of thee, Clo. I taught thee naughtdecent, and thou never heard or saw aught to teach thee. Damn me!"almost with moisture in his eyes, "if I know what kept thee from going toruin before thou wert fifteen. "

She sat and watched him steadily. 

"Nor I, " quoth she, in answer. "Nor I--but here thou seest me, Dad--anearl's lady, sitting before thee. "

"'Twas thy wit, " said he, still moved, and fairly maudlin. "'Twas thywit and thy devil's will!"

"Ay, " she answered, "'twas they--my wit and my devil's will!"

She rode to the hunt with him as she had been wont to do, but she worethe latest fashion in hunting habit and coat; and though 'twould not havebeen possible for her to sit her horse better than of old, or to takehedges and ditches with greater daring and spirit, yet in some way everyman who rode with her felt that 'twas a great lady who led the field. Thehorse she rode was a fierce, beauteous devil of a beast which Sir Jeoffryhimself would scarce have mounted even in his younger days; but shecarried her loaded whip, and she sat upon the brute as if she scarcelyfelt its temper, and held it with a wrist of steel. 

My Lord Dunstanwolde did not hunt this season. He had never been greatlyfond of the sport, and at this time was a little ailing, but he would notlet his lady give up her pleasure because he could not join it. 

"Nay, " he said, "'tis not for the queen of the hunting-field to stay athome to nurse an old man's aches. My pride would not let it be so. Yourfather will attend you. Go--and lead them all, my dear. "

In the field appeared Sir John Oxon, who for a brief visit was atEldershawe. He rode close to my lady, though she had naught to say tohim after her first greetings of civility. He looked not as fresh andglowing with youth as had been his wont only a year ago. His recklesswildness of life and his town debaucheries had at last touched his bloom, perhaps. He had a haggard look at moments when his countenance was notlighted by excitement. 'Twas whispered that he was deep enough in debtto be greatly straitened, and that his marriage having come to naught hiscreditors were besetting him without mercy. This and more than this, noone knew so well as my Lady Dunstanwolde; but of a certainty she hadlittle pity for his evil case, if one might judge by her face, when inthe course of the running he took a hedge behind her, and pressing hishorse, came up by her side and spoke. 

"Clorinda, " he began breathlessly, through set teeth. 

She could have left him and not answered, but she chose to restrain thepace of her wild beast for a moment and look at him. 

"'Your ladyship!'" she corrected his audacity. "Or--'my LadyDunstanwolde. '"

"There was a time"--he said. 

"This morning, " she said, "I found a letter in a casket in my closet. Ido not know the mad villain who wrote it. I never knew him. "

"You did not, " he cried, with an oath, and then laughed scornfully. 

"The letter lies in ashes on the hearth, " she said. "'Twas burnedunopened. Do not ride so close, Sir John, and do not play the madman andthe beast with the wife of my Lord Dunstanwolde. "

"'The wife!'" he answered. "'My lord!' 'Tis a new game this, and wellplayed, by God!"

She did not so much as waver in her look, and her wide eyes smiled. 

"Quite new, " she answered him--"quite new. And could I not have playedit well and fairly, I would not have touched the cards. Keep your horseoff, Sir John. Mine is restive, and likes not another beast near him;"and she touched the creature with her whip, and he was gone like athunderbolt. 

The next day, being in her room, Anne saw her come from herdressing-table with a sealed letter in her hand. She went to the belland rang it. 

"Anne, " she said, "I am going to rate my woman and turn her from myservice. I shall not beat or swear at her as I was wont to do with mywomen in time past. You will be afraid, perhaps; but you must stay withme. "

She was standing by the fire with the letter held almost at arm's lengthin her finger-tips, when the woman entered, who, seeing her face, turnedpale, and casting her eyes upon the letter, paler still, and began toshake. 

"You have attended mistresses of other ways than mine, " her lady said inher slow, clear voice, which seemed to cut as knives do. "Some fool andmadman has bribed you to serve him. You cannot serve me also. Comehither and put this in the fire. If 'twere to be done I would make youhold it in the live coals with your hand. "

The woman came shuddering, looking as if she thought she might be struckdead. She took the letter and kneeled, ashen pale, to burn it. When'twas done, her mistress pointed to the door. 

"Go and gather your goods and chattels together, and leave within thishour, " she said. "I will be my own tirewoman till I can find one whocomes to me honest. "

When she was gone, Anne sat gazing at the ashes on the hearth. She waspale also. 

"Sister, " she said, "do you--"

"Yes, " answered my lady. "'Tis a man who loved me, a cur and a knave. Hethought for an hour he was cured of his passion. I could have told him'twould spring up and burn more fierce than ever when he saw another manpossess me. 'Tis so with knaves and curs; and 'tis so with him. He hathgone mad again. "

"Ay, mad!" cried Anne--"mad, and base, and wicked!"

Clorinda gazed at the ashes, her lips curling. 

"He was ever base, " she said--"as he was at first, so he is now. 'Tisthy favourite, Anne, " lightly, and she delicately spurned the blackenedtinder with her foot--"thy favourite, John Oxon. "

Mistress Anne crouched in her seat and hid her face in her thin hands. 

"Oh, my lady!" she cried, not feeling that she could say "sister, " "if hebe base, and ever was so, pity him, pity him! The base need pity morethan all. "

For she had loved him madly, all unknowing her own passion, not presumingeven to look up in his beautiful face, thinking of him only as the slaveof her sister, and in dead secrecy knowing strange things--strangethings! And when she had seen the letter she had known the handwriting, and the beating of her simple heart had well-nigh strangled her--for shehad seen words writ by him before. 

* * * * *

When Dunstanwolde and his lady went back to their house in town, MistressAnne went with them. Clorinda willed that it should be so. She made herthere as peaceful and retired a nest of her own as she had given to herat Dunstanwolde. By strange good fortune Barbara had been wedded to aplain gentleman, who, being a widower with children, needed a help-meetin his modest household, and through a distant relationship to MistressWimpole, encountered her charge, and saw in her meekness of spirit thething which might fall into the supplying of his needs. A beauty or afine lady would not have suited him; he wanted but a housewife and amother for his orphaned children, and this, a young woman who had livedstraitly, and been forced to many contrivances for mere decency ofapparel and ordinary comfort, might be trained to become. 

So it fell that Mistress Anne could go to London without pangs ofconscience at leaving her sister in the country and alone. Thestateliness of the town mansion, my Lady Dunstanwolde's retinue oflacqueys and serving-women, her little black page, who waited on her andtook her pug dogs to walk, her wardrobe, and jewels, and equipages, wereeach and all marvels to her, but seemed to her mind so far befitting thatshe remembered, wondering, the days when she had darned the tatteredtapestry in her chamber, and changed the ribbands and fashions of hergowns. Being now attired fittingly, though soberly as became her, shewas not in these days--at least, as far as outward seeming went--anawkward blot upon the scene when she appeared among her sister's company;but at heart she was as timid and shrinking as ever, and never mingledwith the guests in the great rooms when she could avoid so doing. Onceor twice she went forth with Clorinda in her coach and six, and saw theglittering world, while she drew back into her corner of the equipage andgazed with all a country-bred woman's timorous admiration. 

"'Twas grand and like a beautiful show!" she said, when she came home thefirst time. "But do not take me often, sister; I am too plain and shy, and feel that I am naught in it. "

But though she kept as much apart from the great World of Fashion as shecould, she contrived to know of all her sister's triumphs; to see herwhen she went forth in her bravery, though 'twere but to drive in theMall; to be in her closet with her on great nights when her tirewomenwere decking her in brocades and jewels, that she might show her highestbeauty at some assembly or ball of State. And at all these times, asalso at all others, she knew that she but shared her own love and dazzledadmiration with my Lord Dunstanwolde, whose tenderness, being so fed byhis lady's unfailing graciousness of bearing and kindly looks and words, grew with every hour that passed. 

They held one night a splendid assembly at which a member of the RoyalHouse was present. That night Clorinda bade her sister appear. 

"Sometimes--I do not command it always--but sometimes you must showyourself to our guests. My lord will not be pleased else. He says it isnot fitting that his wife's sister should remain unseen as if we hid heraway through ungraciousness. Your woman will prepare for you all thingsneedful. I myself will see that your dress becomes you. I havecommanded it already, and given much thought to its shape and colour. Iwould have you very comely, Anne. " And she kissed her lightly on hercheek--almost as gently as she sometimes kissed her lord's grey hair. Intruth, though she was still a proud lady and stately in her ways, therehad come upon her some strange subtle change Anne could not understand. 

On the day on which the assembly was held, Mistress Anne's woman broughtto her a beautiful robe. 'Twas flowered satin of the sheen and softnessof a dove's breast, and the lace adorning it was like a spider's web forgossamer fineness. The robe was sweetly fashioned, fitting her shapewondrously; and when she was attired in it at night a little colour cameinto her cheeks to see herself so far beyond all comeliness she had everknown before. When she found herself in the midst of the dazzling scenein the rooms of entertainment, she was glad when at last she could feelherself lost among the crowd of guests. Her only pleasure in such sceneswas to withdraw to some hidden corner and look on as at a pageant or aplay. To-night she placed herself in the shadow of a screen, from whichretreat she could see Clorinda and Dunstanwolde as they received theirguests. Thus she found enjoyment enough; for, in truth, her love andalmost abject passion of adoration for her sister had grown as hislordship's had, with every hour. For a season there had rested upon hera black shadow beneath which she wept and trembled, bewildered and lost;though even at its darkest the object of her humble love had been a starwhose brightness was not dimmed, because it could not be so whatsoeverpassed before it. This cloud, however, being it seemed dispelled, thestar had shone but more brilliant in its high place, and she the morepassionately worshipped it. To sit apart and see her idol's radiance, tomark her as she reigned and seemed the more royal when she bent the kneeto royalty itself, to see the shimmer of her jewels crowning her midnighthair and crashing the warm whiteness of her noble neck, to observe theadmiration in all eyes as they dwelt upon her--this was, indeed, enoughof happiness. 

"She is, as ever, " she murmured, "not so much a woman as a proud lovelygoddess who has deigned to descend to earth. But my lord does not looklike himself. He seems shrunk in the face and old, and his eyes haverings about them. I like not that. He is so kind a gentleman and sohappy that his body should not fail him. I have marked that he haslooked colourless for days, and Clorinda questioned him kindly on it, buthe said he suffered naught. "

'Twas but a little later than she had thought this, that she remarked agentleman step aside and stand quite near without observing her. Feelingthat she had no testimony to her fancifulness, she found herself thinkingin a vague fashion that he, too, had come there because he chose to beunobserved. 'Twould not have been so easy for him to retire as it hadbeen for her smallness and insignificance to do so; and, indeed, she didnot fancy that he meant to conceal himself, but merely to stand for aquiet moment a little apart from the crowd. 

And as she looked up at him, wondering why this should be, she saw he wasthe noblest and most stately gentleman she had ever beheld. 

She had never seen him before; he must either be a stranger or a rarevisitor. As Clorinda was beyond a woman's height, he was beyond a man's. 

He carried himself as kingly as she did nobly; he had a countenance ofstrong, manly beauty, and a deep tawny eye, thick-fringed and full offire; orders glittered upon his breast, and he wore a fair periwig, whichbecame him wondrously, and seemed to make his eye more deep and burningby its contrast. 

Beside his strength and majesty of bearing the stripling beauty of JohnOxon would have seemed slight and paltry, a thing for flippant women totrifle with. 

Mistress Anne looked at him with an admiration somewhat like reverence, and as she did so a sudden thought rose to her mind, and even as it rose, she marked what his gaze rested on, and how it dwelt upon it, and knewthat he had stepped apart to stand and gaze as she did--only with a man'shid fervour--at her sister's self. 

'Twas as if suddenly a strange secret had been told her. She read it inhis face, because he thought himself unobserved, and for a space had casthis mask aside. He stood and gazed as a man who, starving at soul, fedhimself through his eyes, having no hope of other sustenance, or as a manweary with long carrying of a burden, for a space laid it down for restand to gather power to go on. She heard him draw a deep sigh almoststifled in its birth, and there was that in his face which she felt itwas unseemly that a stranger like herself should behold, himselfunknowing of her near presence. 

She gently rose from her corner, wondering if she could retire from herretreat without attracting his observation; but as she did so, chancecaused him to withdraw himself a little farther within the shadow of thescreen, and doing so, he beheld her. 

Then his face changed; the mask of noble calmness, for a moment fallen, resumed itself, and he bowed before her with the reverence of a courtlygentleman, undisturbed by the unexpectedness of his recognition of herneighbourhood. 

"Madam, " he said, "pardon my unconsciousness that you were near me. Youwould pass?" And he made way for her. 

She curtseyed, asking his pardon with her dull, soft eyes. 

"Sir, " she answered, "I but retired here for a moment's rest from thethrong and gaiety, to which I am unaccustomed. But chiefly I sat inretirement that I might watch--my sister. "

"Your sister, madam?" he said, as if the questioning echo were almostinvoluntary, and he bowed again in some apology. 

"My Lady Dunstanwolde, " she replied. "I take such pleasure in herloveliness and in all that pertains to her, it is a happiness to me tobut look on. "

Whatsoever the thing was in her loving mood which touched him and foundecho in his own, he was so far moved that he answered to her withsomething less of ceremoniousness; remembering also, in truth, that shewas a lady he had heard of, and recalling her relationship and name. 

"It is then Mistress Anne Wildairs I am honoured by having speech with, "he said. "My Lady Dunstanwolde has spoken of you in my presence. I ammy lord's kinsman the Duke of Osmonde;" again bowing, and Anne curtseyedlow once more. 

Despite his greatness, she felt a kindness and grace in him which was notcondescension, and which almost dispelled the timidity which, being partof her nature, so unduly beset her at all times when she addressed or wasaddressed by a stranger. John Oxon, bowing his bright curls, and seemingever to mock with his smiles, had caused her to be overcome with shyawkwardness and blushes; but this man, who seemed as far above him inperson and rank and mind as a god is above a graceful painted puppet, even appeared to give of his own noble strength to her poor weakness. Hebore himself towards her with a courtly respect such as no human beinghad ever shown to her before. He besought her again to be seated in hernook, and stood before her conversing with such delicate sympathy withher mood as seemed to raise her to the pedestal on which stood lesshumble women. All those who passed before them he knew and could speakeasily of. The high deeds of those who were statesmen, or men honouredat Court or in the field, he was familiar with; and of those who werebeauties or notable gentlewomen he had always something courtly to say. 

Her own worship of her sister she knew full well he understood, though hespoke of her but little. 

"Well may you gaze at her, " he said. "So does all the world, and honoursand adores. "

He proffered her at last his arm, and she, having strangely takencourage, let him lead her through the rooms and persuade her to somerefreshment. Seeing her so wondrously emerge from her chrysalis, andunder the protection of so distinguished a companion, all looked at heras she passed with curious amazement, and indeed Mistress Anne was allbut overpowered by the reverence shown them as they made their way. 

As they came again into the apartment wherein the host and hostessreceived their guests, Anne felt her escort pause, and looked up at himto see the meaning of his sudden hesitation. He was gazing intently, notat Clorinda, but at the Earl of Dunstanwolde. 

"Madam, " he said, "pardon me that I seem to detain you, but--but I lookat my kinsman. Madam, " with a sudden fear in his voice, "he is ailing--hesways as he stands. Let us go to him. Quickly! He falls!"

And, in sooth, at that very moment there arose a dismayed cry from theguests about them, and there was a surging movement; and as they pressedforward themselves through the throng, Anne saw Dunstanwolde no moreabove the people, for he had indeed fallen and lay outstretched anddeathly on the floor. 

'Twas but a few seconds before she and Osmonde were close enough to himto mark his fallen face and ghastly pallor, and a strange dew startingout upon his brow. 

But 'twas his wife who knelt beside his prostrate body, waving all elseaside with a great majestic gesture of her arm. 

"Back! back!" she cried. "Air! air! and water! My lord! My dear lord!"

But he did not answer, or even stir, though she bent close to him andthrust her hand within his breast. And then the frightened guests behelda strange but beautiful and loving thing, such as might have moved anyheart to tenderness and wonder. This great beauty, this worshippedcreature, put her arms beneath and about the helpless, awful body--for soits pallor and stillness indeed made it--and lifted it in their powerfulwhiteness as if it had been the body of a child, and so bore it to acouch near and laid it down, kneeling beside it. 

Anne and Osmonde were beside her. Osmonde pale himself, but gently calmand strong. He had despatched for a physician the instant he saw thefall. 

"My lady, " he said, bending over her, "permit me to approach. I havesome knowledge of these seizures. Your pardon!"

He knelt also and took the moveless hand, feeling the pulse; he, too, thrust his hand within the breast and held it there, looking at thesunken face. 

"My dear lord, " her ladyship was saying, as if to the prostrate man's earalone, knowing that her tender voice must reach him if aught would--asindeed was truth. "Edward! My dear--dear lord!"

Osmonde held his hand steadily over the heart. The guests shrunk back, stricken with terror. 

There was that in this corner of the splendid room which turned facespale. 

Osmonde slowly withdrew his hand, and turning to the kneeling woman--witha pallor like that of marble, but with a noble tenderness and pity in hiseyes--

"My lady, " he said, "you are a brave woman. Your great courage mustsustain you. The heart beats no more. A noble life is finished. "

* * * * *

The guests heard, and drew still farther back, a woman or two faintlywhimpering; a hurrying lacquey parted the crowd, and so, way being madefor him, the physician came quickly forward. 

Anne put her shaking hands up to cover her gaze. Osmonde stood still, looking down. My Lady Dunstanwolde knelt by the couch and hid herbeautiful face upon the dead man's breast. 

CHAPTER XII--Which treats of the obsequies of my Lord of Dunstanwolde, ofhis lady's widowhood, and of her return to town

All that remained of my Lord Dunstanwolde was borne back to his ancestralhome, and there laid to rest in the ancient tomb in which his fathersslept. Many came from town to pay him respect, and the Duke of Osmondewas, as was but fitting, among them. The countess kept her ownapartments, and none but her sister, Mistress Anne, beheld her. 

The night before the final ceremonies she spent sitting by her lord'scoffin, and to Anne it seemed that her mood was a stranger one, than everwoman had before been ruled by. She did not weep or moan, and only oncekneeled down. In her sweeping black robes she seemed more a majesticcreature than she had ever been, and her beauty more that of a statuethan of a mortal woman. She sent away all other watchers, keeping onlyher sister with her, and Anne observed in her a strange protectinggentleness when she spoke of the dead man. 

"I do not know whether dead men can feel and hear, " she said. "Sometimesthere has come into my mind--and made me shudder--the thought that, though they lie so still, mayhap they know what we do--and how they arespoken of as nothings whom live men and women but wait a moment to thrustaway, that their own living may go on again in its accustomed way, orperchance more merrily. If my lord knows aught, he will be grateful thatI watch by him to-night in this solemn room. He was ever grateful, andmoved by any tenderness of mine. "

'Twas as she said, the room was solemn, and this almost to awfulness. Itwas a huge cold chamber at best, and draped with black, and hung withhatchments; a silent gloom filled it which made it like a tomb. Tall wax-candles burned in it dimly, but adding to its solemn shadows with theirfaint light; and in his rich coffin the dead man lay in his shroud, hishands like carvings of yellowed ivory clasped upon his breast. 

Mistress Anne dared not have entered the place alone, and was so overcomeat sight of the pinched nostrils and sunk eyes that she turned cold withfear. But Clorinda seemed to feel no dread or shrinking. She went andstood beside the great funeral-draped bed of state on which the coffinlay, and thus standing, looked down with a grave, protecting pity in herface. Then she stooped and kissed the dead man long upon the brow. 

"I will sit by you to-night, " she said. "That which lies here will bealone to-morrow. I will not leave you this last night. Had I been inyour place you would not leave me. "

She sat down beside him and laid her strong warm hand upon his cold waxenones, closing it over them as if she would give them heat. Anne kneltand prayed--that all might be forgiven, that sins might be blotted out, that this kind poor soul might find love and peace in the kingdom ofHeaven, and might not learn there what might make bitter the memory ofhis last year of rapture and love. She was so simple that she forgotthat no knowledge of the past could embitter aught when a soul lookedback from Paradise. 

Throughout the watches of the night her sister sat and held the deadman's hand; she saw her more than once smooth his grey hair almost as amother might have touched a sick sleeping child's; again she kissed hisforehead, speaking to him gently, as if to tell him he need not fear, forshe was close at hand; just once she knelt, and Anne wondered if sheprayed, and in what manner, knowing that prayer was not her habit. 

'Twas just before dawn she knelt so, and when she rose and stood besidehim, looking down again, she drew from the folds of her robe a littlepackage. 

"Anne, " she said, as she untied the ribband that bound it, "when first Iwas his wife I found him one day at his desk looking at these things asthey lay upon his hand. He thought at first it would offend me to findhim so; but I told him that I was gentler than he thought--though not sogentle as the poor innocent girl who died in giving him his child. 'Twasher picture he was gazing at, and a little ring and two locks of hair--onea brown ringlet from her head, and one--such a tiny wisp of down--fromthe head of her infant. I told him to keep them always and look at themoften, remembering how innocent she had been, and that she had died forhim. There were tears on my hand when he kissed it in thanking me. Hekept the little package in his desk, and I have brought it to him. "

The miniature was of a sweet-faced girl with large loving childish eyes, and cheeks that blushed like the early morning. Clorinda looked at heralmost with tenderness. 

"There is no marrying or giving in marriage, 'tis said, " quoth she; "butwere there, 'tis you who were his wife--not I. I was but a lighterthing, though I bore his name and he honoured me. When you and yourchild greet him he will forget me--and all will be well. "

She held the miniature and the soft hair to his cold lips a moment, andAnne saw with wonder that her own mouth worked. She slipped the ring onhis least finger, and hid the picture and the ringlets within the palmsof his folded hands. 

"He was a good man, " she said; "he was the first good man that I had everknown. " And she held out her hand to Anne and drew her from the roomwith her, and two crystal tears fell upon the bosom of her black robe andslipped away like jewels. 

When the funeral obsequies were over, the next of kin who was heir cameto take possession of the estate which had fallen to him, and the widowretired to her father's house for seclusion from the world. The townhouse had been left to her by her deceased lord, but she did not wish toreturn to it until the period of her mourning was over and she laid asideher weeds. The income the earl had been able to bestow upon her made hera rich woman, and when she chose to appear again in the world it would bewith the power to mingle with it fittingly. 

During her stay at her father's house she did much to make it a moresuitable abode for her, ordering down from London furnishings and workmento set her own apartments and Anne's in order. But she would not occupythe rooms she had lived in heretofore. For some reason it seemed to beher whim to have begun to have an enmity for them. The first day sheentered them with Anne she stopped upon the threshold. 

"I will not stay here, " she said. "I never loved the rooms--and now Ihate them. It seems to me it was another woman who lived in them--inanother world. 'Tis so long ago that 'tis ghostly. Make ready the oldred chambers for me, " to her woman; "I will live there. They have beenlong closed, and are worm-eaten and mouldy perchance; but a great firewill warm them. And I will have furnishings from London to make them fitfor habitation. "

The next day it seemed for a brief space as if she would have changedeven from the red chambers. 

"I did not know, " she said, turning with a sudden movement from a sidewindow, "that one might see the old rose garden from here. I would nothave taken the room had I guessed it. It is too dreary a wilderness, with its tangle of briars and its broken sun-dial. "

"You cannot see the dial from here, " said Anne, coming towards her with astrange paleness and haste. "One cannot see _within_ the garden from anywindow, surely. "

"Nay, " said Clorinda; "'tis not near enough, and the hedges are too high;but one knows 'tis there, and 'tis tiresome. "

"Let us draw the curtains and not look, and forget it, " said poor Anne. And she drew the draperies with a trembling hand; and ever after whilethey dwelt in the room they stayed so. 

My lady wore her mourning for more than a year, and in her sombretrailing weeds was a wonder to behold. She lived in her father's house, and saw no company, but sat or walked and drove with her sister Anne, andvisited the poor. The perfect stateliness of her decorum was more talkedabout than any levity would have been; those who were wont to gossipexpecting that having made her fine match and been so soon rid of herlord, she would begin to show her strange wild breeding again, andindulge in fantastical whims. That she should wear her mourning withunflinching dignity and withdraw from the world as strictly as if she hadbeen a lady of royal blood mourning her prince, was the unexpected thing, and so was talked of everywhere. 

At the end of the eighteenth month she sent one day for Anne, who, comingat her bidding, found her standing in her chamber surrounded by blackrobes and draperies piled upon the bed, and chairs, and floor, theirsombreness darkening the room like a cloud; but she stood in their midstin a trailing garment of pure white, and in her bosom was a bright redrose tied with a knot of scarlet ribband, whose ends fell floating. Herwoman was upon her knees before a coffer in which she was laying theweeds as she folded them. 

Mistress Anne paused within the doorway, her eyes dazzled by the tallradiant shape and blot of scarlet colour as if by the shining of the sun. She knew in that moment that all was changed, and that the world ofdarkness they had been living in for the past months was swept fromexistence. When her sister had worn her mourning weeds she had seemedsomehow almost pale; but now she stood in the sunlight with the richscarlet on her cheek and lip, and the stars in her great eyes. 

"Come in, sister Anne, " she said. "I lay aside my weeds, and my woman isfolding them away for me. Dost know of any poor creature newly left awidow whom some of them would be a help to? 'Tis a pity that so muchsombreness should lie in chests when there are perhaps poor souls to whomit would be a godsend. "

Before the day was over, there was not a shred of black stuff left insight; such as had not been sent out of the house to be distributed, being packed away in coffers in the garrets under the leads. 

"You will wear it no more, sister?" Anne asked once. "You will wear gaycolours--as if it had never been?"

"It _is_ as if it had never been, " Clorinda answered. "Ere now her lordis happy with her, and he is so happy that I am forgot. I had a fancythat--perhaps at first--well, if he had looked down on earth--remembering--he would have seen I was faithful in my honouring of him. But now, I am sure--"

She stopped with a half laugh. "'Twas but a fancy, " she said. "Perchancehe has known naught since that night he fell at my feet--and even so, poor gentleman, he hath a happy fate. Yes, I will wear gay colours, "flinging up her arms as if she dropped fetters, and stretched herbeauteous limbs for ease--"gay colours--and roses and rich jewels--andall things--_all_ that will make me beautiful!"

The next day there came a chest from London, packed close with splendidraiment; when she drove out again in her chariot her servants'sad-coloured liveries had been laid by, and she was attired in rich hues, amidst which she glowed like some flower new bloomed. 

Her house in town was thrown open again, and set in order for her coming. She made her journey back in state, Mistress Anne accompanying her in hertravelling-coach. As she passed over the highroad with her equipage andher retinue, or spent the night for rest at the best inns in the townsand villages, all seemed to know her name and state. 

"'Tis the young widow of the Earl of Dunstanwolde, " people said to eachother--"she that is the great beauty, and of such a wit and spirit thatshe is scarce like a mere young lady. 'Twas said she wed him for hisrank; but afterwards 'twas known she made him a happy gentleman, thoughshe gave him no heir. She wore weeds for him beyond the accustomed time, and is but now issuing from her retirement. "

Mistress Anne felt as if she were attending some royal lady's progress, people so gazed at them and nudged each other, wondered and admired. 

"You do not mind that all eyes rest on you, " she said to her sister; "youare accustomed to be gazed at. "

"I have been gazed at all my life, " my lady answered; "I scarce take noteof it. "

On their arrival at home they met with fitting welcome and reverence. Thedoors of the town house were thrown open wide, and in the hall theservants stood in line, the housekeeper at the head with her keys at hergirdle, the little jet-black negro page grinning beneath his turban withjoy to see his lady again, he worshipping her as a sort of fetich, afterthe manner of his race. 'Twas his duty to take heed to the pet dogs, andhe stood holding by their little silver chains a smart-faced pug and apretty spaniel. His lady stopped a moment to pat them and to speak tohim a word of praise of their condition; and being so favoured, he spokealso, rolling his eyes in his delight at finding somewhat to impart. 

"Yesterday, ladyship, when I took them out, " he said, "a gentleman markedthem, knowing whose they were. He asked me when my lady came again totown, and I answered him to-day. 'Twas the fair gentleman in his ownhair. "

"'Twas Sir John Oxon, your ladyship, " said the lacquey nearest to him. 

Her ladyship left caressing her spaniel and stood upright. Little Nerowas frightened, fearing she was angered; she stood so straight and tall, but she said nothing and passed on. 

At the top of the staircase she turned to Mistress Anne with a laugh. 

"Thy favourite again, Anne, " she said. "He means to haunt me, now we arealone. 'Tis thee he comes after. "

CHAPTER XIII--Wherein a deadly war begins

The town and the World of Fashion greeted her on her return with openarms. Those who looked on when she bent the knee to kiss the hand ofRoyalty at the next drawing-room, whispered among themselves thatbereavement had not dimmed her charms, which were even more radiant thanthey had been at her presentation on her marriage, and that the mind ofno man or woman could dwell on aught as mournful as widowhood inconnection with her, or, indeed, could think of anything but herbrilliant beauty. 'Twas as if from this time she was launched into a newlife. Being rich, of high rank, and no longer an unmarried woman, herposition had a dignity and freedom which there was no creature but mighthave envied. As the wife of Dunstanwolde she had been the fashion, andadored by all who dared adore her; but as his widow she was surroundedand besieged. A fortune, a toast, a wit, and a beauty, she combined allthe things either man or woman could desire to attach themselves to thetrain of; and had her air been less regal, and her wit less keen of edge, she would have been so beset by flatterers and toadies that life wouldhave been burdensome. But this she would not have, and was swift enoughto detect the man whose debts drove him to the expedient of daring toprivately think of the usefulness of her fortune, or the woman whomanoeuvred to gain reputation or success by means of her position andpower. 

"They would be about me like vultures if I were weak fool enough to letthem, " she said to Anne. "They cringe and grovel like spaniels, andflatter till 'tis like to make one sick. 'Tis always so with toadies;they have not the wit to see that their flattery is an insolence, sinceit supposes adulation so rare that one may be moved by it. The men withempty pockets would marry me, forsooth, and the women be dragged intocompany clinging to my petticoats. But they are learning. I do notshrink from giving them sharp lessons. "

This she did without mercy, and in time cleared herself of hangers-on, sothat her banquets and assemblies were the most distinguished of the time, and the men who paid their court to her were of such place and fortunethat their worship could but be disinterested. 

Among the earliest to wait upon her was his Grace of Osmonde, who foundher one day alone, save for the presence of Mistress Anne, whom she keptoften with her. When the lacquey announced him, Anne, who sat upon thesame seat with her, felt her slightly start, and looking up, saw in hercountenance a thing she had never beheld before, nor had indeed everdreamed of beholding. It was a strange, sweet crimson which flowed overher face, and seemed to give a wondrous deepness to her lovely orbs. Sherose as a queen might have risen had a king come to her, but never hadthere been such pulsing softness in her look before. 'Twas in somecurious fashion like the look of a girl; and, in sooth, she was but agirl in years, but so different to all others of her age, and had livedso singular a life, that no one ever thought of her but as a woman, orwould have deemed it aught but folly to credit her with any tenderemotion or blushing warmth girlhood might be allowed. 

His Grace was as courtly of bearing as he had ever been. He stayed notlong, and during his visit conversed but on such subjects as a kinsmanmay graciously touch upon; but Anne noted in him a new look also, thoughshe could scarce have told what it might be. She thought that he lookedhappier, and her fancy was that some burden had fallen from him. 

Before he went away he bent low and long over Clorinda's hand, pressinghis lips to it with a tenderness which strove not to conceal itself. Andthe hand was not withdrawn, her ladyship standing in sweet yielding, thetender crimson trembling on her cheek. Anne herself trembled, watchingher new, strange loveliness with a sense of fascination; she could scarcewithdraw her eyes, it seemed so as if the woman had been reborn. 

"Your Grace will come to us again, " my lady said, in a soft voice. "Weare two lonely women, " with her radiant compelling smile, "and need yourkindly countenancing. "

His eyes dwelt deep in hers as he answered, and there was a flush uponhis own cheek, man and warrior though he was. 

"If I might come as often as I would, " he said, "I should be at yourdoor, perhaps, with too great frequency. "

"Nay, your Grace, " she answered. "Come as often as _we_ would--and seewho wearies first. 'Twill not be ourselves. "

He kissed her hand again, and this time 'twas passionately, and when heleft her presence it was with a look of radiance on his noble face, andwith the bearing of a king new crowned. 

For a few moments' space she stood where he had parted from her, lookingas though listening to the sound of his step, as if she would not lose afootfall; then she went to the window, and stood among the flowers there, looking down into the street, and Anne saw that she watched his equipage. 

'Twas early summer, and the sunshine flooded her from head to foot; thewindow and balcony were full of flowers--yellow jonquils and daffodils, white narcissus, and all things fragrant of the spring. The scent ofthem floated about her like an incense, and a straying zephyr blew greatpuffs of their sweetness back into the room. Anne felt it all about her, and remembered it until she was an aged woman. 

Clorinda's bosom rose high in an exultant, rapturous sigh. 

"'Tis the Spring that comes, " she murmured breathlessly. "Never hath itcome to me before. "

Even as she said the words, at the very moment of her speaking, Fate--astrange Fate indeed--brought to her yet another visitor. The door wasthrown open wide, and in he came, a lacquey crying aloud his name. 'TwasSir John Oxon. 

* * * * *

Those of the World of Fashion who were wont to gossip, had bestowed uponthem a fruitful subject for discussion over their tea-tables, in thefuture of the widowed Lady Dunstanwolde. All the men being enamoured ofher, 'twas not likely that she would long remain unmarried, her period ofmourning being over; and, accordingly, forthwith there was every daychosen for her a new husband by those who concerned themselves in heraffairs, and they were many. One week 'twas a great general she was saidto smile on; again, a great beau and female conqueror, it being arguedthat, having made her first marriage for rank and wealth, and being apassionate and fantastic beauty, she would this time allow herself to beruled by her caprice, and wed for love; again, a certain marquis wasnamed, and after him a young earl renowned for both beauty and wealth;but though each and all of those selected were known to have laidthemselves at her feet, none of them seemed to have met with the favourthey besought for. 

There were two men, however, who were more spoken of than all the rest, and whose court awakened a more lively interest; indeed, 'twas aninterest which was lively enough at times to become almost a matter ofcontention, for those who upheld the cause of the one man would not hearof the success of the other, the claims of each being considered of suchdifferent nature. These two men were the Duke of Osmonde and Sir JohnOxon. 'Twas the soberer and more dignified who were sure his Grace hadbut to proffer his suit to gain it, and their sole wonder lay in that hedid not speak more quickly. 

"But being a man of such noble mind, it may be that he would leave her toher freedom yet a few months, because, despite her stateliness, she isbut young, and 'twould be like his honourableness to wish that she shouldsee many men while she is free to choose, as she has never been before. For these days she is not a poor beauty as she was when she tookDunstanwolde. "

The less serious, or less worldly, especially the sentimental spinstersand matrons and romantic young, who had heard and enjoyed the rumours ofMistress Clorinda Wildairs' strange early days, were prone to build muchupon a certain story of that time. 

"Sir John Oxon was her first love, " they said. "He went to her father'shouse a beautiful young man in his earliest bloom, and she had neverencountered such an one before, having only known country dolts and herfather's friends. 'Twas said they loved each other, but were bothpassionate and proud, and quarrelled bitterly. Sir John went to Franceto strive to forget her in gay living; he even obeyed his mother and paidcourt to another woman, and Mistress Clorinda, being of fiercehaughtiness, revenged herself by marrying Lord Dunstanwolde. "

"But she has never deigned to forgive him, " 'twas also said. "She is toohaughty and of too high a temper to forgive easily that a man should seemto desert her for another woman's favour. Even when 'twas whispered thatshe favoured him, she was disdainful, and sometimes flouted him bitterly, as was her way with all men. She was never gentle, and had always acutting wit. She will use him hardly before she relents; but if he suespatiently enough with such grace as he uses with other women, love willconquer her at last, for 'twas her first. "

She showed him no great favour, it was true; and yet it seemed shegranted him more privilege than she had done during her lord's life, forhe was persistent in his following her, and would come to her housewhether of her will or of his own. Sometimes he came there when the Dukeof Osmonde was with her--this happened more than once--and then herladyship's face, which was ever warmly beautiful when Osmonde was near, would curiously change. It would grow pale and cold; but in her eyeswould burn a strange light which one man knew was as the light in theeyes of a tigress lying chained, but crouching to leap. But it was notOsmonde who felt this, he saw only that she changed colour, and havingheard the story of her girlhood, a little chill of doubt would fall uponhis noble heart. It was not doubt of her, but of himself, and fear thathis great passion made him blind; for he was the one man chivalrousenough to remember how young she was, and to see the cruelty of the Fatewhich had given her unmothered childhood into the hands of a coarserioter and debauchee, making her his plaything and his whim. And if inher first hours of bloom she had been thrown with youthful manhood andbeauty, what more in the course of nature than that she should havelearned to love; and being separated from her young lover by their mutualyouthful faults of pride and passionateness of temper, what more naturalthan, being free again, and he suing with all his soul, that her heartshould return to him, even though through a struggle with pride. In herlord's lifetime he had not seen Oxon near her; and in those days when hehad so struggled with his own surging love, and striven to bear himselfnobly, he had kept away from her, knowing that his passion was too greatand strong for any man to always hold at bay and make no sign, because atbrief instants he trembled before the thought that in her eyes he hadseen that which would have sprung to answer the same self in him if shehad been a free woman. But now when, despite her coldness, which nevermelted to John Oxon, she still turned pale and seemed to fall under arestraint on his coming, a man of sufficient high dignity to besplendidly modest where his own merit was concerned, might well feel thatfor this there must be a reason, and it might be a grave one. 

So though he would not give up his suit until he was sure that 'twaseither useless or unfair, he did not press it as he would have done, butsaw his lady when he could, and watched with all the tenderness ofpassion her lovely face and eyes. But one short town season passedbefore he won his prize; but to poor Anne it seemed that in its passingshe lived years. 

Poor woman, as she had grown thin and large-eyed in those days gone by, she grew so again. Time in passing had taught her so much that othersdid not know; and as she served her sister, and waited on her wishes, shesaw that of which no other dreamed, and saw without daring to speak, orshow by any sign, her knowledge. 

The day when Lady Dunstanwolde had turned from standing among herdaffodils, and had found herself confronting the open door of her saloon, and John Oxon passing through it, Mistress Anne had seen that in her faceand his which had given to her a shock of terror. In John Oxon's blueeyes there had been a set fierce look, and in Clorinda's a blaze whichhad been like a declaration of war; and these same looks she had seensince that day, again and again. Gradually it had become her sister'shabit to take Anne with her into the world as she had not done before herwidowhood, and Anne knew whence this custom came. There were times when, by use of her presence, she could avoid those she wished to thrust aside, and Anne noted, with a cold sinking of the spirit, that the one she wouldplan to elude most frequently was Sir John Oxon; and this was not doneeasily. The young man's gay lightness of demeanour had changed. The fewyears that had passed since he had come to pay his courts to the youngbeauty in male attire, had brought experiences to him which had beenbitter enough. He had squandered his fortune, and failed to reinstatehimself by marriage; his dissipations had told upon him, and he had losthis spirit and good-humour; his mocking wit had gained a bitterness; hisgallantry had no longer the gaiety of youth. And the woman he had lovedfor an hour with youthful passion, and had dared to dream of castingaside in boyish insolence, had risen like a phoenix, and soared high andtriumphant to the very sun itself. "He was ever base, " Clorinda hadsaid. "As he was at first he is now, " and in the saying there was truth. If she had been helpless and heartbroken, and had pined for him, he wouldhave treated her as a victim, and disdained her humiliation and grief;magnificent, powerful, rich, in fullest beauty, and disdaining himself, she filled him with a mad passion of love which was strangely mixed withhatred and cruelty. To see her surrounded by her worshippers, courted bythe Court itself, all eyes drawn towards her as she moved, all heartslaid at her feet, was torture to him. In such cases as his and hers, itwas the woman who should sue for love's return, and watch the avertedface, longing for the moment when it would deign to turn and she couldcatch the cold eye and plead piteously with her own. This he had seen;this, men like himself, but older, had taught him with vicious art; buthere was a woman who had scorned him at the hour which should have beenthe moment of his greatest powerfulness, who had mocked at and lashed himin the face with the high derision of a creature above law, and who neverfor one instant had bent her neck to the yoke which women must bear. Shehad laughed it to scorn--and him--and all things--and gone on her way, crowned with her scarlet roses, to wealth, and rank, and power, andadulation; while he--the man, whose right it was to be transgressor--hadfallen upon hard fortune, and was losing step by step all she had won. Inhis way he loved her madly--as he had loved her before, and as he wouldhave loved any woman who embodied triumph and beauty; and burning withdesire for both, and with jealous rage of all, he swore he would not beoutdone, befooled, cast aside, and trampled on. 

At the playhouse when she looked from her box, she saw him leaningagainst some pillar or stationed in some noticeable spot, his bold blueeyes fixed burningly upon her; at fashionable assemblies he made his wayto her side and stood near her, gazing, or dropping words into her ear;at church he placed himself in some pew near by, that she and all theworld might behold him; when she left her coach and walked in the Mall hejoined her or walked behind. At such times in my lady's close-fringedeyes there shone a steady gleam; but they were ever eyes that glowed, andthere were none who had ever come close enough to her to know her well, and so there were none who read its meaning. Only Anne knew as no othercreature could, and looked on with secret terror and dismay. The worldbut said that he was a man mad with love, and desperate at the knowledgeof the powerfulness of his rivals, could not live beyond sight of her. 

They did not hear the words that passed between them at times when hestood near her in some crowd, and dropped, as 'twas thought, words ofburning prayer and love into her ear. 'Twas said that it was like her tolisten with unchanging face, and when she deigned reply, to answerwithout turning towards him. But such words and replies it had more thanonce been Anne's ill-fortune to be near enough to catch, and hearing themshe had shuddered. 

One night at a grand rout, the Duke of Osmonde but just having left thereigning beauty's side, she heard the voice she hated close by her, speaking. 

"You think you can disdain me to the end, " it said. "Your ladyship is_sure_ so?"

She did not turn or answer, and there followed a low laugh. 

"You think a man will lie beneath your feet and be trodden upon withoutspeaking. You are too high and bold. "

She waved her painted fan, and gazed steadily before her at the crowd, now and then bending her head in gracious greeting and smiling at somepasser-by. 

"If I could tell the story of the rose garden, and of what the sun-dialsaw, and what the moon shone on--" he said. 

He heard her draw her breath sharply through her teeth, he saw her whitebosom lift as if a wild beast leapt within it, and he laughed again. 

"His Grace of Osmonde returns, " he said; and then marking, as he neverfailed to do, bitterly against his will, the grace and majesty of thisrival, who was one of the greatest and bravest of England's gentlemen, and knowing that she marked it too, his rage so mounted that it overcamehim. 

"Sometimes, " he said, "methinks that I shall _kill_ you!"

"Would you gain your end thereby?" she answered, in a voice as low anddeadly. 

"I would frustrate his--and yours. "

"Do it, then, " she hissed back, "some day when you think I fear you. "

"'Twould be too easy, " he answered. "You fear it too little. There arebitterer things. "

She rose and met his Grace, who had approached her. Always to hisgreatness and his noble heart she turned with that new feeling ofdependence which her whole life had never brought to her before. Hisdeep eyes, falling on her tenderly as she rose, were filled withprotecting concern. Involuntarily he hastened his steps. 

"Will your Grace take me to my coach?" she said. "I am not well. MayI--go?" as gently as a tender, appealing girl. 

And moved by this, as by her pallor, more than his man's words could havetold, he gave her his arm and drew her quickly and supportingly away. 

Mistress Anne did not sleep well that night, having much to distract hermind and keep her awake, as was often in these days the case. When atlength she closed her eyes her slumber was fitful and broken by dreams, and in the mid hour of the darkness she wakened with a start as if somesound had aroused her. Perhaps there had been some sound, though all wasstill when she opened her eyes; but in the chair by her bedside satClorinda in her night-rail, her hands wrung hard together on her knee, her black eyes staring under a brow knit into straight deep lines. 

"Sister!" cried Anne, starting up in bed. "Sister!"

Clorinda slowly turned her head towards her, whereupon Anne saw that inher face there was a look as if of horror which struggled with a grief, awoe, too monstrous to be borne. 

"Lie down, Anne, " she said. "Be not afraid--'tis only I, " bitterly--"whoneed fear?"

Anne cowered among the pillows and hid her face in her thin hands. Sheknew so well that this was true. 

"I never thought the time would come, " her sister said, "when I shouldseek you for protection. A thing has come upon me--perhaps I shall gomad--to-night, alone in my room, I wanted to sit near a woman--'twas notlike me, was it?"

Mistress Anne crept near the bed's edge, and stretching forth a hand, touched hers, which were as cold as marble. 

"Stay with me, sister, " she prayed. "Sister, do not go! What--what canI say?"

"Naught, " was the steady answer. "There is naught to be said. You werealways a woman--I was never one--till now. "

She rose up from her chair and threw up her arms, pacing to and fro. 

"I am a desperate creature, " she cried. "Why was I born?"

She walked the room almost like a thing mad and caged. 

"Why was I thrown into the world?" striking her breast. "Why was I madeso--and not one to watch or care through those mad years? To be given abody like this--and tossed to the wolves. "

She turned to Anne, her arms outstretched, and so stood white and strangeand beauteous as a statue, with drops like great pearls running down herlovely cheeks, and she caught her breath sobbingly, like a child. 

"I was thrown to them, " she wailed piteously, "and they harried me--andleft the marks of their great teeth--and of the scars I cannot ridmyself--and since it was my fate--pronounced from my first hour--why wasnot this, " clutching her breast, "left hard as 'twas at first? Not awoman's--not a woman's, but a she-cub's. Ah! 'twas not just--not justthat it should be so!"

Anne slipped from her bed and ran to her, falling upon her knees andclinging to her, weeping bitterly. 

"Poor heart!" she cried. "Poor, dearest heart!"

Her touch and words seemed to recall Clorinda to herself. She started asif wakened from a dream, and drew her form up rigid. 

"I have gone mad, " she said. "What is it I do?" She passed her handacross her brow and laughed a little wild laugh. "Yes, " she said; "thisit is to be a woman--to turn weak and run to other women--and weep andtalk. Yes, by these signs I _am_ a woman!" She stood with her clenchedhands pressed against her breast. "In any fair fight, " she said, "Icould have struck back blow for blow--and mine would have been theheaviest; but being changed into a woman, my arms are taken from me. Hewho strikes, aims at my bared breast--and that he knows and triumphs in. "

She set her teeth together, and ground them, and the look, which was likethat of a chained and harried tigress, lit itself in her eyes. 

"But there is _none_ shall beat me, " she said through these fierce shutteeth. "Nay I there is _none_! Get up, Anne, " bending to raise her. "Get up, or I shall be kneeling too--and I must stand upon my feet. "

She made a motion as if she would have turned and gone from the roomwithout further explanation, but Anne still clung to her. She was afraidof her again, but her piteous love was stronger than her fear. 

"Let me go with you, " she cried. "Let me but go and lie in your closetthat I may be near, if you should call. "

Clorinda put her hands upon her shoulders, and stooping, kissed her, which in all their lives she had done but once or twice. 

"God bless thee, poor Anne, " she said. "I think thou wouldst lie on mythreshold and watch the whole night through, if I should need it; but Ihave given way to womanish vapours too much--I must go and be alone. Iwas driven by my thoughts to come and sit and look at thy good face--Idid not mean to wake thee. Go back to bed. "

She would be obeyed, and led Anne to her couch herself, making her liedown, and drawing the coverlet about her; after which she stood uprightwith a strange smile, laying her hands lightly about her own whitethroat. 

"When I was a new-born thing and had a little throat and a weak breath, "she cried, "'twould have been an easy thing to end me. I have been toldI lay beneath my mother when they found her dead. If, when she felt herbreath leaving her, she had laid her hand upon my mouth and stopped mine, I should not, " with the little laugh again--"I should not lie awake to-night. "

And then she went away. 

CHAPTER XIV--Containing the history of the breaking of the horse Devil, and relates the returning of his Grace of Osmonde from France

There were in this strange nature, depths so awful and profound that itwas not to be sounded or to be judged as others were. But one thingcould have melted or caused the unconquerable spirit to bend, and thiswas the overwhelming passion of love--not a slight, tender feeling, but agreat and powerful one, such as could be awakened but by a being of asstrong and deep a nature as itself, one who was in all things its peer. 

"I have been lonely--lonely all my life, " my Lady Dunstanwolde had oncesaid to her sister, and she had indeed spoken a truth. 

Even in her childhood she had felt in some strange way she stood apartfrom the world about her. Before she had been old enough to reason shehad been conscious that she was stronger and had greater power andendurance than any human being about her. Her strength she used in thesedays in wilful tyranny, and indeed it was so used for many a day when shewas older. The time had never been when an eye lighted on her withindifference, or when she could not rule and punish as she willed. As aninfant she had browbeaten the women-servants and the stable-boys andgrooms; but because of her quick wit and clever tongue, and also becauseno humour ever made her aught but a creature well worth looking at, theyhad taken her bullying in good-humour and loved her in their coarse way. She had tyrannised over her father and his companions, and they hadadored and boasted of her; but there had not been one among them whom shecould have turned to if a softer moment had come upon her and she hadfelt the need of a friend, nor indeed one whom she did not regardprivately with contempt. 

A god or goddess forced upon earth and surrounded by mere human beingswould surely feel a desolateness beyond the power of common words toexpress, and a human being endowed with powers and physical gifts so rareas to be out of all keeping with those of its fellows of ordinary buildand mental stature must needs be lonely too. 

She had had no companion, because she had found none like herself, andnone with whom she could have aught in common. Anne she had pitied, being struck by some sense of the unfairness of her lot as compared withher own. John Oxon had moved her, bringing to her her first knowledge ofbuoyant, ardent youth, and blooming strength and beauty; for Dunstanwoldeshe had felt gratitude and affection; but than these there had been noothers who even distantly had touched her heart. 

The night she had given her promise to Dunstanwolde, and had made herobeisance before his kinsman as she had met his deep and leonine eye, shehad known that 'twas the only man's eye before which her own would falland which held the power to rule her very soul. 

She did not think this as a romantic girl would have thought it; it wasrevealed to her by a sudden tempestuous leap of her heart, and by a shocklike terror. Here was the man who was of her own build, whose thews andsinews of mind and body was as powerful as her own--here was he who, hadshe met him one short year before, would have revolutionised her world. 

In the days of her wifehood when she had read in his noble face somethingof that which he endeavoured to command and which to no other wasapparent, the dignity of his self-restraint had but filled her withtenderness more passionate and grateful. 

"Had he been a villain and a coward, " was her thought, "he would havemade my life a bitter battle; but 'tis me he loves, not himself only, andas I honour him so does he honour me. "

Now she beheld the same passion in his eyes, but no more held in leash:his look met hers, hiding from her nothing of what his high soul burnedwith; and she was free--free to answer when he spoke, and only feelingone bitterness in her heart--if he had but come in time--God! why had henot been sent in time?

But, late or early, he had come; and what they had to give each othershould not be mocked at and lost. The night she had ended by going toAnne's chamber, she had paced her room saying this again and again, allthe strength of her being rising in revolt. She had been then a cagedtigress of a verity; she had wrung her hands; she had held her palm hardagainst her leaping heart; she had walked madly to and fro, battling inthought with what seemed awful fate; she had flung herself upon her kneesand wept bitter scalding tears. 

"He is so noble, " she had cried--"he is so noble--and I so worship hisnobleness--and I have been so base!"

And in her suffering her woman's nerves had for a moment betrayed her. Heretofore she had known no weakness of her sex, but the woman soul inher so being moved, she had been broken and conquered for a space, andhad gone to Anne's chamber, scarcely knowing what refuge she so sought. It had been a feminine act, and she had realised all it signified whenAnne sank weeping by her. Women who wept and prated together at midnightin their chambers ended by telling their secrets. So it was that it fellout that Anne saw not again the changed face to the sight of which shehad that night awakened. It seemed as if my lady from that time madeplans which should never for a moment leave her alone. The next day shewas busied arranging a brilliant rout, the next a rich banquet, the nexta great assembly; she drove in the Mall in her stateliest equipages; shewalked upon its promenade, surrounded by her crowd of courtiers, smilingupon them, and answering them with shafts of graceful wit--the charm ofher gaiety had never been so remarked upon, her air never so enchanting. At every notable gathering in the World of Fashion she was to be seen. Being bidden to the Court, which was at Hampton, her brilliant beauty andspirit so enlivened the royal dulness that 'twas said the Queen herselfwas scarce resigned to part with her, and that the ladies and gentlemenin waiting all suffered from the spleen when she withdrew. She bought atthis time the fiercest but most beautiful beast of a horse she had evermounted. The creature was superbly handsome, but apparently sounconquerable and so savage that her grooms were afraid to approach it, and indeed it could not be saddled and bitted unless she herself stoodnear. Even the horse-dealer, rogue though he was, had sold it to herwith some approach to a qualm of conscience, having confessed to her thatit had killed two grooms, and been sentenced to be shot by its firstowner, and was still living only because its great beauty had led him tohesitate for a few days. It was by chance that during these few daysLady Dunstanwolde heard of it, and going to see it, desired and bought itat once. 

"It is the very beast I want, " she said, with a gleam in her eye. "Itwill please me to teach it that there is one stronger than itself. "

She had much use for her loaded riding-whip; and indeed, not finding itheavy enough, ordered one made which was heavier. When she rode thebeast in Hyde Park, her first battles with him were the town talk; andthere were those who bribed her footmen to inform them beforehand, whenmy lady was to take out Devil, that they might know in time to be in thePark to see her. Fops and hunting-men laid wagers as to whether herladyship would kill the horse or be killed by him, and followed hertraining of the creature with an excitement and delight quite wild. 

"Well may the beast's name be Devil, " said more than one looker-on; "forhe is not so much horse as demon. And when he plunges and rears andshows his teeth, there is a look in his eye which flames like her own, and 'tis as if a male and female demon fought together, for surely such awoman never lived before. She will not let him conquer her, God knows;and it would seem that he was swearing in horse fashion that she shouldnot conquer him. "

When he was first bought and brought home, Mistress Anne turned ashy atthe sight of him, and in her heart of hearts grieved bitterly that it hadso fallen out that his Grace of Osmonde had been called away from town byhigh and important matters; for she knew full well, that if he had beenin the neighbourhood, he would have said some discreet and tender word ofwarning to which her ladyship would have listened, though she would havetreated with disdain the caution of any other man or woman. When sheherself ventured to speak, Clorinda looked only stern. 

"I have ridden only ill-tempered beasts all my life, and that for themere pleasure of subduing them, " she said. "I have no liking for a horselike a bell-wether; and if this one should break my neck, I need battlewith neither men nor horses again, and I shall die at the high tide oflife and power; and those who think of me afterwards will only rememberthat they loved me--that they loved me. "

But the horse did not kill her, nor she it. Day after day she stood bywhile it was taken from its stall, many a time dealing with it herself, because no groom dare approach; and then she would ride it forth, and inHyde Park force it to obey her; the wondrous strength of her will, herwrist of steel, and the fierce, pitiless punishment she inflicted, actually daunting the devilish creature's courage. She would ride fromthe encounter, through two lines of people who had been watching her--andsome of them found themselves following after her, even to the Parkgate--almost awed as they looked at her, sitting erect and splendid onthe fretted, anguished beast, whose shining skin was covered with lather, whose mouth tossed blood-flecked foam, and whose great eye was sostrangely like her own, but that hers glowed with the light of triumph, and his burned with the agonised protest of the vanquished. At suchtimes there was somewhat of fear in the glances that followed her beauty, which almost seemed to blaze--her colour was so rich, the curve of herred mouth so imperial, the poise of her head, with its loosening coils ofvelvet black hair, so high. 

"It is good for me that I do this, " she said to Anne, with a short laugh, one day. "I was growing too soft--and I have need now for all my power. To fight with the demon in this beast, rouses all in me that I have heldin check since I became my poor lord's wife. That the creature shouldhave set his will against all others, and should resist me with suchstrength and devilishness, rouses in me the passion of the days when Icursed and raved and struck at those who angered me. 'Tis fury thatpossesses me, and I could curse and shriek at him as I flog him, if'twould be seemly. As it would not be so, I shut my teeth hard, andshriek and curse within them, and none can hear. "

Among those who made it their custom to miss no day when she went forthon Devil that they might stand near and behold her, there was one manever present, and 'twas Sir John Oxon. He would stand as near as mightbe and watch the battle, a stealthy fire in his eye, and a look as if theoutcome of the fray had deadly meaning to him. He would gnaw his lipuntil at times the blood started; his face would by turns flush scarletand turn deadly pale; he would move suddenly and restlessly, and breakforth under breath into oaths of exclamation. One day a man close by himsaw him suddenly lay his hand upon his sword, and having so done, stillkeep it there, though 'twas plain he quickly remembered where he was. 

As for the horse's rider, my Lady Dunstanwolde, whose way it had been toavoid this man and to thrust him from her path by whatsoever adroit meansshe could use, on these occasions made no effort to evade him and hisglances; in sooth, he knew, though none other did so, that when shefought with her horse she did it with a fierce joy in that he beheld her. 'Twas as though the battle was between themselves; and knowing this inthe depths of such soul as he possessed, there were times when the manwould have exulted to see the brute rise and fall upon her, crushing herout of life, or dash her to the earth and set his hoof upon her dazzlingupturned face. Her scorn and deadly defiance of him, her beauty andmaddening charm, which seemed but to increase with every hour that flewby, had roused his love to fury. Despite his youth, he was a villain, ashe had ever been; even in his first freshness there had been oldermen--and hardened ones--who had wondered at the selfish mercilessness andblackness of the heart that was but that of a boy. They had said amongthemselves that at his years they had never known a creature who could beso gaily a dastard, one who could plan with such light remorselessness, and using all the gifts given him by Nature solely for his own ends, would take so much and give so little. In truth, as time had gone on, men who had been his companions, and had indeed small consciences toboast of, had begun to draw off a little from him, and frequent hiscompany less. He chose to tell himself that this was because he hadsquandered his fortune and was less good company, being pursued bycreditors and haunted by debts; but though there was somewhat in this, perchance 'twas not the entire truth. 

"By Gad!" said one over his cups, "there are things even a rake-hellfellow like me cannot do; but he does them, and seems not to know thatthey are to his discredit. "

There had been a time when without this woman's beauty he might havelived--indeed, he had left it of his own free vicious will; but in thesedays, when his fortunes had changed and she represented all that he stoodmost desperately in need of, her beauty drove him mad. In his hauntingof her, as he followed her from place to place, his passion grew day byday, and all the more gained strength and fierceness because it was somixed with hate. He tossed upon his bed at night and cursed her; heremembered the wild past, and the memory all but drove him to delirium. He knew of what stern stuff she was made, and that even if her love haddied, she would have held to her compact like grim death, even whileloathing him. And he had cast all this aside in one mad moment of boyishcupidity and folly; and now that she was so radiant and entrancing athing, and wealth, and splendour, and rank, and luxury lay in the hollowof her hand, she fixed her beauteous devil's eyes upon him with a scornin their black depths which seemed to burn like fires of hell. 

The great brute who dashed, and plunged, and pranced beneath her seemedto have sworn to conquer her as he had sworn himself; but let him plungeand kick as he would, there was no quailing in her eye, she sat like acreature who was superhuman, and her hand was iron, her wrist was steel. She held him so that he could not do his worst without such pain as woulddrive him mad; she lashed him, and rained on him such blows as almostmade him blind. Once at the very worst, Devil dancing near him, shelooked down from his back into John Oxon's face, and he cursed aloud, hereye so told him his own story and hers. In those days their souls met insuch combat as it seemed must end in murder itself. 

"You will not conquer him, " he said to her one morning, forcing himselfnear enough to speak. 

"I will, unless he kills me, " she answered, "and that methinks he willfind it hard to do. "

"He will kill you, " he said. "I would, were I in his four shoes. "

"You would if you could, " were her words; "but you could not with his bitin your mouth and my hand on the snaffle. And if he killed me, still'twould be he, not I, was beaten; since he could only kill what anybloody villain could with any knife. He is a brute beast, and I am thatwhich was given dominion over such. Look on till I have done with him. "

And thus, with other beholders, though in a different mood from theirs, he did, until a day when even the most sceptical saw that the brute cameto the fray with less of courage, as if there had at last come into hisbrain the dawning of a fear of that which rid him, and all his madnesscould not displace from its throne upon his back. 

"By God!" cried more than one of the bystanders, seeing this, despite theanimal's fury, "the beast gives way! He gives way! She has him!" AndJohn Oxon, shutting his teeth, cut short an oath and turned pale asdeath. 

From that moment her victory was a thing assured. The duel of strengthbecame less desperate, and having once begun to learn his lesson, thebrute was made to learn it well. His bearing was a thing superb tobehold; once taught obedience, there would scarce be a horse like him inthe whole of England. And day by day this he learned from her, and beingmastered, was put through his paces, and led to answer to the rein, sothat he trotted, cantered, galloped, and leaped as a bird flies. Then asthe town had come to see him fight for freedom, it came to see him adornthe victory of the being who had conquered him, and over their dishes oftea in the afternoon beaux and beauties of fashion gossiped of theinteresting and exciting event; and there were vapourish ladies who vowedthey could not have beaten a brute so, and that surely my LadyDunstanwolde must have looked hot and blowzy while she did it, and havehad the air of a great rough man; and there were some pretty tiffs andeven quarrels when the men swore that never had she looked so magnificenta beauty and so inflamed the hearts of all beholding her. 

On the first day after her ladyship's last battle with her horse, the onewhich ended in such victory to her that she rode him home hard throughthe streets without an outbreak, he white with lather, and marked withstripes, but his large eye holding in its velvet a look which seemedalmost like a human thought--on that day after there occurred a thingwhich gave the town new matter to talk of. 

His Grace of Osmonde had been in France, called there by business of theState, and during his absence the gossip concerning the horse Devil hadtaken the place of that which had before touched on himself. 'Twas notannounced that he was to return to England, and indeed there were thosewho, speaking with authority, said that for two weeks at least hisaffairs abroad would not be brought to a close; and yet on this morning, as my Lady Dunstanwolde rode 'neath the trees, holding Devil well inhand, and watching him with eagle keenness of eye, many looking on inwait for the moment when the brute might break forth suddenly again, ahorseman was seen approaching at a pace so rapid that 'twas on the vergeof a gallop, and the first man who beheld him looked amazed and liftedhis hat, and the next, seeing him, spoke to another, who bowed with him, and all along the line of loungers hats were removed, and people wore theair of seeing a man unexpectedly, and hearing a name spoken inexclamation by his side, Sir John Oxon looked round and beheld ride by mylord Duke of Osmonde. The sun was shining brilliantly, and all the Parkwas gay with bright warmth and greenness of turf and trees. Clorindafelt the glow of the summer morning permeate her being. She kept herwatch upon her beast; but he was going well, and in her soul she knewthat he was beaten, and that her victory had been beheld by the one manwho knew that it meant to her that which it seemed to mean also tohimself. And filled with this thought and the joy of it, she rodebeneath the trees, and so was riding with splendid spirit when she hearda horse behind her, and looked up as it drew near, and the rich crimsonswept over her in a sweet flood, so that it seemed to her she felt itwarm on her very shoulders, 'neath her habit, for 'twas Osmonde's selfwho had followed and reached her, and uncovered, keeping pace by herside. 

Ah, what a face he had, and how his eyes burned as they rested on her. Itwas such a look she met, that for a moment she could not find speech, andhe himself spoke as a man who, through some deep emotion, has almost losthis breath. 

"My Lady Dunstanwolde, " he began; and then with a sudden passion, "Clorinda, my beloved!" The time had come when he could not keepsilence, and with great leapings of her heart she knew. Yet not one wordsaid she, for she could not; but her beauty, glowing and quivering underhis eyes' great fire, answered enough. 

"Were it not that I fear for your sake the beast you ride, " he said, "Iwould lay my hand upon his bridle, that I might crush your hand in mine. At post-haste I have come from France, hearing this thing--that youendangered every day that which I love so madly. My God! beloved, cruel, cruel woman--sure you must know!"

She answered with a breathless wild surrender. "Yes, yes!" she gasped, "I know. "

"And yet you braved this danger, knowing that you might leave me awidowed man for life. "

"But, " she said, with a smile whose melting radiance seemed akin totears--"but see how I have beaten him--and all is passed. "

"Yes, yes, " he said, "as you have conquered all--as you have conqueredme--and did from the first hour. But God forbid that you should make mesuffer so again. "

"Your Grace, " she said, faltering, "I--I will not!"

"Forgive me for the tempest of my passion, " he said. "'Twas not thus Ihad thought to come to make my suit. 'Tis scarcely fitting that itshould be so; but I was almost mad when I first heard this rumour, knowing my duty would not loose me to come to you at once--and knowingyou so well, that only if your heart had melted to the one who besoughtyou, you would give up. "

"I--give up, " she answered; "I give up. "

"I worship you, " he said; "I worship you. " And their meeting eyes weredrowned in each other's tenderness. 

They galloped side by side, and the watchers looked on, exchanging wordsand glances, seeing in her beauteous, glowing face, in his joyous one, the final answer to the question they had so often asked each other. 'Twas his Grace of Osmonde who was the happy man, he and no other. Thatwas a thing plain indeed to be seen, for they were too high above thecommon world to feel that they must play the paltry part of outwardtrifling to deceive it; and as the sun pierces through clouds and isstronger than they, so their love shone like the light of day itselfthrough poor conventions. They did not know the people gazed andwhispered, and if they had known it, the thing would have counted fornaught with them. 

"See!" said my lady, patting her Devil's neck--"see, he knows that youhave come, and frets no more. "

They rode homeward together, the great beauty and the great duke, and allthe town beheld; and after they had passed him where he stood, John Oxonmounted his own horse and galloped away, white-lipped and with mad eyes. 

"Let me escort you home, " the duke had said, "that I may kneel to youthere, and pour forth my heart as I have so dreamed of doing. To-morrowI must go back to France, because I left my errand incomplete. I stolefrom duty the time to come to you, and I must return as quickly as Icame. " So he took her home; and as they entered the wide hall together, side by side, the attendant lacqueys bowed to the ground in deep, welcoming obeisance, knowing it was their future lord and master theyreceived. 

Together they went to her own sitting-room, called the Panelled Parlour, a beautiful great room hung with rare pictures, warm with floods of thebright summer sunshine, and perfumed with bowls of summer flowers; and asthe lacquey departed, bowing, and closed the door behind him, they turnedand were enfolded close in each other's arms, and stood so, with theirhearts beating as surely it seemed to them human hearts had never beatbefore. 

"Oh! my dear love, my heavenly love!" he cried. "It has been so long--Ihave lived in prison and in fetters--and it has been so long!"

Even as my Lord Dunstanwolde had found cause to wonder at her gentleways, so was this man amazed at her great sweetness, now that he mightcross the threshold of her heart. She gave of herself as an empressmight give of her store of imperial jewels, with sumptuous lavishness, knowing that the store could not fail. In truth, it seemed that it mustbe a dream that she so stood before him in all her great, richloveliness, leaning against his heaving breast, her arms as tender as hisown, her regal head thrown backward that they might gaze into the depthsof each other's eyes. 

"From that first hour that I looked up at you, " she said, "I knew youwere my lord--my lord! And a fierce pain stabbed my heart, knowing youhad come too late by but one hour; for had it not been that Dunstanwoldehad led me to you, I knew--ah! how well I knew--that our hearts wouldhave beaten together not as two hearts but as one. "

"As they do now, " he cried. 

"As they do now, " she answered--"as they do now!"

"And from the moment that your rose fell at my feet and I raised it in myhand, " he said, "I knew I held some rapture which was my own. And whenyou stood before me at Dunstanwolde's side and our eyes met, I could notunderstand--nay, I could scarce believe that it had been taken from me. "

There, in her arms, among the flowers and in the sweetness of the sun, helived again the past, telling her of the days when, knowing his danger, he had held himself aloof, declining to come to her lord's house with thefamiliarity of a kinsman, because the pang of seeing her often was toogreat to bear; and relating to her also the story of the hours when hehad watched her and she had not known his nearness or guessed his pain, when she had passed in her equipage, not seeing him, or giving him but agracious smile. He had walked outside her window at midnight sometimes, too, coming because he was a despairing man, and could not sleep, andreturning homeward, having found no rest, but only increase of anguish. "Sometimes, " he said, "I dared not look into your eyes, fearing my ownwould betray me; but now I can gaze into your soul itself, for themidnight is over--and joy cometh with the morning. "

As he had spoken, he had caressed softly with his hand her cheek and hercrown of hair, and such was his great gentleness that 'twas as if hetouched lovingly a child; for into her face there had come that lookwhich it would seem that in the arms of the man she loves every truewoman wears--a look which is somehow like a child's in its trusting, sweet surrender and appeal, whatsoever may be her stateliness and thesplendour of her beauty. 

Yet as he touched her cheek so and her eyes so dwelt on him, suddenly herhead fell heavily upon his breast, hiding her face, even while herunwreathing arms held more closely. 

"Oh! those mad days before!" she cried--"Oh! those mad, mad days before!"

"Nay, they are long passed, sweet, " he said, in his deep, noble voice, thinking that she spoke of the wildness of her girlish years--"and allour days of joy are yet to come. "

"Yes, yes, " she cried, clinging closer, yet with shuddering, "they were_before_--the joy--the joy is all to come. "

CHAPTER XV--In which Sir John Oxon finds again a trophy he had lost

His Grace of Osmonde went back to France to complete his business, andall the world knew that when he returned to England 'twould be to makehis preparations for his marriage with my Lady Dunstanwolde. It was amarriage not long to be postponed, and her ladyship herself was knownalready to be engaged with lacemen, linen-drapers, toyshop women, andgoldsmiths. Mercers awaited upon her at her house, accompanied by theirattendants, bearing burdens of brocades and silks, and splendid stuffs ofall sorts. Her chariot was to be seen standing before their shops, andthe interest in her purchases was so great that fashionable beautieswould contrive to visit the counters at the same hours as herself, sothat they might catch glimpses of what she chose. In her own great houseall was repressed excitement; her women were enraptured at being allowedthe mere handling and laying away of the glories of her wardrobe; thelacqueys held themselves with greater state, knowing that they were soonto be a duke's servants; her little black Nero strutted about, his turbanset upon his pate with a majestic cock, and disdained to enter intobattle with such pages of his own colour as wore only silver collars, hefeeling assured that his own would soon be of gold. 

The World of Fashion said when her ladyship's equipage drove by, that herbeauty was like that of the god of day at morning, and that 'twas plainthat no man or woman had ever beheld her as his Grace of Osmonde would. 

"She loves at last, " a wit said. "Until the time that such a womanloves, however great her splendour, she is as the sun behind a cloud. "

"And now this one hath come forth, and shines so that she warms us inmere passing, " said another. "What eyes, and what a mouth, with thatstrange smile upon it. Whoever saw such before? and when she came totown with my Lord Dunstanwolde, who, beholding her, would have believedthat she could wear such a look?"

In sooth, there was that in her face and in her voice when she spokewhich almost made Anne weep, through its strange sweetness and radiance. 'Twas as if the flood of her joy had swept away all hardness and disdain. Her eyes, which had seemed to mock at all they rested on, mocked no more, but ever seemed to smile at some dear inward thought. 

One night when she went forth to a Court ball, being all attired inbrocade of white and silver, and glittering with the Dunstanwoldediamonds, which starred her as with great sparkling dewdrops, and yet hadnot the radiance of her eyes and smile, she was so purely wonderful avision that Anne, who had been watching her through all the time when shehad been under the hands of her tirewoman, and beholding her now sodazzling and white a shining creature, fell upon her knees to kiss herhand almost as one who worships. 

"Oh, sister, " she said, "you look like a spirit. It is as if with theearth you had naught to do--as if your eyes saw Heaven itself and Him whoreigns there. "

The lovely orbs of Clorinda shone more still like the great star ofmorning. 

"Sister Anne, " she said, laying her hand on her white breast, "at times Ithink that I must almost be a spirit, I feel such heavenly joy. It is asif He whom you believe in, and who can forgive and wipe out sins, hasforgiven me, and has granted it to me, that I may begin my poor lifeagain. Ah! I will make it better; I will try to make it as near anangel's life as a woman can; and I will do no wrong, but only good; and Iwill believe, and pray every day upon my knees--and all my prayers willbe that I may so live that my dear lord--my Gerald--could forgive me allthat I have ever done--and seeing my soul, would know me worthy of him. Oh! we are strange things, we human creatures, Anne, " with a tremuloussmile; "we do not believe until we want a thing, and feel that we shalldie if 'tis not granted to us; and then we kneel and kneel and believe, because we _must_ have somewhat to ask help from. "

"But all help has been given to you, " poor tender Anne said, kissing herhand again; "and I will pray, I will pray--"

"Ay, pray, Anne, pray with all thy soul, " Clorinda answered; "I need thypraying--and thou didst believe always, and have asked so little that hasbeen given thee. "

"Thou wast given me, sister, " said Anne. "Thou hast given me a home andkindness such as I never dared to hope; thou hast been like a great starto me--I have had none other, and I thank Heaven on my knees each nightfor the brightness my star has shed on me. "

"Poor Anne, dear Anne!" Clorinda said, laying her arms about her andkissing her. "Pray for thy star, good, tender Anne, that its light maynot be quenched. " Then with a sudden movement her hand was pressed uponher bosom again. "Ah, Anne, " she cried, and in the music of her voice, agony itself was ringing--"Anne, there is but one thing on this earth Godrules over--but one thing that belongs--_belongs_ to me; and 'tis GeraldMertoun--and he is mine and _shall_ not be taken from me, for he is apart of me, and I a part of him!"

"He will not be, " said Anne--"he will not. "

"He cannot, " Clorinda answered--"he shall not! 'Twould not be human. "

She drew a long breath and was calm again. 

"Did it reach your ears, " she said, reclasping a band of jewels on herarm, "that John Oxon had been offered a place in a foreign Court, andthat 'twas said he would soon leave England?"

"I heard some rumour of it, " Anne answered, her emotion getting thebetter of her usual discreet speech. "God grant it may be true!"

"Ay!" said Clorinda, "would God that he were gone!"

But that he was not, for when she entered the assembly that night he wasstanding near the door as though he lay in waiting for her, and his eyesmet hers with a leaping gleam, which was a thing of such exultation thatto encounter it was like having a knife thrust deep into her side andthrough and through it, for she knew full well that he could not wearsuch a look unless he had some strength of which she knew not. 

This gleam was in his eyes each time she found herself drawn to them, andit seemed as though she could look nowhere without encountering his gaze. He followed her from room to room, placing himself where she could notlift her eyes without beholding him; when she walked a minuet with aroyal duke, he stood and watched her with such a look in his face as drewall eyes towards him. 

"'Tis as if he threatens her, " one said. "He has gone mad withdisappointed love. "

But 'twas not love that was in his look, but the madness of long-thwartedpassion mixed with hate and mockery; and this she saw, and girded hersoul with all its strength, knowing that she had a fiercer beast to dealwith, and a more vicious and dangerous one, than her horse Devil. Thathe kept at first at a distance from her, and but looked on with thissecret exultant glow in his bad, beauteous eyes, told her that at last hefelt he held some power in his hands, against which all her defiancewould be as naught. Till this hour, though she had suffered, and whenalone had writhed in agony of grief and bitter shame, in his presence shehad never flinched. Her strength she knew was greater than his; but hisbaseness was his weapon, and the depths of that baseness she knew she hadnever reached. 

At midnight, having just made obeisance before Royalty retiring, she feltthat at length he had drawn near and was standing at her side. 

"To-night, " he said, in the low undertone it was his way to keep for suchoccasions, knowing how he could pierce her ear--"to-night you are Juno'sself--a very Queen of Heaven!"

She made no answer. 

"And I have stood and watched you moving among all lesser goddesses asthe moon sails among the stars, and I have smiled in thinking of whatthese lesser deities would say if they had known what I bear in my breastto-night. "

She did not even make a movement--in truth, she felt that at his nextwords she might change to stone. 

"I have found it, " he said--"I have it here--the lost treasure--the tressof hair like a raven's wing and six feet long. Is there another woman inEngland who could give a man a lock like it?"

She felt then that she had, in sooth, changed to stone; her heart hungwithout moving in her breast; her eyes felt great and hollow and staringas she lifted them to him. 

"I knew not, " she said slowly, and with bated breath, for the awfulnessof the moment had even made her body weak as she had never known it feelbefore--"I knew not truly that hell made things like you. "

Whereupon he made a movement forward, and the crowd about surged nearerwith hasty exclamations, for the strange weakness of her body hadoverpowered her in a way mysterious to her, and she had changed tomarble, growing too heavy of weight for her sinking limbs. And those inthe surrounding groups saw a marvellous thing--the same being that myLady Dunstanwolde swayed as she turned, and falling, lay stretched, as ifdead, in her white and silver and flashing jewels at the startledbeholders' feet. 

* * * * *

She wore no radiant look when she went home that night. She would gohome alone and unescorted, excepting by her lacqueys, refusing all offersof companionship when once placed in her equipage. There were, ofcourse, gentlemen who would not be denied leading her to her coach; JohnOxon was among them, and at the last pressed close, with a manner ofgreat ceremony, speaking a final word. 

"'Tis useless, your ladyship, " he murmured, as he made his obeisancegallantly, and though the words were uttered in his lowest tone and withgreat softness, they reached her ear as he intended that they should. "To-morrow morning I shall wait upon you. "

Anne had forborne going to bed, and waited for her return, longing to seeher spirit's face again before she slept; for this poor tender creature, being denied all woman's loves and joys by Fate, who had made her as shewas, so lived in her sister's beauty and triumphs that 'twas as if insome far-off way she shared them, and herself experienced through themthe joy of being a woman transcendently beautiful and transcendentlybeloved. To-night she had spent her waiting hours in her closet and uponher knees, praying with all humble adoration of the Being she approached. She was wont to pray long and fervently each day, thanking Heaven for thesmallest things and the most common, and imploring continuance of themercy which bestowed them upon her poor unworthiness. For her sister herprayers were offered up night and morning, and ofttimes in hours between, and to-night she prayed not for herself at all, but for Clorinda and forhis Grace of Osmonde, that their love might be crowned with happiness, and that no shadow might intervene to cloud its brightness, and thetender rapture in her sister's softened look, which was to her a thing sowonderful that she thought of it with reverence as a holy thing. 

Her prayers being at length ended, she had risen from her knees and satdown, taking a sacred book to read, a book of sermons such as 'twas hersimple habit to pore over with entire respect and child-like faith, andbeing in the midst of her favourite homily, she heard the chariot'sreturning wheels, and left her chair, surprised, because she had not yetbegun to expect the sound. 

"'Tis my sister, " she said, with a soft, sentimental smile. "Osmonde notbeing among the guests, she hath no pleasure in mingling with them. "

She went below to the room her ladyship usually went to first on herreturn at night from any gathering, and there she found her sitting asthough she had dropped there in the corner of a great divan, her handshanging clasped before her on her knee, her head hanging forward on herfallen chest, her large eyes staring into space. 

"Clorinda! Clorinda!" Anne cried, running to her and kneeling at herside. "Clorinda! God have mercy! What is't?"

Never before had her face worn such a look--'twas colourless, and sodrawn and fallen in that 'twas indeed almost as if all her great beautywas gone; but the thing most awful to poor Anne was that all the newsoftness seemed as if it had been stamped out, and the fierce hardnesshad come back and was engraven in its place, mingled with a horribledespair. 

"An hour ago, " she said, "I swooned. That is why I look thus. 'Tis yetanother sign that I am a woman--a woman!"

"You are ill--you swooned?" cried Anne. "I must send for your physician. Have you not ordered that he be sent for yourself? If Osmonde were here, how perturbed he would be!"

"Osmonde!" said my lady. "Gerald! Is there a Gerald, Anne?"

"Sister!" cried Anne, affrighted by her strange look--"oh, sister!"

"I have seen heaven, " Clorinda said; "I have stood on the threshold andseen through the part-opened gate--and then have been dragged back tohell. "

Anne clung to her, gazing upwards at her eyes, in sheer despair. 

"But back to hell I will not go, " she went on saying. "Had I not seenHeaven, they might perhaps have dragged me; but now I will not go--I willnot, that I swear! There is a thing which cannot be endured. Bear it nowoman should. Even I, who was not born a woman, but a wolf's she-cub, Icannot. 'Twas not I, 'twas Fate, " she said--"'twas not I, 'twasFate--'twas the great wheel we are bound to, which goes round and roundthat we may be broken on it. 'Twas not I who bound myself there; and Iwill not be broken so. "

She said the words through her clenched teeth, and with all the madpassion of her most lawless years; even at Anne she looked almost in theold ungentle fashion, as though half scorning all weaker than herself, and having small patience with them. 

"There will be a way, " she said--"there will be a way. I shall not swoonagain. "

She left her divan and stood upright, the colour having come back to herface; but the look Anne worshipped not having returned with it, 'twas asthough Mistress Clorinda Wildairs had been born again. 

"To-morrow morning I go forth on Devil, " she said; "and I shall be abroadif any visitors come. "

What passed in her chamber that night no human being knew. Anne, wholeft her own apartment and crept into a chamber near hers to lie andwatch, knew that she paced to and fro, but heard no other sound, anddared not intrude upon her. 

When she came forth in the morning she wore the high look she had beenwont to wear in the years gone by, when she ruled in her father's house, and rode to the hunt with a following of gay middle-aged and elderlyrioters. Her eye was brilliant, and her colour matched it. She held herhead with the old dauntless carriage, and there was that in her voicebefore which her women quaked, and her lacqueys hurried to do herbidding. 

Devil himself felt this same thing in the touch of her hand upon hisbridle when she mounted him at the door, and seemed to glance askance ather sideways. 

She took no servant with her, and did not ride to the Park, but to thecountry. Once on the highroad, she rode fast and hard, only gallopingstraight before her as the way led, and having no intention. Where shewas going she knew not; but why she rode on horseback she knew full well, it being because the wild, almost fierce motion was in keeping with thetempest in her soul. Thoughts rushed through her brain even as sherushed through the air on Devil's back, and each leaping after the other, seemed to tear more madly. 

"What shall I do?" she was saying to herself. "What thing is there forme to do? I am trapped like a hunted beast, and there is no way forth. "

The blood went like a torrent through her veins, so that she seemed tohear it roaring in her ears; her heart thundered in her side, or 'twas soshe thought of it as it bounded, while she recalled the past and lookedupon the present. 

"What else could have been?" she groaned. "Naught else--naught else. 'Twas a trick--a trick of Fate to ruin me for my punishment. "

When she had gone forth it had been with no hope in her breast that herwit might devise a way to free herself from the thing which so beset her, for she had no weak fancies that there dwelt in this base soul any germof honour which might lead it to relenting. As she had sat in her darkroom at night, crouched upon the floor, and clenching her hands, as themad thoughts went whirling through her brain, she had stared her Fate inthe face and known all its awfulness. Before her lay the rapture of agreat, sweet, honourable passion, a high and noble life lived in suchbliss as rarely fell to lot of woman--on this one man she knew that shecould lavish all the splendour of her nature, and make his life a heaven, as hers would be. Behind her lay the mad, uncared-for years, and oneblack memory blighting all to come, though 'twould have been but a blackmemory with no power to blight if the heaven of love had not so opened toher and with its light cast all else into shadow. 

"If 'twere not love, " she cried--"if 'twere but ambition, I could defy itto the last; but 'tis love--love--love, and it will kill me to foregoit. "

Even as she moaned the words she heard hoof beats near her, and ahorseman leaped the hedge and was at her side. She set her teeth, andturning, stared into John Oxon's face. 

"Did you think I would not follow you?" he asked. 

"No, " she answered. 

"I have followed you at a distance hitherto, " he said; "now I shallfollow close. "

She did not speak, but galloped on. 

"Think you you can outride me?" he said grimly, quickening his steed'space. "I go with your ladyship to your own house. For fear of scandalyou have not openly rebuffed me previous to this time; for a like reasonyou will not order your lacqueys to shut your door when I enter it withyou. "

My Lady Dunstanwolde turned to gaze at him again. The sun shone on hisbright falling locks and his blue eyes as she had seen it shine in dayswhich seemed so strangely long passed by, though they were not five yearsagone. 

"'Tis strange, " she said, with a measure of wonder, "to live and be soblack a devil. "

"Bah! my lady, " he said, "these are fine words--and fine words do nothold between us. Let us leave them. I would escort you home, and speakto you in private. " There was that in his mocking that was madness toher, and made her sick and dizzy with the boiling of the blood whichsurged to her brain. The fury of passion which had been a terror to allabout her when she had been a child was upon her once more, and thoughshe had thought herself freed from its dominion, she knew it again andall it meant. She felt the thundering beat in her side, the hot floodleaping to her cheek, the flame burning her eyes themselves as if firewas within them. Had he been other than he was, her face itself wouldhave been a warning. But he pressed her hard. As he would have slunkaway a beaten cur if she had held the victory in her hands, so feelingthat the power was his, he exulted over the despairing frenzy which wasin her look. 

"I pay back old scores, " he said. "There are many to pay. When youcrowned yourself with roses and set your foot upon my face, your ladyshipthought not of this! When you gave yourself to Dunstanwolde and spat atme, you did not dream that there could come a time when I might goad asyou did. "

She struck Devil with her whip, who leaped forward; but Sir John followedhard behind her. He had a swift horse too, and urged him fiercely, sothat between these two there was a race as if for life or death. Thebeasts bounded forward, spurning the earth beneath their feet. My lady'sface was set, her eyes were burning flame, her breath came short andpantingly between her teeth. Oxon's fair face was white with passion; hepanted also, but strained every nerve to keep at her side, and keptthere. 

"Keep back! I warn thee!" she cried once, almost gasping. 

"Keep back!" he answered, blind with rage. "I will follow thee to hell!"

And in this wise they galloped over the white road until the hedgesdisappeared and they were in the streets, and people turned to look atthem, and even stood and stared. Then she drew rein a little and wentslower, knowing with shuddering agony that the trap was closing abouther. 

"What is it that you would say to me?" she asked him breathlessly. 

"That which I would say within four walls that you may hear it all, " heanswered. "This time 'tis not idle threatening. I have a thing to showyou. "

Through the streets they went, and as her horse's hoofs beat thepavement, and the passers-by, looking towards her, gazed curiously at sofine a lady on so splendid a brute, she lifted her eyes to the houses, the booths, the faces, and the sky, with a strange fancy that she lookedabout her as a man looks who, doomed to death, is being drawn in his cartto Tyburn tree. For 'twas to death she went, nor to naught else couldshe compare it, and she was so young and strong, and full of love andlife, and there should have been such bliss and peace before her but forone madness of her all-unknowing days. And this beside her--this manwith the fair face and looks and beauteous devil's eyes, was her hangman, and carried his rope with him, and soon would fit it close about herneck. 

When they rode through the part of the town where abode the World ofFashion, those who saw them knew them, and marvelled that the two shouldbe together. 

"But perhaps his love has made him sue for pardon that he has so bornehimself, " some said, "and she has chosen to be gracious to him, since sheis gracious in these days to all. "

When they reached her house he dismounted with her, wearing an outwardair of courtesy; but his eye mocked her, as she knew. His horse was in alather of sweat, and he spoke to a servant. 

"Take my beast home, " he said. "He is too hot to stand, and I shall notsoon be ready. "

CHAPTER XVI--Dealing with that which was done in the Panelled Parlour

He followed her to the Panelled Parlour, the one to which she had takenOsmonde on the day of their bliss, the one in which in the afternoon shereceived those who came to pay court to her over a dish of tea. In themornings none entered it but herself or some invited guest. 'Twas notthe room she would have chosen for him; but when he said to her, "'Twerebest your ladyship took me to some private place, " she had known therewas no other so safe. 

When the door was closed behind them, and they stood face to face, theywere a strange pair to behold--she with mad defiance battling with maddespair in her face; he with the mocking which every woman who had evertrusted him or loved him had lived to see in his face when all was lost. Few men there lived who were as vile as he, his power of villainy lyingin that he knew not the meaning of man's shame or honour. 

"Now, " she said, "tell me the worst. "

"'Tis not so bad, " he answered, "that a man should claim his own, andswear that no other man shall take it from him. That I have sworn, andthat I will hold to. "

"Your own!" she said--"your own you call it--villain!"

"My own, since I can keep it, " quoth he. "Before you were my Lord ofDunstanwolde's you were mine--of your own free will. "

"Nay, nay, " she cried. "God! through some madness I knew not theawfulness of--because I was so young and had known naught but evil--andyou were so base and wise. "

"Was your ladyship an innocent?" he answered. "It seemed not so to me. "

"An innocent of all good, " she cried--"of all things good on earth--ofall that I know now, having seen manhood and honour. "

"His Grace of Osmonde has not been told this, " he said; "and I shouldmake it all plain to him. "

"What do you ask, devil?" she broke forth. "What is't you ask?"

"That you shall not be the Duchess of Osmonde, " he said, drawing near toher; "that you shall be the wife of Sir John Oxon, as you once calledyourself for a brief space, though no priest had mumbled over us--"

"Who was't divorced us?" she said, gasping; "for I was an honest thing, though I knew no other virtue. Who was't divorced us?"

"I confess, " he answered, bowing, "that 'twas I--for the time being. Iwas young, and perhaps fickle--"

"And you left me, " she cried, "and I found that you had come but for abet--and since I so bore myself that you could not boast, and since I wasnot a rich woman whose fortune would be of use to you, you followedanother and left me--me!"

"As his Grace of Osmonde will when I tell him my story, " he answered. "Heis not one to brook that such things can be told of the mother of hisheirs. "

She would have shrieked aloud but that she clutched her throat in time. 

"Tell him!" she cried, "tell him, and see if he will hear you. Your wordagainst mine!"

"Think you I do not know that full well, " he answered, and he broughtforth a little package folded in silk. "Why have I done naught butthreaten till this time? If I went to him without proof, he would run methrough with his sword as I were a mad dog. But is there another womanin England from whose head her lover could ravish a lock as long andblack as this?"

He unfolded the silk, and let other silk unfold itself, a great and thickring of raven hair which uncoiled its serpent length, and though he heldit high, was long enough after surging from his hand to lie upon thefloor. 

"Merciful God!" she cried, and shuddering, hid her face. 

"'Twas a bet, I own, " he said; "I heard too much of the mad beauty andher disdain of men not to be fired by a desire to prove to her andothers, that she was but a woman after all, and so was to be won. I tookan oath that I would come back some day with a trophy--and this I cutwhen you knew not that I did it. "

She clutched her throat again to keep from shrieking in her--impotenthorror. 

"Devil, craven, and loathsome--and he knows not what he is!" she gasped. "He is a mad thing who knows not that all his thoughts are of hell. "

'Twas, in sooth, a strange and monstrous thing to see him so unwaveringand bold, flinching before no ignominy, shrinking not to speak openly thething before the mere accusation of which other men's blood would haveboiled. 

"When I bore it away with me, " he said, "I lived wildly for a space, andin those days put it in a place of safety, and when I was sober again Ihad forgot where. Yesterday, by a strange chance, I came upon it. Thinkyou it can be mistaken for any other woman's hair?"

At this she held up her hand. 

"Wait, " she said. "You will go to Osmonde, you will tell him this, youwill--"

"I will tell him all the story of the rose garden and of the sun-dial, and the beauty who had wit enough to scorn a man in public that she mightmore safely hold tryst with him alone. She had great wit and cunning fora beauty of sixteen. 'Twould be well for her lord to have keen eyes whenshe is twenty. "

He should have seen the warning in her eyes, for there was warning enoughin their flaming depths. 

"All that you can say I know, " she said--"all that you can say! And Ilove him. There is no other man on earth. Were he a beggar, I wouldtramp the highroad by his side and go hungered with him. He is my lord, and I his mate--his mate!"

"That you will not be, " he answered, made devilish by her words. "He isa high and noble gentleman, and wants no man's cast-off plaything for hiswife. "

Her breast leaped up and down in her panting as she pressed her hand uponit; her breath came in sharp puffs through her nostrils. 

"And once, " she breathed--"and once--I _loved_ thee--cur!"

He was mad with exultant villainy and passion, and he broke into a laugh. 

"Loved me!" he said. "Thou! As thou lovedst me--and as thou lovesthim--so will Moll Easy love any man--for a crown. "

Her whip lay upon the table, she caught and whirled it in the air. Shewas blind with the surging of her blood, and saw not how she caught orheld it, or what she did--only that she struck!

And 'twas his temple that the loaded weapon met, and 'twas wielded by awrist whose sinews were of steel, and even as it struck he gasped, casting up his hands, and thereupon fell, and lay stretched at her feet!

But the awful tempest which swept over her had her so under its dominionthat she was like a branch whirled on the wings of the storm. She scarcenoted that he fell, or noting it, gave it not one thought as she dashedfrom one end of the apartment to the other with the fierce striding of amad woman. 

"Devil!" she cried, "and cur! and for thee I blasted all the years tocome! To a beast so base I gave all that an empress' self could give--alllife--all love--for ever. And he comes back--shameless--to barter like acheating huckster, because his trade goes ill, and I--I could stock hiscounters once again. "

She strode towards him, raving. 

"Think you I do not know, woman's bully and poltroon, that you plot tosell yourself, because your day has come, and no woman will bid for suchan outcast, saving one that you may threaten. Rise, vermin--rise, lest Ikill thee!"

In her blind madness she lashed him once across the face again. And hestirred not--and something in the resistless feeling of the flesh beneaththe whip, and in the quiet of his lying, caused her to pause and standpanting and staring at the thing which lay before her. For it was aThing, and as she stood staring, with wild heaving breast, this she saw. 'Twas but a thing--a thing lying inert, its fair locks outspread, itseyes rolled upward till the blue was almost lost; a purple indentation onthe right temple from which there oozed a tiny thread of blood. 

* * * * *

"There will be a way, " she had said, and yet in her most mad despair, ofthis way she had never thought; though strange it had been, consideringher lawless past, that she had not--never of this way--never!Notwithstanding which, in one frenzied moment in which she had knownnaught but her delirium, her loaded whip had found it for her--the way!

And yet it being so found, and she stood staring, seeing what she haddone--seeing what had befallen--'twas as if the blow had been struck notat her own temple but at her heart--a great and heavy shock, which lefther bloodless, and choked, and gasping. 

"What! what!" she panted. "Nay! nay! nay!" and her eyes grew wide andwild. 

She sank upon her knees, so shuddering that her teeth began to chatter. She pushed him and shook him by the shoulder. 

"Stir!" she cried in a loud whisper. "Move thee! Why dost thou lie so?Stir!"

Yet he stirred not, but lay inert, only with his lips drawn back, showinghis white teeth a little, as if her horrid agony made him begin to laugh. Shuddering, she drew slowly nearer, her eyes more awful than his own. Herhand crept shaking to his wrist and clutched it. There was naughtastir--naught! It stole to his breast, and baring it, pressed close. That was still and moveless as his pulse; for life was ended, and ahundred mouldering years would not bring more of death. 

"I have _killed_ thee, " she breathed. "I have _killed_ thee--though Imeant it not--even hell itself doth know. Thou art a dead man--and thisis the worst of all!"

His hand fell heavily from hers, and she still knelt staring, such a lookcoming into her face as throughout her life had never been therebefore--for 'twas the look of a creature who, being tortured, the worstat last being reached, begins to smile at Fate. 

"I have killed him!" she said, in a low, awful voice; "and he lieshere--and outside people walk, and know not. But _he_ knows--and I--andas he lies methinks he smiles--knowing what he has done!"

She crouched even lower still, the closer to behold him, and indeed itseemed his still face sneered as if defying her now to rid herself ofhim! 'Twas as though he lay there mockingly content, saying, "Now that Ilie here, 'tis for _you_--for _you_ to move me. "

She rose and stood up rigid, and all the muscles of her limbs were drawnas though she were a creature stretched upon a rack; for the horror ofthis which had befallen her seemed to fill the place about her, and leaveher no air to breathe nor light to see. 

"Now!" she cried, "if I would give way--and go mad, as I could but do, for there is naught else left--if I would but give way, that which isI--and has lived but a poor score of years--would be done with for alltime. All whirls before me. 'Twas I who struck the blow--and I am awoman--and I could go raving--and cry out and call them in, and point tohim, and tell them how 'twas done--all!--all!"

She choked, and clutched her bosom, holding its heaving down so fiercelythat her nails bruised it through her habit's cloth; for she felt thatshe had begun to rave already, and that the waves of such a tempest werearising as, if not quelled at their first swell, would sweep her from herfeet and engulf her for ever. 

"That--that!" she gasped--"nay--that I swear I will not do! There wasalways One who hated me--and doomed and hunted me from the hour I lay'neath my dead mother's corpse, a new-born thing. I know not whom itwas--or why--or how--but 'twas so! I was made evil, and cast helplessamid evil fates, and having done the things that were ordained, and therewas no escape from, I was shown noble manhood and high honour, and taughtto worship, as I worship now. An angel might so love and be made higher. And at the gate of heaven a devil grins at me and plucks me back, andtaunts and mires me, and I fall--on _this_!"

She stretched forth her arms in a great gesture, wherein it seemed thatsurely she defied earth and heaven. 

"No hope--no mercy--naught but doom and hell, " she cried, "unless thething that is tortured be the stronger. Now--unless Fate bray mesmall--the stronger I will be!"

She looked down at the thing before her. How its stone face sneered, andeven in its sneering seemed to disregard her. She knelt by it again, herblood surging through her body, which had been cold, speaking as if shewould force her voice to pierce its deadened ear. 

"Ay, mock!" she said, setting her teeth, "thinking that I amconquered--yet am I not! 'Twas an honest blow struck by a creaturegoaded past all thought! Ay, mock--and yet, but for one man's sake, would I call in those outside and stand before them, crying: 'Here is avillain whom I struck in madness--and he lies dead! I ask not mercy, butonly justice. '"

She crouched still nearer, her breath and words coming hard and quick. 'Twas indeed as if she spoke to a living man who heard--as if sheanswered what he had said. 

"There would be men in England who would give it me, " she raved, whispering. "That would there, I swear! But there would be dullards anddastards who would not. He would give it--he! Ay, mock as thou wilt!But between his high honour and love and me thy carrion _shall_ notcome!"

By her great divan the dead man had fallen, and so near to it he lay thatone arm was hidden by the draperies; and at this moment this shesaw--before having seemed to see nothing but the death in his face. Athought came to her like a flame lit on a sudden, and springing high theinstant the match struck the fuel it leaped from. It was a thought sodaring and so strange that even she gasped once, being appalled, and herhands, stealing to her brow, clutched at the hair that grew there, feeling it seem to rise and stand erect. 

"Is it madness to so dare?" she said hoarsely, and for an instant, shuddering, hid her eyes, but then uncovered and showed them burning. "Nay! not as I will dare it, " she said, "for it will make me steel. Youfell well, " she said to the stone-faced thing, "and as you lie there, seem to tell me what to do, in your own despite. You would not have sohelped me had you known. Now 'tis 'twixt Fate and I--a human thing--whois but a hunted woman. "

She put her strong hand forth and thrust him--he was alreadystiffening--backward from the shoulder, there being no shrinking on herface as she felt his flesh yield beneath her touch, for she had passedthe barrier lying between that which is mere life and that which ispitiless hell, and could feel naught that was human. A poor wild beastat bay, pressed on all sides by dogs, by huntsmen, by resistless weapons, by Nature's pitiless self--glaring with bloodshot eyes, panting, withfangs bared in the savagery of its unfriended agony--might feel thus. 'Tis but a hunted beast; but 'tis alone, and faces so the terror andanguish of death. 

The thing gazing with its set sneer, and moving but stiffly, she putforth another hand upon its side and thrust it farther backward until itlay stretched beneath the great broad seat, its glazed and open eyesseeming to stare upward blankly at the low roof of its strange prison;she thrust it farther backward still, and letting the draperies fall, steadily and with care so rearranged them that all was safe and hid fromsight. 

"Until to-night, " she said, "You will lie well there. And then--andthen--"

She picked up the long silken lock of hair which lay like a serpent ather feet, and threw it into the fire, watching it burn, as all hairburns, with slow hissing, and she watched it till 'twas gone. 

Then she stood with her hands pressed upon her eyeballs and her brow, herthoughts moving in great leaps. Although it reeled, the brain which hadworked for her ever, worked clear and strong, setting before her what wasimpending, arguing her case, showing her where dangers would arise, howshe must provide against them, what she must defend and set at defiance. The power of will with which she had been endowed at birth, and which hadbut grown stronger by its exercise, was indeed to be compared to somegreat engine whose lever 'tis not nature should be placed in human hands;but on that lever her hand rested now, and to herself she vowed she wouldcontrol it, since only thus might she be saved. The torture she hadundergone for months, the warring of the evil past with the noblepresent, of that which was sweet and passionately loving woman with thatwhich was all but devil, had strung her to a pitch so intense and highthat on the falling of this unnatural and unforeseen blow she was leftscarce a human thing. Looking back, she saw herself a creature doomedfrom birth; and here in one moment seemed to stand a force ranged in madbattle with the fate which had doomed her. 

"'Twas ordained that the blow should fall so, " she said, "and those whodid it laugh--laugh at me. "

'Twas but a moment, and her sharp breathing became even and regular asthough at her command; her face composed itself, and she turned to thebell and rang it as with imperious haste. 

When the lacquey entered, she was standing holding papers in her hand asif she had but just been consulting them. 

"Follow Sir John Oxon, " she commanded. "Tell him I have forgot animportant thing and beg him to return at once. Lose no time. He has butjust left me and can scarce be out of sight. "

The fellow saw there was no time to lose. They all feared that imperialeye of hers and fled to obey its glances. Bowing, he turned, andhastened to do her bidding, fearing to admit that he had not seen theguest leave, because to do so would be to confess that he had been absentfrom his post, which was indeed the truth. 

She knew he would come back shortly, and thus he did, entering somewhatbreathed by his haste. 

"My lady, " he said, "I went quickly to the street, and indeed to thecorner of it, but Sir John was not within sight. "

"Fool, you were not swift enough!" she said angrily. "Wait, you must goto his lodgings with a note. The matter is of importance. "

She went to a table--'twas close to the divan, so close that if she hadthrust forth her foot she could have touched what lay beneath it--andwrote hastily a few lines. They were to request That which wasstiffening within three feet of her to return to her as quickly aspossible that she might make inquiries of an important nature which shehad forgotten at his departure. 

"Take this to Sir John's lodgings, " she said. "Let there be no loiteringby the way. Deliver into his own hands, and bring back at once hisanswer. "

Then she was left alone again, and being so left, paced the room slowly, her gaze upon the floor. 

"That was well done, " she said. "When he returns and has not found him, I will be angered, and send him again to wait. "

She stayed her pacing, and passed her hand across her face. 

"'Tis like a nightmare, " she said--"as if one dreamed, and choked, andpanted, and would scream aloud, but could not. I cannot! I must not!Would that I might shriek, and dash myself upon the floor, and beat myhead upon it until I lay--as _he_ does. "

She stood a moment, breathing fast, her eyes widening, that part of herwhich was weak woman for the moment putting her in parlous danger, realising the which she pressed her sides with hands that were of steel. 

"Wait! wait!" she said to herself. "This is going mad. This isloosening hold, and being beaten by that One who hates me and laughs tosee what I have come to. "

Naught but that unnatural engine of will could have held her withinbounds and restrained the mounting female weakness that beset her; butthis engine being stronger than all else, it beat her womanish andswooning terrors down. 

"Through this one day I must live, " she said, "and plan, and guard eachmoment that doth pass. My face must tell no tale, my voice must hintnone. He will be still--God knows he will be still enough. "

Upon the divan itself there had been lying a little dog; 'twas a KingCharles' spaniel, a delicate pampered thing, which attached itself toher, and was not easily driven away. Once during the last hour thefierce, ill-hushed voices had disturbed it, and it had given vent to afretted bark, but being a luxurious little beast, it had soon curled upamong its cushions and gone to sleep again. But as its mistress walkedabout muttering low words and ofttimes breathing sharp breaths, it becamedisturbed again. Perhaps through some instinct of which naught is knownby human creatures, it felt the strange presence of a thing which rousedit. It stirred, at first drowsily, and lifted its head and sniffed; thenit stretched its limbs, and having done so, stood up, turning on itsmistress a troubled eye, and this she saw and stopped to meet it. 'Twasa strange look she bestowed upon it, a startled and fearful one; herthought drew the blood up to her cheek, but backward again it flowed whenthe little beast lifted its nose and gave a low but woeful howl. Twiceit did this, and then jumped down, and standing before the edge of thecouch, stood there sniffing. 

There was no mistake, some instinct of which it knew not the meaning hadset it on, and it would not be thrust back. In all beasts this strangething has been remarked--that they know That which ends them all, and sorevolt against it that they cannot be at rest so long as it is near them, but must roar, or whinny, or howl until 'tis out of the reach of theirscent. And so 'twas plain this little beast knew and was afraid andrestless. He would not let it be, but roved about, sniffing and whining, and not daring to thrust his head beneath the falling draperies, butgrowing more and yet more excited and terrified, until at last hestopped, raised head in air, and gave vent to a longer, louder, and moredolorous howl, and albeit to one with so strange and noticeable a soundthat her heart turned over in her breast as she stooped and caught him inher grasp, and shuddered as she stood upright, holding him to her side, her hand over his mouth. But he would not be hushed, and struggled toget down as if indeed he would go mad unless he might get to the thingand rave at it. 

"If I send thee from the room thou wilt come back, poor Frisk, " she said. "There will be no keeping thee away, and I have never ordered thee awaybefore. Why couldst thou not keep still? Nay, 'twas not dog nature. "

That it was not so was plain by his struggles and the yelps but poorlystifled by her grasp. 

She put her hand about his little neck, turning, in sooth, very pale. 

"Thou too, poor little beast, " she said. "Thou too, who art so small athing and never harmed me. "

When the lacquey came back he wore an air more timorous than before. 

"Your ladyship, " he faltered, "Sir John had not yet reached his lodgings. His servant knew not when he might expect him. "

"In an hour go again and wait, " she commanded. "He must return ere longif he has not left town. "

And having said this, pointed to a little silken heap which layoutstretched limp upon the floor. "'Tis poor Frisk, who has had somestrange spasm, and fell, striking his head. He hath been ailing fordays, and howled loudly but an hour ago. Take him away, poor beast. "

CHAPTER XVII--Wherein his Grace of Osmonde's courier arrives from France

The stronghold of her security lay in the fact that her household sostood in awe of her, and that this room, which was one of the richest andmost beautiful, though not the largest, in the mansion, all her servitorshad learned to regard as a sort of sacred place in which none dared toset foot unless invited or commanded to enter. Within its four walls sheread and wrote in the morning hours, no servant entering unless summonedby her; and the apartment seeming, as it were, a citadel, none approachedwithout previous parley. In the afternoon the doors were thrown open, and she entertained there such visitors as came with less formality thanstatelier assemblages demanded. When she went out of it this morning togo to her chamber that her habit might be changed and her toilette made, she glanced about her with a steady countenance. 

"Until the babblers flock in to chatter of the modes and playhouses, " shesaid, "all will be as quiet as the grave. Then I must stand near, andplan well, and be in such beauty and spirit that they will see naught butme. "

In the afternoon 'twas the fashion for those who had naught more seriousin their hands than the killing of time to pay visits to each other'shouses, and drinking dishes of tea, to dispose of their neighbours'characters, discuss the playhouses, the latest fashions in furbelows orcommodes, and make love either lightly or with serious intent. One maybe sure that at my Lady Dunstanwolde's many dishes of Bohea were drunk, and many ogling glances and much witticism exchanged. There was in thesedays even a greater following about her than ever. A triumphant beautyon the verge of becoming a great duchess is not like to be neglected byher acquaintance, and thus her ladyship held assemblies both gay andbrilliantly varied, which were the delight of the fashionable triflers ofthe day. 

This afternoon they flocked in greater numbers than usual. The episodeof the breaking of Devil, the unexpected return of his Grace of Osmonde, the preparations for the union, had given an extra stimulant to thatinterest in her ladyship which was ever great enough to need none. Thereunto was added the piquancy of the stories of the noticeabledemeanour of Sir John Oxon, of what had seemed to be so plain a rebellionagainst his fate, and also of my lady's open and cold displeasure at themanner of his bearing himself as a disappointed man who presumed to showanger against that to which he should gallantly have been resigned, asone who is conquered by the chance of war. Those who had beheld the tworide homeward together in the morning, were full of curiousness, and oneand another, mentioning the matter, exchanged glances, speaking plainlyof desire to know more of what had passed, and of hope that chance mightthrow the two together again in public, where more of interest might begathered. It seemed indeed not unlikely that Sir John might appear amongthe tea-bibbers, and perchance 'twas for this lively reason that mylady's room was this afternoon more than usually full of gay spirits andgossip-loving ones. 

They found, however, only her ladyship's self and her sister, MistressAnne, who, of truth, did not often join her tea-parties, finding them sogiven up to fashionable chatter and worldly witticisms that she feltherself somewhat out of place. The world knew Mistress Anne but as adull, plain gentlewoman, whom her more brilliant and fortunate sistergave gracious protection to, and none missed her when she was absent, orobserved her greatly when she appeared upon the scene. To-day she wasperchance more observed than usual, because her pallor was so great acontrast to her ladyship's splendour of beauty and colour. The contrastbetween them was ever a great one; but this afternoon Mistress Anne'salways pale countenance seemed almost livid, there were rings of pain orillness round her eyes, and her features looked drawn and pinched. MyLady Dunstanwolde, clad in a great rich petticoat of crimson floweredsatin, with wondrous yellow Mechlin for her ruffles, and with herglorious hair dressed like a tower, looked taller, more goddess-like andfull of splendid fire than ever she had been before beheld, or so hervisitors said to her and to each other; though, to tell the truth, thiswas no new story, she being one of those women having the curious powerof inspiring the beholder with the feeling each time he encountered themthat he had never before seen them in such beauty and bloom. 

When she had come down the staircase from her chamber, Anne, who had beenstanding at the foot, had indeed started somewhat at the sight of herrich dress and brilliant hues. 

"Why do you jump as if I were a ghost, Anne?" she asked. "Do I look likeone? My looking-glass did not tell me so. "

"No, " said Anne; "you--are so--so crimson and splendid--and I--"

Her ladyship came swiftly down the stairs to her. 

"You are not crimson and splendid, " she said. "'Tis you who are a ghost. What is it?"

Anne let her soft, dull eyes rest upon her for a moment helplessly, andwhen she replied her voice sounded weak. 

"I think--I am ill, sister, " she said. "I seem to tremble and feelfaint. "

"Go then to bed and see the physician. You must be cared for, " said herladyship. "In sooth, you look ill indeed. "

"Nay, " said Anne; "I beg you, sister, this afternoon let me be with you;it will sustain me. You are so strong--let me--"

She put out her hand as if to touch her, but it dropped at her side asthough its strength was gone. 

"But there will be many babbling people, " said her sister, with a curiouslook. "You do not like company, and these days my rooms are full. 'Twillirk and tire you. "

"I care not for the people--I would be with you, " Anne said, in strangeimploring. "I have a sick fancy that I am afraid to sit alone in mychamber. 'Tis but weakness. Let me this afternoon be with you. "

"Go then and change your robe, " said Clorinda, "and put some red uponyour cheeks. You may come if you will. You are a strange creatureAnne. "

And thus saying, she passed into her apartment. As there are blows andpain which end in insensibility or delirium, so there are catastrophesand perils which are so great as to produce something near akin to these. As she had stood before her mirror in her chamber watching herreflection, while her woman attired her in her crimson flowered satin andbuilded up her stately head-dress, this other woman had felt that thehour when she could have shrieked and raved and betrayed herself hadpassed by, and left a deadness like a calm behind, as though horror hadstunned all pain and yet left her senses clear. She forgot not the thingwhich lay staring upward blankly at the under part of the couch which hidit--the look of its fixed eyes, its outspread locks, and the purpleindentation on the temple she saw as clearly as she had seen them in thatfirst mad moment when she had stood staring downward at the thing itself;but the coursing of her blood was stilled, the gallop of her pulses, andthat wild hysteric leaping of her heart into her throat, choking her andforcing her to gasp and pant in that way which in women must ever end inshrieks and cries and sobbing beatings of the air. But for the femininesoftness to which her nature had given way for the first time, since thepower of love had mastered her, there was no thing of earth could havehappened to her which would have brought this rolling ball to her throat, this tremor to her body--since the hour of her birth she had never beenattacked by such a female folly, as she would indeed have regarded itonce; but now 'twas different--for a while she had been a woman--a womanwho had flung herself upon the bosom of him who was her soul's lord, andresting there, her old rigid strength had been relaxed. 

But 'twas not this woman who had known tender yielding who returned totake her place in the Panelled Parlour, knowing of the companion whowaited near her unseen--for it was as her companion she thought of him, as she had thought of him when he followed her in the Mall, forcedhimself into her box at the play, or stood by her shoulder at assemblies;he had placed himself by her side again, and would stay there until shecould rid herself of him. 

"After to-night he will be gone, if I act well my part, " she said, "andthen may I live a freed woman. "

'Twas always upon the divan she took her place when she received hervisitors, who were accustomed to finding her enthroned there. Thisafternoon when she came into the room she paused for a space, and stoodbeside it, the parlour being yet empty. She felt her face grow a littlecold, as if it paled, and her under-lip drew itself tight across herteeth. 

"In a graveyard, " she said, "I have sat upon the stone ledge of a tomb, and beneath there was--worse than this, could I but have seen it. Thisis no more. "

When the Sir Humphreys and Lord Charleses, Lady Bettys and MistressLovelys were announced in flocks, fluttering and chattering, she rosefrom her old place to meet them, and was brilliant graciousness itself. She hearkened to their gossipings, and though 'twas not her way to joinin them, she was this day witty in such way as robbed them of the dulnessin which sometimes gossip ends. It was a varied company which gatheredabout her; but to each she gave his or her moment, and in that momentsaid that which they would afterwards remember. With those of the Courtshe talked royalty, the humours of her Majesty, the severities of herGrace of Marlborough; with statesmen she spoke with such intellect anddiscretion that they went away pondering on the good fortune which hadbefallen one man when it seemed that it was of such proportions as mighthave satisfied a dozen, for it seemed not fair to them that his Grace ofOsmonde, having already rank, wealth, and fame, should have added to thema gift of such magnificence as this beauteous woman would bring; withbeaux and wits she made dazzling jests; and to the beauties who desiredtheir flatteries she gave praise so adroit that they were stimulated toplume their feathers afresh and cease to fear the rivalry of herloveliness. 

And yet while she so bore herself, never once did she cease to feel thepresence of that which, lying near, seemed to her racked soul as one wholay and listened with staring eyes which mocked; for there was a thoughtwhich would not leave her, which was, that it could hear, that it couldsee through the glazing on its blue orbs, and that knowing itself boundby the moveless irons of death and dumbness it impotently raged andcursed that it could not burst them and shriek out its vengeance, rollingforth among her worshippers at their feet and hers. 

"But he _can_ not, " she said, within her clenched teeth, again andagain--"_that_ he cannot. "

Once as she said this to herself she caught Anne's eyes fixed helplesslyupon her, it seeming to be as the poor woman had said, that her weaknesscaused her to desire to abide near her sister's strength and draw supportfrom it; for she had remained at my lady's side closely since she haddescended to the room, and now seemed to implore some protection forwhich she was too timid to openly make request. 

"You are too weak to stay, Anne, " her ladyship said. "'Twould be betterthat you should retire. "

"I am weak, " the poor thing answered, in low tones--"but not too weak tostay. I am always weak. Would that I were of your strength and courage. Let me sit down--sister--here. " She touched the divan's cushions with ashaking hand, gazing upward wearily--perchance remembering that thisplace seemed ever a sort of throne none other than the hostess queenherself presumed to encroach upon. 

"You are too meek, poor sister, " quoth Clorinda. "'Tis not a chair ofcoronation or the woolsack of a judge. Sit! sit!--and let me call forwine!"

She spoke to a lacquey and bade him bring the drink, for even as she sankinto her place Anne's cheeks grew whiter. 

When 'twas brought, her ladyship poured it forth and gave it to hersister with her own hand, obliging her to drink enough to bring hercolour back. Having seen to this, she addressed the servant who hadobeyed her order. 

"Hath Jenfry returned from Sir John Oxon?" she demanded, in that clear, ringing voice of hers, whose music ever arrested those surrounding her, whether they were concerned in her speech or no; but now all feltsufficient interest to prick up ears and hearken to what was said. 

"No, my lady, " the lacquey answered. "He said that you had bidden him towait. "

"But not all day, poor fool, " she said, setting down Anne's empty glassupon the salver. "Did he think I bade him stand about the door allnight? Bring me his message when he comes. "

"'Tis ever thus with these dull serving folk, " she said to those nearesther. "One cannot pay for wit with wages and livery. They can but obeythe literal word. Sir John, leaving me in haste this morning, I forgot aquestion I would have asked, and sent a lacquey to recall him. "

Anne sat upright. 

"Sister--I pray you--another glass of wine. "

My lady gave it to her at once, and she drained it eagerly. 

"Was he overtaken?" said a curious matron, who wished not to see thesubject closed. 

"No, " quoth her ladyship, with a light laugh--"though he must have beenin haste, for the man was sent after him in but a moment's time. 'Twasthen I told the fellow to go later to his lodgings and deliver my messageinto Sir John's own hand, whence it seems that he thinks that he mustawait him till he comes. "

Upon a table near there lay the loaded whip; for she had felt it bolderto let it lie there as if forgotten, because her pulse had sprung so atfirst sight of it when she came down, and she had so quailed before thedesire to thrust it away, to hide it from her sight. "And that I quailbefore, " she had said, "I must have the will to face--or I am lost. " Soshe had let it stay. 

A languishing beauty, with melting blue eyes and a pretty fashion of everkeeping before the world of her admirers her waxen delicacy, lifted theheavy thing in her frail white hand. 

"How can your ladyship wield it?" she said. "It is so heavy for awoman--but your ladyship is--is not--"

"Not quite a woman, " said the beautiful creature, standing at her fullgreat height, and smiling down at this blue and white piece of frailtywith the flashing splendour of her eyes. 

"Not quite a woman, " cried two wits at once. "A goddess rather--anOlympian goddess. "

The languisher could not endure comparisons which so seemed to disparageher ethereal charms. She lifted the weapon with a great effort, whichshowed the slimness of her delicate fair wrist and the sweet tracery ofblue veins upon it. 

"Nay, " she said lispingly, "it needs the muscle of a great man to liftit. I could not hold it--much less beat with it a horse. " And to showhow coarse a strength was needed and how far her femininity lacked suchvigour, she dropped it upon the floor--and it rolled beneath the edge ofthe divan. 

"Now, " the thought shot through my lady's brain, as a bolt shoots fromthe sky--"now--he _laughs_!"

She had no time to stir--there were upon their knees three beaux at once, and each would sure have thrust his arm below the seat and rummaged, hadnot God saved her! Yes, 'twas of God she thought in that terrible madsecond--God!--and only a mind that is not human could have told why. 

For Anne--poor Mistress Anne--white-faced and shaking, was before themall, and with a strange adroitness stooped, --and thrust her hand below, and drawing the thing forth, held it up to view. 

"'Tis here, " she said, "and in sooth, sister, I wonder not at itsfalling--its weight is so great. "

Clorinda took it from her hand. 

"I shall break no more beasts like Devil, " she said, "and for quieterones it weighs too much; I shall lay it by. "

She crossed the room and laid it upon a shelf. 

"It was ever heavy--but for Devil. 'Tis done with, " she said; and therecame back to her face--which for a second had lost hue--a flood ofcrimson so glowing, and a smile so strange, that those who looked andheard, said to themselves that 'twas the thought of Osmonde who had sochanged her, which made her blush. But a few moments later they beheldthe same glow mount again. A lacquey entered, bearing a salver on whichlay two letters. One was a large one, sealed with a ducal coronet, andthis she saw first, and took in her hand even before the man had time tospeak. 

"His Grace's courier has arrived from France, " he said; "the package wasordered to be delivered at once. "

"It must be that his Grace returns earlier than we had hoped, " she said, and then the other missive caught her eye. 

"'Tis your ladyship's own, " the lacquey explained somewhat anxiously. "'Twas brought back, Sir John not having yet come home, and Jenfry havingwaited three hours. "

"'Twas long enough, " quoth her ladyship. "'Twill do to-morrow. "

She did not lay Osmonde's letter aside, but kept it in her hand, andseeing that she waited for their retirement to read it, her guests beganto make their farewells. One by one or in groups of twos and threes theyleft her, the men bowing low, and going away fretted by the memory of thepicture she made--a tall and regal figure in her flowered crimson, herstateliness seeming relaxed and softened by the mere holding of thesealed missive in her hand. But the women were vaguely envious, not ofOsmonde, but of her before whom there lay outspread as far as life'shorizon reached, a future of such perfect love and joy; for GeraldMertoun had been marked by feminine eyes since his earliest youth, andhad seemed to embody all that woman's dreams or woman's ambitions or herlove could desire. 

When the last was gone, Clorinda turned, tore her letter open, and heldit hard to her lips. Before she read a word she kissed it passionately ascore of times, paying no heed that Anne sate gazing at her; and havingkissed it so, she fell to reading it, her cheeks warm with the glow of asweet and splendid passion, her bosom rising and falling in a tempest oftender, fluttering breaths--and 'twas these words her eyes devoured:

 "If I should head this page I write to you 'Goddess and Queen, and Empress of my deepest soul, ' what more should I be saying than 'My Love' and 'My Clorinda, ' since these express all the soul of man could crave for or his body desire. The body and soul of me so long for thee, sweetheart, and sweetest beautiful woman that the hand of Nature ever fashioned for the joy of mortals, that I have had need to pray Heaven's help to aid me to endure the passing of the days that lie between me and the hour which will make me the most strangely, rapturously, happy man, not in England, not in the world, but in all God's universe. I must pray Heaven again, and indeed do and will, for humbleness which shall teach me to remember that I am not deity, but mere man--mere man--though I shall hold a goddess to my breast and gaze into eyes which are like deep pools of Paradise, and yet answer mine with the marvel of such love as none but such a soul could make a woman's, and so fit to mate with man's. In the heavy days when I was wont to gaze at you from afar with burning heart, my unceasing anguish was that even high honour itself could not subdue and conquer the thoughts which leaped within me even as my pulse leaped, and even as my pulse could not be stilled unless by death. And one that for ever haunted--ay, and taunted--me was the image of how your tall, beauteous body would yield itself to a strong man's arm, and your noble head with its heavy tower of hair resting upon his shoulder--the centres of his very being would be thrilled and shaken by the uplifting of such melting eyes as surely man ne'er gazed within on earth before, and the ripe and scarlet bow of a mouth so beauteous and so sweet with womanhood. This beset me day and night, and with such torture that I feared betimes my brain might reel and I become a lost and ruined madman. And now--it is no more forbidden me to dwell upon it--nay, I lie waking at night, wooing the picture to me, and at times I rise from my dreams to kneel by my bedside and thank God that He hath given me at last what surely is my own!-for so it seems to me, my love, that each of us is but a part of the other, and that such forces of Nature rush to meet together in us, that Nature herself would cry out were we rent apart. If there were aught to rise like a ghost between us, if there were aught that could sunder us--noble soul, let us but swear that it shall weld us but the closer together, and that locked in each other's arms its blows shall not even make our united strength to sway. Sweetest lady, your lovely lip will curve in smiles, and you will say, 'He is mad with his joy--my Gerald' (for never till my heart stops at its last beat and leaves me still, a dead man, cold upon my bed, can I forget the music of your speech when you spoke those words, 'My Gerald! My Gerald. ') And indeed I crave your pardon, for a man so filled with rapture cannot be quite sane, and sometimes I wonder if I walk through the palace gardens like one who is drunk, so does my brain reel. But soon, my heavenly, noble love, my exile will be over, and this is in truth what my letter is to tell you, that in four days your lacqueys will throw open your doors to me and I shall enter, and being led to you, shall kneel at your feet and kiss the hem of your robe, and then rise standing to fold her who will so soon be my very wife to my throbbing breast. "

Back to her face had come all the softness which had been lost, the hardlines were gone, the tender curves had returned, her lashes looked as ifthey were moist. Anne, sitting rigidly and gazing at her, was afraid tospeak, knowing that she was not for the time on earth, but that the soundof a voice would bring her back to it, and that 'twas well she should beaway as long as she might. 

She read the letter, not once, but thrice, dwelling upon every word, 'twas plain; and when she had reached the last one, turning back thepages and beginning again. When she looked up at last, 'twas with analmost wild little smile, for she had indeed for that one momentforgotten. 

"Locked in each other's arms, " she said--"locked in each other's arms. MyGerald! My Gerald! 'What surely is my own--my own'!"

Anne rose and came to her, laying her hand on her arm. She spoke in avoice low, hushed, and strained. 

"Come away, sister, " she said, "for a little while--come away. "

CHAPTER XVIII--My Lady Dunstanwolde sits late alone and writes

That she must leave the Panelled Parlour at her usual hour, or attractattention by doing that to which her household was unaccustomed, she wellknew, her manner of life being ever stately and ceremonious in itsregularity. When she dined at home she and Anne partook of their repasttogether in the large dining-room, the table loaded with silver dishesand massive glittering glass, their powdered, gold-laced lacqueys inattendance, as though a score of guests had shared the meal with them. Since her lord's death there had been nights when her ladyship had satlate writing letters and reading documents pertaining to her estates, themanagement of which, though in a measure controlled by stewards andattorneys, was not left to them, as the business of most great ladies isgenerally left to others. All papers were examined by her, all leasesand agreements clearly understood before she signed them, and if therewere aught unsatisfactory, both stewards and lawyers were called to herpresence to explain. 

"Never did I--or any other man--meet with such a head upon a woman'sshoulders, " her attorney said. And the head steward of Dunstanwolde andHelversly learned to quake at the sight of her bold handwriting upon theoutside of a letter. 

"Such a lady!" he said--"such a lady! Lie to her if you can; palter ifyou know how; try upon her the smallest honest shrewd trick, and see howit fares with you. Were it not that she is generous as she is piercingof eye, no man could serve her and make an honest living. "

She went to her chamber and was attired again sumptuously for dinner. Before she descended she dismissed her woman for a space on some errand, and when she was alone, drawing near to her mirror, gazed steadfastlywithin it at her face. When she had read Osmonde's letter her cheeks hadglowed; but when she had come back to earth, and as she had sat under herwoman's hands at her toilette, bit by bit the crimson had died out as shehad thought of what was behind her and of what lay before. The thing wasso stiffly rigid by this time, and its eyes still stared so. Never hadshe needed to put red upon her cheeks before, Nature having stained themwith such richness of hue; but as no lady of the day was unprovided withher crimson, there was a little pot among her toilette ornaments whichcontained all that any emergency might require. She opened this smallreceptacle and took from it the red she for the first time was in wantof. 

"I must not wear a pale face, God knows, " she said, and rubbed the colouron her cheeks with boldness. 

It would have seemed that she wore her finest crimson when she went forthfull dressed from her apartment; little Nero grinned to see her, thelacqueys saying among themselves that his Grace's courier had surelybrought good news, and that they might expect his master soon. At thedinner-table 'twas Anne who was pale and ate but little, she having putno red upon her cheeks, and having no appetite for what was spread beforeher. She looked strangely as though she were withered and shrunken, andher face seemed even wrinkled. My lady had small leaning towards food, but she sent no food away untouched, forcing herself to eat, and lettingnot the talk flag--though it was indeed true that 'twas she herself whotalked, Mistress Anne speaking rarely; but as it was always her way to besilent, and a listener rather than one who conversed, this was notgreatly noticeable. 

Her Ladyship of Dunstanwolde talked of her guests of the afternoon, andwas charming and witty in her speech of them; she repeated the _mots_ ofthe wits, and told some brilliant stories of certain modish ladies andgentlemen of fashion; she had things to say of statesmen and politics, and was sparkling indeed in speaking of the lovely languisher whoselittle wrist was too delicate and slender to support the loaded whip. While she talked, Mistress Anne's soft, dull eyes were fixed upon herwith a sort of wonder which had some of the quality of bewilderment; butthis was no new thing either, for to the one woman the other was eversomething to marvel at. 

"It is because you are so quiet a mouse, Anne, " my lady said, with herdazzling smile, "that you seem never in the way; and yet I should missyou if I knew you were not within the house. When the duke takes me toCamylotte you must be with me even then. It is so great a house that init I can find you a bower in which you can be happy even if you see usbut little. 'Tis a heavenly place I am told, and of great splendour andbeauty. The park and flower-gardens are the envy of all England. "

"You--will be very happy, sister, " said Anne, "and--and like a queen. "

"Yes, " was her sister's answer--"yes. " And 'twas spoken with a deep in-drawn breath. 

After the repast was ended she went back to the Panelled Parlour. 

"You may sit with me till bedtime if you desire, Anne, " she said; "but'twill be but dull for you, as I go to sit at work. I have somedocuments of import to examine and much writing to do. I shall sit uplate. " And upon this she turned to the lacquey holding open the door forher passing through. "If before half-past ten there comes a message fromSir John Oxon, " she gave order, "it must be brought to me at once; butlater I must not be disturbed--it will keep until morning. "

Yet as she spoke there was before her as distinct a picture as ever ofwhat lay waiting and gazing in the room to which she went. 

Until twelve o'clock she sat at her table, a despatch box by her side, papers outspread before her. Within three feet of her was the divan, butshe gave no glance to it, sitting writing, reading, and comparingdocuments. At twelve o'clock she rose and rang the bell. 

"I shall be later than I thought, " she said. "I need none of you who arebelow stairs. Go you all to bed. Tell my woman that she also may liedown. I will ring when I come to my chamber and have need of her. Thereis yet no message from Sir John?"

"None, my lady, " the man answered. 

He went away with a relieved countenance, as she made no comment. Heknew that his fellows as well as himself would be pleased enough to bereleased from duty for the night. They were a pampered lot, and had nofancy for late hours when there were no great entertainments being heldwhich pleased them and gave them chances to receive vails. 

Mistress Anne sat in a large chair, huddled into a small heap, andlooking colourless and shrunken. As she heard bolts being shot and barsput up for the closing of the house, she knew that her own dismissal wasat hand. Doors were shut below stairs, and when all was done the silenceof night reigned as it does in all households when those who work havegone to rest. 'Twas a common thing enough, and yet this night there wasone woman who felt the stillness so deep that it made her breathing seema sound too loud. 

"Go to bed, Anne, " she said. "You have stayed up too long. "

Anne arose from her chair and drew near to her. 

"Sister, " said she, as she had said before, "let me stay. "

She was a poor weak creature, and so she looked with her paleinsignificant face and dull eyes, a wisp of loose hair lying damp on herforehead. She seemed indeed too weak a thing to stand even for a momentin the way of what must be done this night, and 'twas almost irritatingto be stopped by her. 

"Nay, " said my Lady Dunstanwolde, her beautiful brow knitting as shelooked at her. "Go to your chamber, Anne, and to sleep. I must do mywork, and finish to-night what I have begun. "

"But--but--" Anne stammered, dominated again, and made afraid, as sheever was, by this strong nature, "in this work you must finish--is therenot something I could do to--aid you--even in some small and poor way. Isthere--naught?"

"Naught, " answered Clorinda, her form drawn to its great full height, herlustrous eyes darkening. "What should there be that you couldunderstand?"

"Not some small thing--not some poor thing?" Anne said, her fingersnervously twisting each other, so borne down was she by her awfultimorousness, for awful it was indeed when she saw clouds gather on hersister's brow. "I have so loved you, sister--I have so loved you that mymind is quickened somehow at times, and I can understand more than wouldbe thought--when I hope to serve you. Once you said--once you said--"

She knew not then nor ever afterwards how it came to pass that in thatmoment she found herself swept into her sister's white arms and strainedagainst her breast, wherein she felt the wild heart bounding; nor couldshe, not being given to subtle reasoning, have comprehended the almostfierce kiss on her cheek nor the hot drops that wet it. 

"I said that I believed that if you saw me commit murder, " Clorindacried, "you would love me still, and be my friend and comforter. "

"I would, I would!" cried Anne. 

"And I believe your word, poor, faithful soul--I do believe it, " my ladysaid, and kissed her hard again, but the next instant set her free andlaughed. "But you will not be put to the test, " she said, "for I havedone none. And in two days' time my Gerald will be here, and I shall besafe--saved and happy for evermore--for evermore. There, leave me! Iwould be alone and end my work. "

And she went back to her table and sat beside it, taking her pen towrite, and Anne knew that she dare say no more, and turning, went slowlyfrom the room, seeing for her last sight as she passed through thedoorway, the erect and splendid figure at its task, the light from thecandelabras shining upon the rubies round the snow-white neck andwreathed about the tower of raven hair like lines of crimson. 

CHAPTER XIX--A piteous story is told, and the old cellars walled in

It is, indeed, strangely easy in the great world for a man to lose hisimportance, and from having been the target for all eyes and the subjectof all conversation, to step from his place, or find it so taken by somerival that it would seem, judging from the general obliviousness to him, that he had never existed. But few years before no fashionable gatheringwould have been felt complete had it not been graced by the presence ofthe young and fascinating Lovelace, Sir John Oxon. Women favoured him, and men made themselves his boon companions; his wit was repeated; thefashion of his hair and the cut of his waistcoat copied. He was at firstrich and gay enough to be courted and made a favourite; but when hisfortune was squandered, and his marriage with the heiress came to naught, those qualities which were vicious and base in him were more easy to beseen. Besides, there came new male beauties and new dandies with greaterresources and more of prudence, and these, beginning to set fashion, winladies' hearts, and make conquests, so drew the attention of the publicmind that he was less noticeable, being only one of many, instead ofruling singly as it had seemed that by some strange chance he did atfirst. There were indeed so many stories told of his light ways, thattheir novelty being worn off and new ones still repeated, such persons asconcerned themselves with matters of reputation either through conscienceor policy, began to speak of him with less of warmth or leniency. 

"'Tis not well for a matron with daughters to marry and with sons to keepan eye to, " it was said, "to have in her household too often a younggentleman who has squandered his fortune in dice and drink and wildliving, and who 'twas known was cast off by a reputable young lady offortune. "

So there were fine ladies who began to avoid him, and those in power atCourt and in the world who regarded him with lessening favour day by day!In truth, he had such debts, and his creditors pressed him soceaselessly, that even had the world's favour continued, his life musthave changed its aspect greatly. His lodgings were no longer the mostluxurious in the fashionable part of the town, his brocades and laceswere no longer of the richest, nor his habit of the very latest and mostmodish cut; he had no more an equipage attracting every eye as he droveforth, nor a gentleman's gentleman whose swagger and pomp outdid that ofall others in his world. Soon after the breaking of his marriage withthe heiress, his mother had died, and his relatives being few, and thoseof an order strictly averse to the habits of ill-provided and extravagantkinsmen, he had but few family ties. Other ties he had, 'twas true, butthey were not such as were accounted legal or worthy of attention eitherby himself or those related to him. 

So it befell that when my Lady Dunstanwolde's lacquey could not find himat his lodgings, and as the days went past neither his landlady nor hiscreditors beheld him again, his absence from the scene was not consideredunaccountable by them, nor did it attract the notice it would have donein times gone by. 

"He hath made his way out of England to escape us, " said the angrytailors and mercers--who had besieged his door in vain for months, andwho were now infuriated at the thought of their own easiness and theimpudent gay airs which had befooled them. "A good four hundred poundsof mine hath he carried with him, " said one. "And two hundred of mine!""And more of mine, since I am a poor man to whom a pound means twentyguineas!" "We are all robbed, and he has cheated the debtors' prison, wherein, if we had not been fools, he would have been clapped six monthsago. "

"Think ye he will not come back, gentlemen?" quavered his landlady. "Godknows when I have seen a guinea of his money--but he was such a handsome, fine young nobleman, and had such a way with a poor body, and ever asmile and a chuck o' the chin for my Jenny. "

"Look well after poor Jenny if he hath left her behind, " said the tailor. 

He did not come back, indeed; and hearing the rumour that he had fled hiscreditors, the world of fashion received the news with small disturbance, all modish persons being at that time much engaged in discussion of theapproaching nuptials of her ladyship of Dunstanwolde and the Duke ofOsmonde. Close upon the discussions of the preparations came thenuptials themselves, and then all the town was agog, and had smallleisure to think of other things. For those who were bidden to theceremonials and attendant entertainments, there were rich habits andsplendid robes to be prepared; and to those who had not been bidden, there were bitter disappointments and thwarted wishes to think of. 

"Sir John Oxon has fled England to escape seeing and hearing it all, " wassaid. 

"He has fled to escape something more painful than the spleen, " othersanswered. "He had reached his rope's end, and finding that my LadyDunstanwolde was not of a mind to lengthen it with her fortune, havingtaken a better man, and that his creditors would have no more patience, he showed them a light pair of heels. "

Before my Lady Dunstanwolde left her house she gave orders that it be setin order for closing for some time, having it on her mind that she shouldnot soon return. It was, however, to be left in such condition that atany moment, should she wish to come to it, all could be made ready in twodays' time. To this end various repairs and changes she had planned wereto be carried out as soon as she went away from it. Among other thingswas the closing with brickwork of the entrance to the passage leading tothe unused cellars. 

"'Twill make the servants' part more wholesome and less damp anddraughty, " she said; "and if I should sell the place, will be to itsadvantage. 'Twas a builder with little wit who planned such passages andblack holes. In spite of all the lime spread there, they were evermouldy and of evil odour. "

It was her command that there should be no time lost, and men were set atwork, carrying bricks and mortar. It so chanced that one of them, goingin through a back entrance with a hod over his shoulder, and being youngand lively, found his eye caught by the countenance of a pretty, frightened-looking girl, who seemed to be loitering about watching, as ifcurious or anxious. Seeing her near each time he passed, and observingthat she wished to speak, but was too timid, he addressed her--

"Would you know aught, mistress?" he said. 

She drew nearer gratefully, and then he saw her eyes were red as if withweeping. 

"Think you her ladyship would let a poor girl speak a word with her?" shesaid. "Think you I dare ask so much of a servant--or would they flout meand turn me from the door? Have you seen her? Does she look like ahard, shrewish lady?"

"That she does not, though all stand in awe of her, " he answered, pleasedto talk with so pretty a creature. "I but caught a glimpse of her whenshe gave orders concerning the closing with brick of a passage-way below. She is a tall lady, and grand and stately, but she hath a soft pair ofeyes as ever man would wish to look into, be he duke or ditcher. "

The tears began to run down the girl's cheeks. 

"Ay!" she said; "all men love her, they say. Many a poor girl'ssweetheart has been false through her--and I thought she was cruel andill-natured. Know you the servants that wait on her? Would you dare toask one for me, if he thinks she would deign to see a poor girl who wouldcrave the favour to be allowed to speak to her of--of a gentleman sheknows?"

"They are but lacqueys, and I would dare to ask what was in my mind, " heanswered; "but she is near her wedding-day, and little as I know ofbrides' ways, I am of the mind that she will not like to be troubled. "

"That I stand in fear of, " she said; "but, oh! I pray you, ask some oneof them--a kindly one. "

The young man looked aside. "Luck is with you, " he said. "Here comesone now to air himself in the sun, having naught else to do. Here is ayoung woman who would speak with her ladyship, " he said to the strappingpowdered fellow. 

"She had best begone, " the lacquey answered, striding towards theapplicant. "Think you my lady has time to receive traipsing wenches. "

"'Twas only for a moment I asked, " the girl said. "I come from--I wouldspeak to her of--of Sir John Oxon--whom she knows. "

The man's face changed. It was Jenfry. 

"Sir John Oxon, " he said. "Then I will ask her. Had you said any othername I would not have gone near her to-day. "

Her ladyship was in her new closet with Mistress Anne, and there thelacquey came to her to deliver his errand. 

"A country-bred young woman, your ladyship, " he said, "comes from SirJohn Oxon--"

"From Sir John Oxon!" cried Anne, starting in her chair. 

My Lady Dunstanwolde made no start, but turned a steady countenancetowards the door, looking into the lacquey's face. 

"Then he hath returned?" she said. 

"Returned!" said Anne. 

"After the morning he rode home with me, " my lady answered, "'twas saidhe went away. He left his lodgings without warning. It seems he hathcome back. What does the woman want?" she ended. 

"To speak with your ladyship, " replied the man, "of Sir John himself, shesays. "

"Bring her to me, " her ladyship commanded. 

The girl was brought in, overawed and trembling. She was a country-bredyoung creature, as the lacquey had said, being of the simple rose-and-white freshness of seventeen years perhaps, and having childish blue eyesand fair curling locks. 

She was so frightened by the grandeur of her surroundings, and thesplendid beauty of the lady who was so soon to be a duchess, and wasalready a great earl's widow, that she could only stand within thedoorway, curtseying and trembling, with tears welling in her eyes. 

"Be not afraid, " said my Lady Dunstanwolde. "Come hither, child, andtell me what you want. " Indeed, she did not look a hard or shrewishlady; she spoke as gently as woman could, and a mildness so unexpectedproduced in the young creature such a revulsion of feeling that she madea few steps forward and fell upon her knees, weeping, and with upliftedhands. 

"My lady, " she said, "I know not how I dared to come, but that I am sodesperate--and your ladyship being so happy, it seemed--it seemed thatyou might pity me, who am so helpless and know not what to do. "

Her ladyship leaned forward in her chair, her elbow on her knee, her chinheld in her hand, to gaze at her. 

"You come from Sir John Oxon?" she said. 

Anne, watching, clutched each arm of her chair. 

"Not _from_ him, asking your ladyship's pardon, " said the child, "but--but--from the country to him, " her head falling on her breast, "andI know not where he is. "

"You came _to_ him, " asked my lady. "Are you, " and her speech waspitiful and slow--"are you one of those whom he has--ruined?"

The little suppliant looked up with widening orbs. 

"How could that be, and he so virtuous and pious a gentleman?" shefaltered. 

Then did my lady rise with a sudden movement. 

"Was he so?" says she. 

"Had he not been, " the child answered, "my mother would have been afraidto trust him. I am but a poor country widow's daughter, but was wellbrought up, and honestly--and when he came to our village my mother wasafraid, because he was a gentleman; but when she saw his piety, and howhe went to church and sang the psalms and prayed for grace, she let melisten to him. "

"Did he go to church and sing and pray at first?" my lady asks. 

"'Twas in church he saw me, your ladyship, " she was answered. "He said'twas his custom to go always when he came to a new place, and that oftenthere he found the most heavenly faces, for 'twas piety and innocencethat made a face like to an angel's; and 'twas innocence and virtuestirred his heart to love, and not mere beauty which so fades. "

"Go on, innocent thing, " my lady said; and she turned aside to Anne, flashing from her eyes unseen a great blaze, and speaking in a low andhurried voice. "God's house, " she said--"God's prayers--God's songs ofpraise--he used them all to break a tender heart, and bring an innocentlife to ruin--and yet was he not struck dead?"

Anne hid her face and shuddered. 

"He was a gentleman, " the poor young thing cried, sobbing--"and I no fitmatch for him, but that he loved me. 'Tis said love makes all equal; andhe said I was the sweetest, innocent young thing, and without me he couldnot live. And he told my mother that he was not rich or the fashion now, and had no modish friends or relations to flout any poor beauty he mightchoose to wed. "

"And he would marry you?" my lady's voice broke in. "He said that hewould marry you?"

"A thousand times, your ladyship, and so told my mother, but said I mustcome to town and be married at his lodgings, or 'twould not be counted amarriage by law, he being a town gentleman, and I from the country. "

"And you came, " said Mistress Anne, down whose pale cheeks the tears wererunning--"you came at his command to follow him?"

"What day came you up to town?" demands my lady, breathless and leaningforward. "Went you to his lodgings, and stayed you there with him, --evenfor an hour?"

The poor child gazed at her, paling. 

"He was not there!" she cried. "I came alone because he said all must besecret at first; and my heart beat so with joy, my lady, that when thewoman of the house whereat he lodges let me in I scarce could speak. Butshe was a merry woman and good-natured, and only laughed and cheered mewhen she took me to his rooms, and I sate trembling. "

"What said she to you?" my lady asks, her breast heaving with her breath. 

"That he was not yet in, but that he would sure come to such a young andpretty thing as I, and I must wait for him, for he would not forgive herif she let me go. And the while I waited there came a man in bands andcassock, but he had not a holy look, and late in the afternoon I heardhim making jokes with the woman outside, and they both laughed in such anevil way that I was affrighted, and waiting till they had gone to anotherpart of the house, stole away. "

"But he came not back that night--thank God!" my lady said--"he came notback. "

The girl rose from her knees, trembling, her hands clasped on her breast. 

"Why should your ladyship thank God?" she says, pure drops falling fromher eyes. "I am so humble, and had naught else but that great happiness, and it was taken away--and you thank God. "

Then drops fell from my lady's eyes also, and she came forward and caughtthe child's hand, and held it close and warm and strong, and yet with herfull lip quivering. 

"'Twas not that your joy was taken away that I thanked God, " said she. "Iam not cruel--God Himself knows that, and when He smites me 'twill not befor cruelty. I knew not what I said, and yet--tell me what did you then?Tell me?"

"I went to a poor house to lodge, having some little money he had givenme, " the simple young thing answered. "'Twas an honest house, thoughmean and comfortless. And the next day I went back to his lodgings toquestion, but he had not come, and I would not go in, though the womantried to make me enter, saying, Sir John would surely return soon, as hehad the day before rid with my Lady Dunstanwolde and been to her house;and 'twas plain he had meant to come to his lodgings, for her ladyshiphad sent her lacquey thrice with a message. "

The hand with which Mistress Anne sate covering her eyes began to shake. My lady's own hand would have shaken had she not been so strong acreature. 

"And he has not yet returned, then?" she asked. "You have not seen him?"

The girl shook her fair locks, weeping with piteous little sobs. 

"He has not, " she cried, "and I know not what to do--and the great townseems full of evil men and wicked women. I know not which way to turn, for all plot wrong against me, and would drag me down to shamefulness--andback to my poor mother I cannot go. "

"Wherefore not, poor child?" my lady asked her. 

"I have not been made an honest, wedded woman, and none would believe mystory, and--and he might come back. "

"And if he came back?" said her ladyship. 

At this question the girl slipped from her grasp and down upon her kneesagain, catching at her rich petticoat and holding it, her eyes searchingthe great lady's in imploring piteousness, her own streaming. 

"I love him, " she wept--"I love him so--I cannot leave the place where hemight be. He was so beautiful and grand a gentleman, and, sure, he lovedme better than all else--and I cannot thrust away from me that last nightwhen he held me to his breast near our cottage door, and the nightingalesang in the roses, and he spake such words to me. I lie and sob allnight on my hard pillow--I so long to see him and to hear his voice--andhearing he had been with you that last morning, I dared to come, prayingthat you might have heard him let drop some word that would tell me wherehe may be, for I cannot go away thinking he may come back longing forme--and I lose him and never see his face again. Oh! my lady, my lady, this place is so full of wickedness and fierce people--and dark kennelswhere crimes are done. I am affrighted for him, thinking he may havebeen struck some blow, and murdered, and hid away; and none will look forhim but one who loves him--who loves him. Could it be so?--could it be?You know the town's ways so well. I pray you, tell me--in God's name Ipray you!"

"God's mercy!" Anne breathed, and from behind her hands came stifledsobbing. My Lady Dunstanwolde bent down, her colour dying. 

"Nay, nay, " she said, "there has been no murder done--none! Hush, poorthing, hush thee. There is somewhat I must tell thee. "

She tried to raise her, but the child would not be raised, and clung toher rich robe, shaking as she knelt gazing upward. 

"It is a bitter thing, " my lady said, and 'twas as if her own eyes wereimploring. "God help you bear it--God help us all. He told me nothingof his journey. I knew not he was about to take it; but wheresoever hehas travelled, 'twas best that he should go. "

"Nay! nay!" the girl cried out--"to leave me helpless. Nay! it could notbe so. He loved me--loved me--as the great duke loves you!"

"He meant you evil, " said my lady, shuddering, "and evil he would havedone you. He was a villain--a villain who meant to trick you. Had Godstruck him dead that day, 'twould have been mercy to you. I knew himwell. "

The young thing gave a bitter cry and fell swooning at her feet; and downupon her knees my lady went beside her, loosening her gown, and chafingher poor hands as though they two had been of sister blood. 

"Call for hartshorn, Anne, and for water, " she said; "she will come outof her swooning, poor child, and if she is cared for kindly in time herpain will pass away. God be thanked she knows no pain that cannot pass!I will protect her--ay, that will I, as I will protect all he hath donewrong to and deserted. "

* * * * *

She was so strangely kind through the poor victim's swoons and weepingthat the very menials who were called to aid her went back to their hallwondering in their talk of the noble grandness of so great a lady, who onthe very brink of her own joy could stoop to protect and comfort acreature so far beneath her, that to most ladies her sorrow and desertionwould have been things which were too trivial to count; for 'twasguessed, and talked over with great freedom and much shrewdness, thatthis was a country victim of Sir John Oxon's, and he having deserted hiscreditors, was read enough to desert his rustic beauty, finding her heavyon his hands. 

Below stairs the men closing the entrance to the passage with brick, having caught snatches of the servants' gossip, talked of what they heardamong themselves as they did their work. 

"Ay, a noble lady indeed, " they said. "For 'tis not a woman's way to bekindly with the cast-off fancy of a man, even when she does not want himherself. He was her own worshipper for many a day, Sir John; and beforeshe took the old earl 'twas said that for a space people believed sheloved him. She was but fifteen and a high mettled beauty; and he ashandsome as she, and had a blue eye that would melt any woman--but atsixteen he was a town rake, and such tricks as this one he hath playedsince he was a lad. 'Tis well indeed for this poor thing her ladyshiphath seen her. She hath promised to protect her, and sends her down toDunstanwolde with her mother this very week. Would all fine ladies wereof her kind. To hear such things of her puts a man in the humour to doher work well. "

CHAPTER XX--A noble marriage

When the duke came back from France, and to pay his first eager visit tohis bride that was to be, her ladyship's lacqueys led him not to thePanelled Parlour, but to a room which he had not entered before, it beingone she had had the fancy to have remodelled and made into a beautifulcloset for herself, her great wealth rendering it possible for her toaccomplish changes without the loss of time the owners of limited pursesare subjected to in the carrying out of plans. This room she had made asunlike the Panelled Parlour as two rooms would be unlike one another. Itspanellings were white, its furnishings were bright and delicate, itsdraperies flowered with rosebuds tied in clusters with love-knots of pinkand blue; it had a large bow-window, through which the sunlight streamed, and it was blooming with great rose-bowls overrunning with sweetness. 

From a seat in the morning sunshine among the flowers and plants in thebow-window, there rose a tall figure in a snow-white robe--a figure likethat of a beautiful stately girl who was half an angel. It was my lady, who came to him with blushing cheeks and radiant shining eyes, and wasswept into his arms in such a passion of love and blessed tenderness asHeaven might have smiled to see. 

"My love! my love!" he breathed. "My life! my life and soul!"

"My Gerald!" she cried. "My Gerald--let me say it on your breast athousand times!"

"My wife!" he said--"so soon my wife and all my own until life's end. "

"Nay, nay, " she cried, her cheek pressed to his own, "through alleternity, for Love's life knows no end. "

As it had seemed to her poor lord who had died, so it seemed to this manwho lived and so worshipped her--that the wonder of her sweetness was athing to marvel at with passionate reverence. Being a man of greatermind and poetic imagination than Dunstanwolde, and being himself adoredby her, as that poor gentleman had not had the good fortune to be, he hadten thousand-fold the power and reason to see the tender radiance of her. As she was taller than other women, so her love seemed higher andgreater, and as free from any touch of earthly poverty of feeling as herbeauty was from any flaw. In it there could be no doubt, no pride; itcould be bounded by no limit, measured by no rule, its depths sounded byno plummet. 

His very soul was touched by her great longing to give to him thefeeling, and to feel herself, that from the hour that she had become his, her past life was a thing blotted out. 

"I am a new created thing, " she said; "until you called me 'Love' I hadno life! All before was darkness. 'Twas you, my Gerald, who said, 'Letthere be light, and there was light. '"

"Hush, hush, sweet love, " he said. "Your words would make me too nearGod's self. "

"Sure Love is God, " she cried, her hands upon his shoulders, her faceuplifted. "What else? Love we know; Love we worship and kneel to; Loveconquers us and gives us Heaven. Until I knew it, I believed naught. NowI kneel each night and pray, and pray, but to be pardoned and madeworthy. "

Never before, it was true, had she knelt and prayed, but from this timeno nun in her convent knelt oftener or prayed more ardently, and herprayer was ever that the past might be forgiven her, the future blessed, and she taught how to so live that there should be no faintest shadow inthe years to come. 

"I know not What is above me, " she said. "I cannot lie and say I love Itand believe, but if there is aught, sure It must be a power which isgreat, else had the world not been so strange a thing, and I--and thosewho live in it--and if He made us, He must know He is to blame when Hehas made us weak or evil. And He must understand why we have been somade, and when we throw ourselves into the dust before Him, and pray forhelp and pardon, surely--surely He will lend an ear! We know naught, wehave been told naught; we have but an old book which has been handed downthrough strange hands and strange tongues, and may be but poor history. We have so little, and we are threatened so; but for love's sake I willpray the poor prayers we are given, and for love's sake there is no dusttoo low for me to lie in while I plead. "

This was the strange truth--though 'twas not so strange if the worldfeared not to admit such things--that through her Gerald, who was butnoble and high-souled man, she was led to bow before God's throne as thehumblest and holiest saint bows, though she had not learned belief andonly had learned love. 

"But life lasts so short a while, " she said to Osmonde. "It seems soshort when it is spent in such joy as this; and when the day comes--for, oh! Gerald, my soul sees it already--when the day comes that I kneel byyour bedside and see your eyes close, or you kneel by mine, it _must_ bethat the one who waits behind shall know the parting is not all. "

"It could not be all, beloved, " Osmonde said. "Love is sure, eternal. "

Often in these blissful hours her way was almost like a child's, she wasso tender and so clinging. At times her beauteous, great eyes were fullof an imploring which made them seem soft with tears, and thus they werenow as she looked up at him. 

"I will do all I can, " she said. "I will obey every law, I will prayoften and give alms, and strive to be dutiful and--holy, that in the endHe will not thrust me from you; that I may stay near--even in the lowestplace, even in the lowest--that I may see your face and know that you seemine. We are so in His power, He can do aught with us; but I will soobey Him and so pray that He will let me in. "

To Anne she went with curious humility, questioning her as to herreligious duties and beliefs, asking her what books she read, and whatservices she attended. 

"All your life you have been a religious woman, " she said. "I used tothink it folly, but now--"

"But now--" said Anne. 

"I know not what to think, " she answered. "I would learn. "

But when she listened to Anne's simple homilies, and read her weightysermons, they but made her restless and unsatisfied. 

"Nay, 'tis not that, " she said one day, with a deep sigh. "'Tis morethan that; 'tis deeper, and greater, and your sermons do not hold it. They but set my brain to questioning and rebellion. "

But a short time elapsed before the marriage was solemnised, and such awedding the world of fashion had not taken part in for years, 'twas said. Royalty honoured it; the greatest of the land were proud to countthemselves among the guests; the retainers, messengers, and company ofthe two great houses were so numerous that in the west end of the townthe streets wore indeed quite a festal air, with the passing to and froof servants and gentlefolk with favours upon their arms. 

'Twas to the Tower of Camylott, the most beautiful and remote of thebridegroom's several notable seats, that they removed their household, when the irksomeness of the extended ceremonies and entertainments wereover--for these they were of too distinguished rank to curtail as lesserpersonages might have done. But when all things were over, the statelytown houses closed, and their equipages rolled out beyond the sight oftown into the country roads, the great duke and his great duchess sathand in hand, gazing into each other's eyes with as simple and ardent ajoy as they had been but young 'prentice and country maid, flying to hidefrom the world their love. 

"There is no other woman who is so like a queen, " Osmonde said, withtenderest smiling. "And yet your eyes wear a look so young in these daysthat they are like a child's. In all their beauty, I have never seenthem so before. "

"It is because I am a new created thing, as I have told you, love, " sheanswered, and leaned towards him. "Do you not know I never was a child. I bring myself to you new born. Make of me then what a woman shouldbe--to be beloved of husband and of God. Teach me, my Gerald. I am yourchild and servant. "

'Twas ever thus, that her words when they were such as these were endedupon his breast as she was swept there by his impassioned arm. She wasso goddess-like and beautiful a being, her life one strangely dominantand brilliant series of triumphs, and yet she came to him with suchsoftness and humility of passion, that scarcely could he think himself awaking man. 

"Surely, " he said, "it is a thing too wondrous and too full of joy'ssplendour to be true. "

In the golden afternoon, when the sun was deepening and mellowing towardsits setting, they and their retinue entered Camylott. The bells pealedfrom the grey belfry of the old church; the villagers came forth in cleansmocks and Sunday cloaks of scarlet, and stood in the street and by theroadside curtseying and baring their heads with rustic cheers; littlecountry girls with red cheeks threw posies before the horses' feet, andinto the equipage itself when they were of the bolder sort. Theirchariot passed beneath archways of flowers and boughs, and from thebattlements of the Tower of Camylott there floated a flag in the softwind. 

"God save your Graces, " the simple people cried. "God give your Gracesjoy and long life! Lord, what a beautiful pair they be. And though herGrace was said to be a proud lady, how sweetly she smiles at a poor body. God love ye, madam! Madam, God love ye!"

Her Grace of Osmonde leaned forward in her equipage and smiled at thepeople with the face of an angel. 

"I will teach them to love me, Gerald, " she said. "I have not had loveenough. "

"Has not all the world loved you?" he said. 

"Nay, " she answered, "only you, and Dunstanwolde and Anne. "

Late at night they walked together on the broad terrace before the Tower. The blue-black vault of heaven above them was studded with myriads ofGod's brilliants; below them was spread out the beauty of the land, therolling plains, the soft low hills, the forests and moors folded andhidden in the swathing robe of the night; from the park and gardensfloated upward the freshness of acres of thick sward and deep fernthicket, the fragrance of roses and a thousand flowers, the tendersighing of the wind through the huge oaks and beeches bordering theavenues, and reigning like kings over the seeming boundless grassyspaces. 

As lovers have walked since the days of Eden they walked together, nolonger duke and duchess, but man and woman--near to Paradise as humanbeings may draw until God breaks the chain binding them to earth; and, indeed, it would seem that such hours are given to the straining humansoul that it may know that somewhere perfect joy must be, since sometimesthe gates are for a moment opened that Heaven's light may shine through, so that human eyes may catch glimpses of the white and golden glorieswithin. 

His arm held her, she leaned against him, their slow steps so harmonisingthe one with the other that they accorded with the harmony of music; thenightingales trilling and bubbling in the rose trees were not affrightedby the low murmur of their voices; perchance, this night they were sonear to Nature that the barriers were o'erpassed, and they and thesingers were akin. 

"Oh! to be a woman, " Clorinda murmured. "To be a woman at last. Allother things I have been, and have been called 'Huntress, ' 'Goddess, ''Beauty, ' 'Empress, ' 'Conqueror, '--but never 'Woman. ' And had our pathsnot crossed, I think I never could have known what 'twas to be one, forto be a woman one must close with the man who is one's mate. It must notbe that one looks down, or only pities or protects and guides; and onlyto a few a mate seems given. And I--Gerald, how dare I walk thus at yourside and feel your heart so beat near mine, and know you love me, and soworship you--so worship you--"

She turned and threw herself upon his breast, which was so near. 

"Oh, woman! woman!" he breathed, straining her close. "Oh, woman who ismine, though I am but man. "

"We are but one, " she said; "one breath, one soul, one thought, and onedesire. Were it not so, I were not woman and your wife, nor you man andmy soul's lover as you are. If it were not so, we were still apart, though we were wedded a thousand times. Apart, what are we but likelopped-off limbs; welded together, we are--_this_. " And for a momentthey spoke not, and a nightingale on the rose vine, clambering o'er theterrace's balustrade, threw up its little head and sang as if to themyriads of golden stars. They stood and listened, hand in hand, hersweet breast rose and fell, her lovely face was lifted to the bespangledsky. 

"Of all this, " she said, "I am a part, as I am a part of you. To-night, as the great earth throbs, and as the stars tremble, and as the windsighs, so I, being woman, throb and am tremulous and sigh also. Theearth lives for the sun, and through strange mysteries blooms forth eachseason with fruits and flowers; love is my sun, and through itssacredness I may bloom too, and be as noble as the earth and that itbears. "

CHAPTER XXI--An heir is born

In a fair tower whose windows looked out upon spreading woods, and richlovely plains stretching to the freshness of the sea, Mistress Anne hadher abode which her duchess sister had given to her for her own living inas she would. There she dwelt and prayed and looked on the new lifewhich so beauteously unfolded itself before her day by day, as the leavesof a great tree unfold from buds and become noble branches, housing birdsand their nests, shading the earth and those sheltering beneath them, braving centuries of storms. 

To this simile her simple mind oft reverted, for indeed it seemed to herthat naught more perfect and more noble in its high likeness to pureNature and the fulfilling of God's will than the passing days of thesetwo lives could be. 

"As the first two lived--Adam and Eve in their garden of Eden--they seemto me, " she used to say to her own heart; "but the Tree of Knowledge wasnot forbidden them, and it has taught them naught ignoble. "

As she had been wont to watch her sister from behind the ivy of herchamber windows, so she often watched her now, though there was no fearin her hiding, only tenderness, it being a pleasure to her full of wonderand reverence to see this beautiful and stately pair go lovingly and inhigh and gentle converse side by side, up and down the terrace, throughthe paths, among the beds of flowers, under the thick branched trees andover the sward's softness. 

"It is as if I saw Love's self, and dwelt with it--the love God's naturemade, " she said, with gentle sighs. 

For if these two had been great and beauteous before, it seemed in thesedays as if life and love glowed within them, and shone through their merebodies as a radiant light shines through alabaster lamps. The strengthof each was so the being of the other that no thought could take form inthe brain of one without the other's stirring with it. 

"Neither of us dare be ignoble, " Osmonde said, "for 'twould make poor andbase the one who was not so in truth. "

"'Twas not the way of my Lady Dunstanwolde to make a man feel that hestood in church, " a frivolous court wit once said, "but in sooth herGrace of Osmonde has a look in her lustrous eyes which accords not withscandalous stories and playhouse jests. "

And true it was that when they went to town they carried with them theillumining of the pure fire which burned within their souls, and bore itall unknowing in the midst of the trivial or designing world, which knewnot what it was that glowed about them, making things bright which hadseemed dull, and revealing darkness where there had been brilliant glare. 

They returned not to the house which had been my Lord of Dunstanwolde's, but went to the duke's own great mansion, and there lived splendidly andin hospitable state. Royalty honoured them, and all the wits came there, some of those gentlemen who writ verses and dedications being by no meansaverse to meeting noble lords and ladies, and finding in their loves andgraces material which might be useful. 'Twas not only Mr. Addison andMr. Steele, Dr. Swift and Mr. Pope, who were made welcome in the statelyrooms, but others who were more humble, not yet having won their spurs, and how these worshipped her Grace for the generous kindness which wasnot the fashion, until she set it, among great ladies, their odes andverses could scarce express. 

"They are so poor, " she said to her husband. "They are so poor, and yetin their starved souls there is a thing which can less bear flouting thanthe dull content which rules in others. I know not whether 'tis a curseor a boon to be born so. 'Tis a bitter thing when the bird that fluttersin them has only little wings. All the more should those who are strongprotect and comfort them. "

She comforted so many creatures. In strange parts of the town, where noother lady would have dared to go to give alms, it was rumoured that shewent and did noble things privately. In dark kennels, where thieves hidand vagrants huddled, she carried her beauty and her stateliness, thewhich when they shone on the poor rogues and victims housed there seemedlike the beams of the warm and golden sun. 

Once in a filthy hovel in a black alley she came upon a poor girl dyingof a loathsome ill, and as she stood by her bed of rags she heard in herdelirium the uttering of one man's name again and again, and when shequestioned those about she found that the sufferer had been a littlecountry wench enticed to town by this man for a plaything, and in a fewweeks cast off to give birth to a child in the almshouse, and then godown to the depths of vice in the kennel. 

"What is the name she says?" her Grace asked the hag nearest to her, andleast maudlin with liquor. "I would be sure I heard it aright. "

"'Tis the name of a gentleman, your ladyship may be sure, " the beldamanswered; "'tis always the name of a gentleman. And this is one I knowwell, for I have heard more than one poor soul mumbling it and raving athim in her last hours. One there was, and I knew her, a pretty rosything in her country days, not sixteen, and distraught with love for him, and lay in the street by his door praying him to take her back when hethrew her off, until the watch drove her away. And she was so mad withlove and grief she killed her girl child when 'twas born i' the kennel, sobbing and crying that it should not live to be like her and bearothers. And she was condemned to death, and swung for it on Tyburn Tree. And, Lord! how she cried his name as she jolted on her coffin to thegallows, and when the hangman put the rope round her shuddering littlefair neck. 'Oh, John, ' screams she, 'John Oxon, God forgive thee! Nay, 'tis God should be forgiven for letting thee to live and me to die likethis. ' Aye, 'twas a bitter sight! She was so little and so young, andso affrighted. The hangman could scarce hold her. I was i' the midst o'the crowd and cried to her to strive to stand still, 'twould be thesooner over. But that she could not. 'Oh, John, ' she screams, 'JohnOxon, God forgive thee! Nay, 'tis God should be forgiven for lettingthee to live and me to die like this!'"

Till the last hour of the poor creature who lay before her when she heardthis thing, her Grace of Osmonde saw that she was tended, took her fromher filthy hovel, putting her in a decent house and going to her day byday, until she received her last breath, holding her hand while the poorwench lay staring up at her beauteous face and her great deep eyes, whoselustrousness held such power to sustain, protect, and comfort. 

"Be not afraid, poor soul, " she said, "be not afraid. I will stay nearthee. Soon all will end in sleep, and if thou wakest, sure there will beChrist who died, and wipes all tears away. Hear me say it to thee for aprayer, " and she bent low and said it soft and clear into the deadeningear, "He wipes all tears away--He wipes all tears away. "

The great strength she had used in the old days to conquer and subdue, towin her will and to defend her way, seemed now a power but to protect thesuffering and uphold the weak, and this she did, not alone in hovels butin the brilliant court and world of fashion, for there she foundsuffering and weakness also, all the more bitter and sorrowful since itdared not cry aloud. The grandeur of her beauty, the elevation of herrank, the splendour of her wealth would have made her a protector ofgreat strength, but that which upheld all those who turned to her wasthat which dwelt within the high soul of her, the courage and power oflove for all things human which bore upon itself, as if upon an eagle'soutspread wings, the woes dragging themselves broken and halting uponearth. The starving beggar in the kennel felt it, and, not knowingwherefore, drew a longer, deeper breath, as if of purer, more exaltedair; the poor poet in his garret was fed by it, and having stood near orspoken to her, went back to his lair with lightening eyes and soul warmedto believe that the words his Muse might speak the world might stay tohear. 

From the hour she stayed the last moments of John Oxon's victim she setherself a work to do. None knew it but herself at first, and later Anne, for 'twas done privately. From the hag who had told her of the poorgirl's hanging upon Tyburn Tree, she learned things by close questioning, which to the old woman's dull wit seemed but the curiousness of a greatlady, and from others who stood too deep in awe of her to think of her asa mere human being, she gathered clues which led her far in the tracingof the evils following one wicked, heartless life. Where she could hearof man, woman, or child on whom John Oxon's sins had fallen, or who hadsuffered wrong by him, there she went to help, to give light, to givecomfort and encouragement. Strangely, as it seemed to them, and as ifdone by the hand of Heaven, the poor tradesmen he had robbed were paidtheir dues, youth he had led into evil ways was checked mysteriously andset in better paths; women he had dragged downward were given aid andchance of peace or happiness; children he had cast upon the world, unfathered, and with no prospect but the education of the gutter, and alife of crime, were cared for by a powerful unseen hand. The prettycountry girl saved by his death, protected by her Grace, and livinginnocently at Dunstanwolde, memory being merciful to youth, forgot him, gained back her young roses, and learned to smile and hope as though hehad been but a name. 

"Since 'twas I who killed him, " said her Grace to her inward soul, "'tisI must live his life which I took from him, and making it better I may beforgiven--if there is One who dares to say to the poor thing He made, 'Iwill not forgive. '"

Surely it was said there had never been lives so beautiful and noble asthose the Duke of Osmonde and his lady lived as time went by. The Towerof Camylott, where they had spent the first months of their wedded life, they loved better than any other of their seats, and there they spent asmuch time as their duties of Court and State allowed them. It was indeeda splendid and beautiful estate, the stately tower being built upon aneminence, and there rolling out before it the most lovely land inEngland, moorland and hills, thick woods and broad meadows, the edge ofthe heather dipping to show the soft silver of the sea. 

Here was this beauteous woman chatelaine and queen, wife of her husbandas never before, he thought, had wife blessed and glorified the existenceof mortal man. All her great beauty she gave to him in tender, joyoustribute; all her great gifts of mind and wit and grace it seemed shevalued but as they were joys to him; in his stately households in townand country she reigned a lovely empress, adored and obeyed withreverence by every man or woman who served her and her lord. Among thepeople on his various estates she came and went a tender goddess ofbenevolence. When she appeared amid them in the first months of herwedded life, the humble souls regarded her with awe not unmixed withfear, having heard such wild stories of her youth at her father's house, and of her proud state and bitter wit in the great London world when shehad been my Lady Dunstanwolde; but when she came among them all else wasforgotten in their wonder at her graciousness and noble way. 

"To see her come into a poor body's cottage, so tall and grand a lady, and with such a carriage as she hath, " they said, hobnobbing together intheir talk of her, "looking as if a crown of gold should sit on her highblack head, and then to hear her gentle speech and see the look in hereyes as if she was but a simple new-married girl, full of her joy, andher heart big with the wish that all other women should be as happy asherself, it is, forsooth, a beauteous sight to see. "

"Ay, and no hovel too poor for her, and no man or woman too sinful, " wassaid again. 

"Heard ye how she found that poor wench of Haylits lying sobbing amongthe fern in the Tower woods, and stayed and knelt beside her to hear hertrouble? The poor soul has gone to ruin at fourteen, and her father, finding her out, beat her and thrust her from his door, and her Gracecoming through the wood at sunset--it being her way to walk about formere pleasure as though she had no coach to ride in--the girl says shecame through the golden glow as if she had been one of God's angels--andshe kneeled and took the poor wench in her arms--as strong as a man, Betty says, but as soft as a young mother--and she said to her thingssurely no mortal lady ever said before--that she knew naught of a suretyof what God's true will might be, or if His laws were those that havebeen made by man concerning marriage by priests saying common words, butthat she surely knew of a man whose name was Christ, and He had taughtlove and helpfulness and pity, and for His sake, He having earned ourtrust in Him, whether He was God or man, because He hung and died inawful torture on the Cross--for His sake all of us must love and help andpity--'I you, poor Betty, ' were her very words, 'and you me. ' And thenshe went to the girl's father and mother, and so talked to them that shebrought them to weeping, and begging Betty to come home; and also shewent to her sweetheart, Tom Beck, and made so tender a story to him ofthe poor pretty wench whose love for him had brought her to such trouble, that she stirred him up to falling in love again, which is not man's wayat such times, and in a week's time he and Betty went to church together, her Grace setting them up in a cottage on the estate. "

"I used all my wit and all my tenderest words to make a picture thatwould fire and touch him, Gerald, " her Grace said, sitting at herhusband's side, in a great window, from which they often watched thesunset in the valley spread below; "and that with which I am so strongsometimes--I know not what to call it, but 'tis a power people bend to, that I know--that I used upon him to waken his dull soul and brain. Whosefault is it that they are dull? Poor lout, he was born so, as I was bornstrong and passionate, and as you were born noble and pure and high. Iled his mind back to the past, when he had been made happy by the sightof Betty's little smiling, blushing face, and when he had kissed her andmade love in the hayfields. And this I said--though 'twas not a thing Ihave learned from any chaplain--that when 'twas said he should make anhonest woman of her, it was _my_ thought that she had been honest fromthe first, being too honest to know that the world was not so, and thateven the man a woman loved with all her soul, might be a rogue, and haveno honesty in him. And at last--'twas when I talked to him about thechild--and that I put my whole soul's strength in--he burst out a-cryinglike a schoolboy, and said indeed she was a fond little thing and hadloved him, and he had loved her, and 'twas a shame he had so done by her, and he had not meant it at the first, but she was so simple, and he hadbeen a villain, but if he married her now, he would be called a fool, andlaughed at for his pains. Then was I angry, Gerald, and felt my eyesflash, and I stood up tall and spoke fiercely: 'Let them dare, ' Isaid--'let any man or woman dare, and then will they see what his Gracewill say. '"

Osmonde drew her to his breast, laughing into her lovely eyes. 

"Nay, 'tis not his Grace who need be called on, " he said; "'tis her Gracethey love and fear, and will obey; though 'tis the sweetest, womanishthing that you should call on me when you are power itself, and can sorule all creatures you come near. "

"Nay, " she said, with softly pleading face, "let me not rule. Rule forme, or but help me; I so long to say your name that they may know I speakbut as your wife. "

"Who is myself, " he answered--"my very self. "

"Ay, " she said, with a little nod of her head, "that I know--that I amyourself; and 'tis because of this that one of us cannot be proud withthe other, for there is no other, there is only one. And I am wrong tosay, 'Let me not rule, ' for 'tis as if I said, 'You must not rule. ' Imeant surely, 'God give me strength to be as noble in ruling as our loveshould make me. ' But just as one tree is a beech and one an oak, just asthe grass stirs when the summer wind blows over it, so a woman is awoman, and 'tis her nature to find her joy in saying such words to theman who loves her, when she loves as I do. Her heart is so full that shemust joy to say her husband's name as that of one she cannot thinkwithout--who is her life as is her blood and her pulses beating. 'Tis ajoy to say your name, Gerald, as it will be a joy"--and she looked farout across the sun-goldened valley and plains, with a strange, heavenlysweet smile--"as it will be a joy to say our child's--and put his littlemouth to my full breast. "

"Sweet love, " he cried, drawing her by the hand that he might meet theradiance of her look--"heart's dearest!"

She did not withhold her lovely eyes from him, but withdrew them from thesunset's mist of gold, and the clouds piled as it were at the gates ofheaven, and they seemed to bring back some of the far-off glory withthem. Indeed, neither her smile nor she seemed at that moment to bethings of earth. She held out her fair, noble arms, and he sprang toher, and so they stood, side beating against side. 

"Yes, love, " she said--"yes, love--and I have prayed, my Gerald, that Imay give you sons who shall be men like you. But when I give you womenchildren, I shall pray with all my soul for them--that they may be justand strong and noble, and life begin for them as it began not for me. "

* * * * *

In the morning of a spring day when the cuckoos cried in the woods, andMay blossomed thick, white and pink, in all the hedges, the bells in thegrey church-steeple at Camylott rang out a joyous, jangling peal, tellingall the village that the heir had been born at the Tower. Childrenstopped in their play to listen, men at their work in field and barn;good gossips ran out of their cottage door, wiping their arms dry, fromtheir tubs and scrubbing-buckets, their honest red faces broadening intomaternal grins. 

"Ay, 'tis well over, that means surely, " one said to the other; "and ahappy day has begun for the poor lady--though God knows she bore herselfqueenly to the very last, as if she could have carried her burden foranother year, and blenched not a bit as other women do. Bless mother andchild, say I. "

"And 'tis an heir, " said another. "She promised us that we should knowalmost as quick as she did, and commanded old Rowe to ring a peal, andthen strike one bell loud between if 'twere a boy, and two if 'twere agirl child. 'Tis a boy, heard you, and 'twas like her wit to invent sucha way to tell us. "

In four other villages the chimes rang just as loud and merrily, and thewomen talked, and blessed her Grace and her young child, and casks of alewere broached, and oxen roasted, and work stopped, and dancers footed itupon the green. 

"Surely the new-born thing comes here to happiness, " 'twas saideverywhere, "for never yet was woman loved as is his mother. "

In her stately bed her Grace the duchess lay, with the face of the MotherMary, and her man-child drinking from her breast. The duke walked softlyup and down, so full of joy that he could not sit still. When he hadentered first, it was his wife's self who had sate upright in her bed, and herself laid his son within his arms. 

"None other shall lay him there, " she said, "I have given him to you. Heis a great child, but he has not taken from me my strength. "

He was indeed a great child, even at his first hour, of limbs andcountenance so noble that nurses and physicians regarded him amazed. Hewas the offspring of a great love, of noble bodies and great souls. Didsuch powers alone create human beings, the earth would be peopled with arace of giants. 

Amid the veiled spring sunshine and the flower-scented silence, brokenonly by the twittering of birds nesting in the ivy, her Grace lay softasleep, her son resting on her arm, when Anne stole to look at her andher child. Through the night she had knelt praying in her chamber, andnow she knelt again. She kissed the new-born thing's curled rose-leafhand and the lace frill of his mother's night-rail. She dared notfurther disturb them. 

"Sure God forgives, " she breathed--"for Christ's sake. He would not givethis little tender thing a punishment to bear. "

CHAPTER XXII--Mother Anne

There was no punishment. The tender little creature grew as a blossomgrows from bud to fairest bloom. His mother flowered as he, and spenther days in noble cherishing of him and tender care. Such motherhood andwifehood as were hers were as fair statues raised to Nature's self. 

"Once I thought that I was under ban, " she said to her lord in one oftheir sweetest hours; "but I have been given love and a life, and so Iknow it cannot be. Do I fill all your being, Gerald?"

"All, all!" he cried, "my sweet, sweet woman. "

"Leave I no longing unfulfilled, no duty undone, to you, dear love, tothe world, to human suffering I might aid? I pray Christ with allpassionate humbleness that I may not. "

"He grants your prayer, " he answered, his eyes moist with worshippingtenderness. 

"And this white soul given to me from the outer bounds we know not--ithas no stain; and the little human body it wakened to life in--think youthat Christ will help me to fold them in love high and pure enough, andteach the human body to do honour to its soul? 'Tis not monkish scorn ofitself that I would teach the body; it is so beautiful and noble a thing, and so full of the power of joy. Surely That which made it--in His ownimage--would not that it should despise itself and its own wonders, butdo them reverence, and rejoice in them nobly, knowing all their seasonsand their changes, counting not youth folly, and manhood sinful, or ageaught but gentle ripeness passing onward? I pray for a great soul, andgreat wit, and greater power to help this fair human thing to grow, andlove, and live. "

These had been born and had rested hid within her when she lay a babestruggling 'neath her dead mother's corpse. Through the darkness ofuntaught years they had grown but slowly, being so unfitly and unfairlynourished; but Life's sun but falling on her, they seemed to strive tofair fruition with her days. 

'Twas not mere love she gave her offspring--for she bore others as yearspassed, until she was the mother of four sons and two girls, children ofstrength and beauty as noted as her own; she gave them of her constantthought, and an honour of their humanity such as taught them reverence ofthemselves as of all other human things. Their love for her was such apassion as their father bore her. She was the noblest creature that theyknew; her beauty, her great unswerving love, her truth, were thingsbearing to their child eyes the unchangingness of God's stars in heaven. 

"Why is she not the Queen?" a younger one asked his father once, havingbeen to London and seen the Court. "The Queen is not so beautiful andgrand as she, and she could so well reign over the people. She is alwaysjust and honourable, and fears nothing. "

From her side Mistress Anne was rarely parted. In her fair retreat atCamylott she had lived a life all undisturbed by outward things. Whenthe children were born strange joy came to her. 

"Be his mother also, " the duchess had said when she had drawn the clothesaside to show her first-born sleeping in her arm. "You were made to bethe mother of things, Anne. "

"Nay, or they had been given to me, " Anne had answered. 

"Mine I will share with you, " her Grace had said, lifting her Madonnaface. "Kiss me, sister--kiss him, too, and bless him. Your life hasbeen so innocent it must be good that you should love and guard him. "

'Twas sweet to see the wit she showed in giving to poor Anne the feelingthat she shared her motherhood. She shared her tenderest cares andduties with her. Together they bathed and clad the child in the morning, this being their high festival, in which the nurses shared but in theperformance of small duties. Each day they played with him and laughedas women will at such dear times, kissing his grand round limbs, cryingout at their growth, worshipping his little rosy feet, and smothering himwith caresses. And then they put him to sleep, Anne sitting close whilehis mother fed him from her breast until his small red mouth parted andslowly released her. 

When he could toddle about and was beginning to say words, there was amorning when she bore him to Anne's tower that they might joy in himtogether, as was their way. It was a beautiful thing to see her walkcarrying him in the strong and lovely curve of her arm as if his sturdybabyhood were of no more weight than a rose, and he cuddling against her, clinging and crowing, his wide brown eyes shining with delight. 

"He has come to pay thee court, Anne, " she said. "He is a great gallant, and knows how we are his loving slaves. He comes to say his new wordthat I have taught him. "

She set him down where he stood holding to Anne's knee and showing hisnew pearl teeth, in a rosy grin; his mother knelt beside him, beginningher coaxing. 

"Who is she?" she said, pointing with her finger at Anne's face, her ownfull of lovely fear lest the child should not speak rightly his lesson. "What is her name? Mammy's man say--" and she mumbled softly with hercrimson mouth at his ear. 

The child looked up at Anne, with baby wit and laughter in his face, andstammered sweetly--

"Muz--Muzzer--Anne, " he said, and then being pleased with his cleverness, danced on his little feet and said it over and over. 

Clorinda caught him up and set him on Anne's lap. 

"Know you what he calls you?" she said. "'Tis but a mumble, his littletongue is not nimble enough for clearness, but he says it his prettybest. 'Tis Mother Anne, he says--'tis Mother Anne. "

And then they were in each other's arms, the child between them, hekissing both and clasping both, with little laughs of joy as if they werebut one creature. 

Each child born they clasped and kissed so, and were so clasped andkissed by; each one calling the tender unwed woman "Mother Anne, " andhaving a special lovingness for her, she being the creature each oneseemed to hover about with innocent protection and companionship. 

The wonder of Anne's life grew deeper to her hour by hour, and where shehad before loved, she learned to worship, for 'twas indeed worship thather soul was filled with. She could not look back and believe that shehad not dreamed a dream of all the fears gone by and that they held. This--this was true--the beauty of these days, the love of them, thegenerous deeds, the sweet courtesies, and gentle words spoken. Thisbeauteous woman dwelling in her husband's heart, giving him all joy oflife and love, ruling queenly and gracious in his house, bearing himnoble children, and tending them with the very genius of tenderness andwisdom. 

But in Mistress Anne herself life had never been strong; she was of thefibre of her mother, who had died in youth, crushed by its cruel weight, and to her, living had been so great and terrible a thing. There had notbeen given to her the will to battle with the Fate that fell to her, thebrain to reason and disentangle problems, or the power to set them aside. So while her Grace of Osmonde seemed but to gain greater state and beautyin her ripening, her sister's frail body grew more frail, and seemed toshrink and age. Yet her face put on a strange worn sweetness, and hersoft, dull eyes had a look almost like a saint's who looks at heaven. Sheprayed much, and did many charitable works both in town and country. Sheread her books of devotion, and went much to church, sitting with areverend face through many a dull and lengthy sermon she would have feltit sacrilegious to think of with aught but pious admiration. In themiddle of the night it was her custom to rise and offer up prayersthrough the dark hours. She was an humble soul who greatly feared andtrembled before her God. 

"I waken in the night sometimes, " the fair, tall child Daphne said onceto her mother, "and Mother Anne is there--she kneels and prays beside mybed. She kneels and prays so by each one of us many a night. "

"'Tis because she is so pious a woman and so loves us, " said young John, in his stately, generous way. The house of Osmonde had never had so fineand handsome a creature for its heir. He o'ertopped every boy of his agein height, and the bearing of his lovely youthful body was masculinegrace itself. 

The town and the Court knew these children, and talked of their beautyand growth as they had talked of their mother's. 

"To be the mate of such a woman, the father of such heirs, is a fate aman might pray God for, " 'twas said. "Love has not grown stale withthem. Their children are the very blossoms of it. Her eyes are deeperpools of love each year. "

CHAPTER XXIII--"In One who will do justice, and demands that it shall bedone to each thing He has made, by each who bears His image"

'Twas in these days Sir Jeoffry came to his end, it being in such way ashad been often prophesied; and when this final hour came, there was butone who could give him comfort, and this was the daughter whose youth hehad led with such careless evilness to harm. 

If he had wondered at her when she had been my Lady Dunstanwolde, as herGrace of Osmonde he regarded her with heavy awe. Never had she been ableto lead him to visit her at her house in town or at any other which washer home. "'Tis all too grand for me, your Grace, " he would say; "I am acountry yokel, and have hunted and drank, and lived too hard to look wellamong town gentlemen. I must be drunk at dinner, and when I am in liquorI am no ornament to a duchess's drawing-room. But what a woman you havegrown, " he would say, staring at her and shaking his head. "Each time Iclap eyes on you 'tis to marvel at you, remembering what a baggage youwere, and how you kept from slipping by the way. There was Jack Oxon, now, " he added one day--"after you married Dunstanwolde, I heard a prettytale of Jack--that he had made a wager among his friends in town--he wasa braggart devil, Jack--that he would have you, though you were soscornful; and knowing him to be a liar, his fellows said that unless hecould bring back a raven lock six feet long to show them, he had lost hisbet, for they would believe no other proof. And finely they scoffed athim when he came back saying that he had had one, but had hid it away forsafety when he was drunk, and could not find it again. They so floutedand jeered at him that swords were drawn, and blood as well. But thoughhe was a beauty and a crafty rake-hell fellow, you were too sharp forhim. Had you not had so shrewd a wit and strong a will, you would nothave been the greatest duchess in England, Clo, as well as the finestwoman. "

"Nay, " she answered--"in those days--nay, let us not speak of them! Iwould blot them out--out. "

As time went by, and the years spent in drink and debauchery began totell even on the big, strong body which should have served any other manbravely long past his threescore and ten, Sir Jeoffry drank harder andlived more wildly, sometimes being driven desperate by dulness, hiscoarse pleasures having lost their potency. 

"Liquor is not as strong as it once was, " he used to grumble, "and thereare fewer things to stir a man to frolic. Lord, what roaring days andnights a man could have thirty years ago. "

So in his efforts to emulate such nights and days, he plunged deeper anddeeper into new orgies; and one night, after a heavy day's hunting, sitting at the head of his table with his old companions, he suddenlyleaned forward, staring with starting eyes at an empty chair in a darkcorner. His face grew purple, and he gasped and gurgled. 

"What is't, Jeoff?" old Eldershawe cried, touching his shoulder with ashaking hand. "What's the man staring at, as if he had gone mad?"

"Jack, " cried Sir Jeoffry, his eyes still farther starting from theirsockets. "Jack! what say you? I cannot hear. "

The next instant he sprang up, shrieking, and thrusting with his hands asif warding something off. 

"Keep back!" he yelled. "There is green mould on thee. Where hast thoubeen to grow mouldy? Keep back! Where hast thou been?"

His friends at table started up, staring at him and losing colour; heshrieked so loud and strangely, he clutched his hair with his hands, andfell into his chair, raving, clutching, and staring, or dashing his headdown upon the table to hide his face, and then raising it as if he couldnot resist being drawn in his affright to gaze again. There was nosoothing him. He shouted, and struggled with those who would have heldhim. 'Twas Jack Oxon who was there, he swore--Jack, who kept stealingslowly nearer to him, his face and his fine clothes damp and green, hebeat at the air with mad hands, and at last fell upon the floor, androlled, foaming at the mouth. 

They contrived, after great strugglings, to bear him to his chamber, butit took the united strength of all who would stay near him to keep himfrom making an end of himself. By the dawn of day his boon companionsstood by him with their garments torn to tatters, their faces drenchedwith sweat, and their own eyes almost starting from their sockets; thedoctor who had been sent for, coming in no hurry, but scowled and shookhis head when he beheld him. 

"He is a dead man, " he said, "and the wonder is that this has not comebefore. He is sodden with drink and rotten with ill-living, besidesbeing past all the strength of youth. He dies of the life he has lived. "

'Twas little to be expected that his boon companions could desert theirhomes and pleasures and tend his horrors longer than a night. Such asight as he presented did not inspire them to cheerful spirits. 

"Lord, " said Sir Chris Crowell, "to see him clutch his flesh and shriekand mouth, is enough to make a man live sober for his remaining days, "and he shook his big shoulders with a shudder. 

"Ugh!" he said, "God grant I may make a better end. He writhes as inhell-fire. "

"There is but one on earth who will do aught for him, " said Eldershawe. "'Tis handsome Clo, who is a duchess; but she will come and tend him, Icould swear. Even when she was a lawless devil of a child she had a wayof standing by her friends and fearing naught. "

So after taking counsel together they sent for her, and in as many hoursas it took to drive from London, her coach stood before the door. Bythis time all the household was panic-stricken and in hopeless disorder, the women-servants scattered and shuddering in far corners of the house;such men as could get out of the way having found work to do afield or inthe kennels, for none had nerve to stay where they could hear themadman's shrieks and howls. 

Her Grace, entering the house, went with her woman straight to herchamber, and shortly emerged therefrom, stripped of her rich apparel, andclad in a gown of strong blue linen, her hair wound close, her whitehands bare of any ornament, save the band of gold which was her wedding-ring. A serving-woman might have been clad so; but the plainness of hergarb but made her height, and strength, so reveal themselves, that themere sight of her woke somewhat that was like to awe in the eyes of theservants who beheld her as she passed. 

She needed not to be led, but straightway followed the awful sounds, until she reached the chamber behind whose door they were shut. Upon thehuge disordered bed, Sir Jeoffry writhed, and tried to tear himself, hisgreat sinewy and hairy body almost stark. Two of the stable men werestriving to hold him. 

The duchess went to his bedside and stood there, laying her strong whitehand upon his shuddering shoulder. 

"Father, " she said, in a voice so clear, and with such a ring of steadycommand, as, the men said later, might have reached a dead man's ear. "Father, 'tis Clo!"

Sir Jeoffry writhed his head round and glared at her, with starting eyesand foaming mouth. 

"Who says 'tis Clo?" he shouted. "'Tis a lie! She was ever a biggerdevil than any other, though she was but a handsome wench. Jack himselfcould not manage her. She beat him, and would beat him now. 'Tis alie!"

All through that day and night the power of her Grace's white arm was thething which saved him from dashing out his brains. The two men could nothave held him, and at his greatest frenzy they observed that now and thenhis bloodshot eye would glance aside at the beauteous face above him. Thesound of the word "Clo" had struck upon his brain and wakened an echo. 

She sent away the men to rest, calling for others in their places; butleave the bedside herself she would not. 'Twas a strange thing to seeher strength and bravery, which could not be beaten down. When thedoctor came again he found her there, and changed his surly and reluctantmanner in the presence of a duchess, and one who in her close linen gownwore such a mien. 

"You should not have left him, " she said to him unbendingly, "even thoughI myself can see there is little help that can be given. Thought you hisGrace and I would brook that he should die alone if we could not havereached him?"

Those words "his Grace and I" put a new face upon the matter, and all wasdone that lay within the man's skill; but most was he disturbedconcerning the lady, who would not be sent to rest, and whose nobleconsort would be justly angered if she were allowed to injure her superbhealth. 

"His Grace knew what I came to do and how I should do it, " the duchesssaid, unbending still. "But for affairs of State which held him, hewould have been here at my side. "

She held her place throughout the second night, and that was worse thanthe first--the paroxysms growing more and more awful; for Jack was withina yard, and stretched out a green and mouldy hand, the finger-bonesshowing through the flesh, the while he smiled awfully. 

At last one pealing scream rang out after another, until after making hisshuddering body into an arc resting on heels and head, the madman fellexhausted, his flesh all quaking before the eye. Then the duchess wavedthe men who helped, away. She sat upon the bed's edge close--close toher father's body, putting her two firm hands on either of his shoulders, holding him so, and bent down, looking into his wild face, as if shefixed upon his very soul all the power of her wondrous will. 

"Father, " she said, "look at my face. Thou canst if thou wilt. Look atmy face. Then wilt thou see 'tis Clo--and she will stand by thee. "

She kept her gaze upon his very pupils; and though 'twas at first as ifhis eyes strove to break away from her look, their effort was controlledby her steadfastness, and they wandered back at last, and her great orbsheld them. He heaved a long breath, half a big, broken sob, and laystill, staring up at her. 

"Ay, " he said, "'tis Clo! 'tis Clo!"

The sweat began to roll from his forehead, and the tears down his cheeks. He broke forth, wailing like a child. 

"Clo--Clo, " he said, "I am in hell. "

She put her hand on his breast, keeping will and eyes set on him. 

"Nay, " she answered; "thou art on earth, and in thine own bed, and I amhere, and will not leave thee. "

She made another sign to the men who stood and stared aghast in wonder ather, but feeling in the very air about her the spell to which the madnesshad given way. 

"'Twas not mere human woman who sat there, " they said afterwards in thestables among their fellows. "'Twas somewhat more. Had such a will beenin an evil thing a man's hair would have risen on his skull at the seeingof it. "

"Go now, " she said to them, "and send women to set the place in order. "

She had seen delirium and death enough in the doings of her deeds ofmercy, to know that his strength had gone and death was coming. His bedand room were made orderly, and at last he lay in clean linen, with allmade straight. Soon his eyes seemed to sink into his head and stare fromhollows, and his skin grew grey, but ever he stared only at hisdaughter's face. 

"Clo, " he said at last, "stay by me! Clo, go not away!"

"I shall not go, " she answered. 

She drew a seat close to his bed and took his hand. It lay knotted andgnarled and swollen-veined upon her smooth palm, and with her other handshe stroked it. His breath came weak and quick, and fear grew in hiseyes. 

"What is it, Clo?" he said. "What is't?"

"'Tis weakness, " replied she, soothing him. "Soon you will sleep. "

"Ay, " he said, with a breath like a sob. "'Tis over. "

His big body seemed to collapse, he shrank so in the bed-clothes. 

"What day o' the year is it?" he asked. 

"The tenth of August, " was her answer. 

"Sixty-nine years from this day was I born, " he said, "and now 'tisdone. "

"Nay, " said she--"nay--God grant--"

"Ay, " he said, "done. Would there were nine and sixty more. What a manI was at twenty. I want not to die, Clo. I want to live--to live--live, and be young, " gulping, "with strong muscle and moist flesh. Sixty-nineyears--and they are gone!"

He clung to her hand, and stared at her with awful eyes. Through all hislife he had been but a great, strong, human carcass; and he was now butthe same carcass worn out, and at death's door. Of not one human thingbut of himself had he ever thought, not one creature but himself had heever loved--and now he lay at the end, harking back only to the wickedyears gone by. 

"None can bring them back, " he shuddered. "Not even thou, Clo, who artso strong. None--none! Canst pray, Clo?" with the gasp of a craven. 

"Not as chaplains do, " she answered. "I believe not in a God whoclamours but for praise. "

"What dost believe in, then?"

"In One who will do justice, and demands that it shall be done to eachthing He has made, by each who bears His image--ay, and mercy too--butjustice always, for justice is mercy's highest self. "

Who knows the mysteries of the human soul--who knows the workings of thehuman brain? The God who is just alone. In this man's mind, which wasso near a simple beast's in all its movings, some remote, unbornconsciousness was surely reached and vaguely set astir by the clear wordsthus spoken. 

"Clo, Clo!" he cried, "Clo, Clo!" in terror, clutching her the closer, "what dost thou mean? In all my nine and sixty years--" and rolled hishead in agony. 

In all his nine and sixty years he had shown justice to no man, mercy tono woman, since he had thought of none but Jeoffry Wildairs; and thistruth somehow dimly reached his long-dulled brain and wakened there. 

"Down on thy knees, Clo!" he gasped--"down on thy knees!"

It was so horrible, the look struggling in his dying face, that she wentdown upon her knees that moment, and so knelt, folding his shaking handswithin her own against her breast. 

"Thou who didst make him as he was born into Thy world, " she said, "dealwith that to which Thou didst give life--and death. Show him in thishour, which Thou mad'st also, that Thou art not Man who would havevengeance, but that justice which is God. "

"Then--then, " he gasped--"then will He damn me!"

"He will weigh thee, " she said; "and that which His own hand created willHe separate from that which was thine own wilful wrong--and this, sure, He will teach thee how to expiate. "

"Clo, " he cried again--"thy mother--she was but a girl, and died alone--Idid no justice to her!--Daphne! Daphne!" And he shook beneath the bed-clothes, shuddering to his feet, his face growing more grey and pinched. 

"She loved thee once, " Clorinda said. "She was a gentle soul, and wouldnot forget. She will show thee mercy. "

"Birth she went through, " he muttered, "and death--alone. Birth anddeath! Daphne, my girl--" And his voice trailed off to nothingness, andhe lay staring at space, and panting. 

The duchess sat by him and held his hand. She moved not, though at lasthe seemed to fall asleep. Two hours later he began to stir. He turnedhis head slowly upon his pillows until his gaze rested upon her, as shesat fronting him. 'Twas as though he had awakened to look at her. 

"Clo!" he cried, and though his voice was but a whisper, there was bothwonder and wild question in it--"Clo!"

But she moved not, her great eyes meeting his with steady gaze; and evenas they so looked at each other his body stretched itself, his lidsfell--and he was a dead man. 

CHAPTER XXIV--The doves sate upon the window-ledge and lowly cooed andcooed

When they had had ten years of happiness, Anne died. 'Twas of no violentillness, it seemed but that through these years of joy she had beengradually losing life. She had grown thinner and whiter, and her softeyes bigger and more prayerful. 'Twas in the summer, and they were atCamylott, when one sweet day she came from the flower-garden with herhands full of roses, and sitting down by her sister in her morning-room, swooned away, scattering her blossoms on her lap and at her feet. 

When she came back to consciousness she looked up at the duchess with astrange, far look, as if her soul had wandered back from some greatdistance. 

"Let me be borne to bed, sister, " she said. "I would lie still. I shallnot get up again. "

The look in her face was so unearthly and a thing so full of mystery, that her Grace's heart stood still, for in some strange way she knew theend had come. 

They bore her to her tower and laid her in her bed, when she looked onceround the room and then at her sister. 

"'Tis a fair, peaceful room, " she said. "And the prayers I have prayedin it have been answered. To-day I saw my mother, and she told me so. "

"Anne! Anne!" cried her Grace, leaning over her and gazing fearfullyinto her face; for though her words sounded like delirium, her look hadno wildness in it. And yet--"Anne, Anne! you wander, love, " the duchesscried. 

Anne smiled a strange, sweet smile. "Perchance I do, " she said. "I knownot truly, but I am very happy. She said that all was over, and that Ihad not done wrong. She had a fair, young face, with eyes that seemed tohave looked always at the stars of heaven. She said I had done nowrong. "

The duchess's face laid itself down upon the pillow, a river of cleartears running down her cheeks. 

"Wrong!" she said--"you! dear one--woman of Christ's heart, if ever livedone. You were so weak and I so strong, and yet as I look back it seemsthat all of good that made me worthy to be wife and mother I learned fromyour simplicity. "

Through the tower window and the ivy closing round it, the blueness ofthe summer sky was heavenly fair; soft, and light white clouds floatedacross the clearness of its sapphire. On this Anne's eyes were fixedwith an uplifted tenderness until she broke her silence. 

"Soon I shall be away, " she said. "Soon all will be left behind. And Iwould tell you that my prayers were answered--and so, sure, yours willbe. "

No man could tell what made the duchess then fall on her knees, but sheherself knew. 'Twas that she saw in the exalted dying face that turnedto hers concealing nothing more. 

"Anne! Anne!" she cried. "Sister Anne! Mother Anne of my children! Youhave known--you have known all the years and kept it hid!"

She dropped her queenly head and shielded the whiteness of her face inthe coverlid's folds. 

"Ay, sister, " Anne said, coming a little back to earth, "and from thefirst. I found a letter near the sun-dial--I guessed--I loved you--andcould do naught else but guard you. Many a day have I watched within therose-garden--many a day--and night--God pardon me--and night. When Iknew a letter was hid, 'twas my wont to linger near, knowing that mypresence would keep others away. And when you approached--or he--Islipped aside and waited beyond the rose hedge--that if I heard a step, Imight make some sound of warning. Sister, I was your sentinel, and beingso, knelt while on my guard, and prayed. "

"My sentinel!" Clorinda cried. "And knowing all, you so guarded me nightand day, and prayed God's pity on my poor madness and girl's frenzy!" Andshe gazed at her in amaze, and with humblest, burning tears. 

"For my own poor self as well as for you, sister, did I pray God's pityas I knelt, " said Anne. "For long I knew it not--being so ignorant--butalas! I loved him too!--I loved him too! I have loved no man other allmy days. He was unworthy any woman's love--and I was too lowly for himto cast a glance on; but I was a woman, and God made us so. "

Clorinda clutched her pallid hand. 

"Dear God, " she cried, "you loved him!"

Anne moved upon her pillow, drawing weakly, slowly near until her whitelips were close upon her sister's ear. 

"The night, " she panted--"the night you bore him--in your arms--"

Then did the other woman give a shuddering start and lift her head, staring with a frozen face. 

"What! what!" she cried. 

"Down the dark stairway, " the panting voice went on, "to the far cellar--Ikept watch again. "

"You kept watch--you?" the duchess gasped. 

"Upon the stair which led to the servants' place--that I might stop themif--if aught disturbed them, and they oped their doors--that I might sendthem back, telling them--it was I. "

Then stooped the duchess nearer to her, her hands clutching the coverlid, her eyes widening. 

"Anne, Anne, " she cried, "you knew the awful thing that I would hide!That too? You knew that he was _there_!"

Anne lay upon her pillow, her own eyes gazing out through the ivy-hungwindow of her tower at the blue sky and the fair, fleecy clouds. A flockof snow-white doves were flying back and forth across it, and one sateupon the window's deep ledge and cooed. All was warm and perfumed withsummer's sweetness. There seemed naught between her and the upliftingblueness, and naught of the earth was near but the dove's deep-throatedcooing and the laughter of her Grace's children floating upward from thegarden of flowers below. 

"I lie upon the brink, " she said--"upon the brink, sister, and methinksmy soul is too near to God's pure justice to fear as human things fear, and judge as earth does. She said I did no wrong. Yes, I knew. "

"And knowing, " her sister cried, "you came to me _that afternoon_!"

"To stand by that which lay hidden, that I might keep the rest away. Being a poor creature and timorous and weak--"

"Weak! weak!" the duchess cried, amid a greater flood of streamingtears--"ay, I have dared to call you so, who have the heart of a greatlioness. Oh, sweet Anne--weak!"

"'Twas love, " Anne whispered. "Your love was strong, and so was mine. That other love was not for me. I knew that my long woman's life wouldpass without it--for woman's life is long, alas! if love comes not. Butyou were love's self, and I worshipped you and it; and to myself Isaid--praying forgiveness on my knees--that one woman should know love ifI did not. And being so poor and imperfect a thing, what mattered if Igave my soul for you--and love, which is so great, and rules the world. Look at the doves, sister, look at them, flying past the heavenlyblueness--and she said I did no wrong. "

Her hand was wet with tears fallen upon it, as her duchess sister knelt, and held and kissed it, sobbing. 

"You knew, poor love, you knew!" she cried. 

"Ay, all of it I knew, " Anne said--"his torture of you and the madness ofyour horror. And when he forced himself within the Panelled Parlour thatday of fate, I knew he came to strike some deadly blow; and in suchanguish I waited in my chamber for the end, that when it came not, Icrept down, praying that somehow I might come between--and I went in theroom!"

"And there--what saw you?" quoth the duchess, shuddering. "Somewhat youmust have seen, or you could not have known. "

"Ay, " said Anne, "and heard!" and her chest heaved. 

"Heard!" cried Clorinda. "Great God of mercy!"

"The room was empty, and I stood alone. It was so still I was afraid; itseemed so like the silence of the grave; and then there came a sound--along and shuddering breath--but one--and then--"

The memory brought itself too keenly back, and she fell a-shivering. 

"I heard a slipping sound, and a dead hand fell on the floor-lyingoutstretched, its palm turned upwards, showing beneath the valance of thecouch. "

She threw her frail arms round her sister's neck, and as Clorinda claspedher own, breathing gaspingly, they swayed together. 

"What did you then?" the duchess cried, in a wild whisper. 

"I prayed God keep me sane--and knelt--and looked below. I thrust itback--the dead hand, saying aloud, 'Swoon you must not, swoon you mustnot, swoon you shall not--God help! God help!'--and I saw!--the purplemark--his eyes upturned--his fair curls spread; and I lost strength andfell upon my side, and for a minute lay there--knowing that shudder ofbreath had been the very last expelling of his being, and his hand hadfallen by its own weight. "

"O God! O God! O God!" Clorinda cried, and over and over said the word, and over again. 

"How was't--how was't?" Anne shuddered, clinging to her. "How was't'twas done? I have so suffered, being weak--I have so prayed! God willhave mercy--but it has done me to death, this knowledge, and before Idie, I pray you tell me, that I may speak truly at God's throne. "

"O God! O God! O God!" Clorinda groaned--"O God!" and having cried so, looking up, was blanched as a thing struck with death, her eyes like agreat stag's that stands at bay. 

"Stay, stay!" she cried, with a sudden shock of horror, for a new thoughthad come to her which, strangely, she had not had before. "You thought I_murdered_ him?"

Convulsive sobs heaved Anne's poor chest, tears sweeping her hollowcheeks, her thin, soft hands clinging piteously to her sister's. 

"Through all these years I have known nothing, " she wept--"sister, I haveknown nothing but that I found him hidden there, a dead man, whom you sohated and so feared. "

Her hands resting upon the bed's edge, Clorinda held her body upright, such passion of wonder, love, and pitying adoring awe in her large eyesas was a thing like to worship. 

"You thought I _murdered_ him, and loved me still, " she said. "Youthought I murdered him, and still you shielded me, and gave me chance tolive, and to repent, and know love's highest sweetness. You thought Imurdered him, and yet your soul had mercy. Now do I believe in God, foronly a God could make a heart so noble. "

"And you--did not--" cried out Anne, and raised upon her elbow, herbreast panting, but her eyes growing wide with light as from stars fromheaven. "Oh, sister love--thanks be to Christ who died!"

The duchess rose, and stood up tall and great, her arms out-thrown. 

"I think 'twas God Himself who did it, " she said, "though 'twas I whostruck the blow. He drove me mad and blind, he tortured me, and thrustto my heart's core. He taunted me with that vile thing Nature will notlet women bear, and did it in my Gerald's name, calling on him. And thenI struck with my whip, knowing nothing, not seeing, only striking, like agoaded dying thing. He fell--he fell and lay there--and all was done!"

"But not with murderous thought--only through frenzy and a cruel chance--acruel, cruel chance. And of your own will blood is not upon your hand, "Anne panted, and sank back upon her pillow. 

"With deepest oaths I swear, " Clorinda said, and she spoke through herclenched teeth, "if I had not loved, if Gerald had not been my soul'slife and I his, I would have stood upright and laughed in his face at thedevil's threats. Should I have feared? You know me. Was there a thingon earth or in heaven or hell I feared until love rent me. 'Twould buthave fired my blood, and made me mad with fury that dares all. 'Spreadit abroad!' I would have cried to him. 'Tell it to all the world, cravenand outcast, whose vileness all men know, and see how I shall bearmyself, and how I shall drive through the town with head erect. As Ibore myself when I set the rose crown on my head, so shall I bear myselfthen. And you shall see what comes!' This would I have said, and heldto it, and gloried. But I knew love, and there was an anguish that Icould not endure--that my Gerald should look at me with changed eyes, feeling that somewhat of his rightful meed was gone. And I was alldistraught and conquered. Of ending his base life I never thought, neverat my wildest, though I had thought to end my own; but when Fate struckthe blow for me, then I swore that carrion should not taint my whole lifethrough. It should not--should not--for 'twas Fate's self had doomed meto my ruin. And there it lay until the night; for this I planned, thatbeing of such great strength for a woman, I could bear his body in myarms to the farthest of that labyrinth of cellars I had commanded to becut off from the rest and closed; and so I did when all were sleeping--butyou, poor Anne--but you! And there I laid him, and there he liesto-day--an evil thing turned to a handful of dust. "

"It was not murder, " whispered Anne--"no, it was not. " She lifted to hersister's gaze a quivering lip. "And yet once I had loved him--years Ihad loved him, " she said, whispering still. "And in a woman there isever somewhat that the mother creature feels"--the hand which held hersister's shook as with an ague, and her poor lip quivered--"Sister, I--sawhim again!"

The duchess drew closer as she gasped, "Again!"

"I could not rest, " the poor voice said. "He had been so base, he was sobeautiful, and so unworthy love--and he was dead, --none knowing, untouched by any hand that even pitied him that he was so base a thing, for that indeed is piteous when death comes and none can be repentant. And he lay so hard, so hard upon the stones. "

Her teeth were chattering, and with a breath drawn like a wild sob ofterror, the duchess threw her arm about her and drew her nearer. 

"Sweet Anne, " she shuddered--"sweet Anne--come back--you wander!"

"Nay, 'tis not wandering, " Anne said. "'Tis true, sister. There is nonight these years gone by I have not remembered it again--and seen. Inthe night after that you bore him there--I prayed until the mid-hours, when all were sleeping fast--and then I stole down--in my bare feet, thatnone could hear me--and at last I found my way in the black dark--feelingthe walls until I reached that farthest door in the stone--and then Ilighted my taper and oped it. "

"Anne!" cried the duchess--"Anne, look through the tower window at theblueness of the sky--at the blueness, Anne!" But drops of cold water hadstarted out and stood upon her brow. 

"He lay there in his grave--it was a little black place with its stonewalls--his fair locks were tumbled, " Anne went on, whispering. "The spotwas black upon his brow--and methought he had stopped mocking, and surelylooked upon some great and awful thing which asked of him a question. Iknelt, and laid his curls straight, and his hands, and tried to shut hiseyes, but close they would not, but stared at that which questioned. Andhaving loved him so, I kissed his poor cheek as his mother might havedone, that he might not stand outside, having carried not one tenderhuman thought with him. And, oh, I prayed, sister--I prayed for his poorsoul with all my own. 'If there is one noble or gentle thing he has everdone through all his life, ' I prayed, 'Jesus remember it--Christ do notforget. ' We who are human do so few things that are noble--oh, surelyone must count. "

The duchess's head lay near her sister's breast, and she had fallen a-sobbing--a-sobbing and weeping like a young broken child. 

"Oh, brave and noble, pitiful, strong, fair soul!" she cried. "As Christloved you have loved, and He would hear your praying. Since you sopleaded, He would find one thing to hang His mercy on. "

She lifted her fair, tear-streaming face, clasping her hands as onepraying. 

"And I--and I, " she cried--"have I not built a temple on his grave? HaveI not tried to live a fair life, and be as Christ bade me? Have I notloved, and pitied, and succoured those in pain? Have I not filled agreat man's days with bliss, and love, and wifely worship? Have I notgiven him noble children, bred in high lovingness, and taught to love allthings God made, even the very beasts that perish, since they, too, suffer as all do? Have I left aught undone? Oh, sister, I have soprayed that I left naught. Even though I could not believe that therewas One who, ruling all, could yet be pitiless as He is to some, I haveprayed That--which sure it seems must be, though we comprehend it not--toteach me faith in something greater than my poor self, and not of earth. Say this to Christ's self when you are face to face--say this to Him, Ipray you! Anne, Anne, look not so strangely through the window at theblueness of the sky, sweet soul, but look at me. "

For Anne lay upon her pillow so smiling that 'twas a strange thing tobehold. It seemed as she were smiling at the whiteness of the dovesagainst the blue. A moment her sister stood up watching her, and thenshe stirred, meaning to go to call one of the servants waiting outside;but though she moved not her gaze from the tower window, Mistress Annefaintly spoke. 

"Nay--stay, " she breathed. "I go--softly--stay. "

Clorinda fell upon her knees again and bent her lips close to her ear. This was death, and yet she feared it not--this was the passing of asoul, and while it went it seemed so fair and loving a thing that shecould ask it her last question--her greatest--knowing it was so near toGod that its answer must be rest. 

"Anne, Anne, " she whispered, "must he know--my Gerald? Must I--must Itell him all? If so I must, I will--upon my knees. "

The doves came flying downward from the blue, and lighted on the windowstone and cooed--Anne's answer was as low as her soft breath and herstill eyes were filled with joy at that she saw but which another couldnot. 

"Nay, " she breathed. "Tell him not. What need? Wait, and let God tellhim--who understands. "

Then did her soft breath stop, and she lay still, her eyes yet open andsmiling at the blossoms, and the doves who sate upon the window-ledge andlowly cooed and cooed. 

* * * * *

'Twas her duchess sister who clad her for her last sleeping, and made herchamber fair--the hand of no other touched her; and while 'twas done thetower chamber was full of the golden sunshine, and the doves ceased notto flutter about the window, and coo as if they spoke lovingly to eachother of what lay within the room. 

Then the children came to look, their arms full of blossoms and floweringsprays. They had been told only fair things of death, and knowing butthese fair things, thought of it but as the opening of a golden door. They entered softly, as entering the chamber of a queen, and movingtenderly, with low and gentle speech, spread all their flowers about thebed--laying them round her head, on her breast, and in her hands, andstrewing them thick everywhere. 

"She lies in a bower and smiles at us, " one said. "She hath grownbeautiful like you, mother, and her face seems like a white star in themorning. "

"She loves us as she ever did, " the fair child Daphne said; "she willnever cease to love us, and will be our angel. Now have we an angel ofour own. "

When the duke returned, who had been absent since the day before, theduchess led him to the tower chamber, and they stood together hand inhand and gazed at her peace. 

"Gerald, " the duchess said, in her tender voice, "she smiles, does notshe?"

"Yes, " was Osmonde's answer--"yes, love, as if at God, who has smiled atherself--faithful, tender woman heart!"

The hand which he held in his clasp clung closer. The other crept to hisshoulder and lay there tremblingly. 

"How faithful and how tender, my Gerald, " Clorinda said, "I only know. She is my saint--sweet Anne, whom I dared treat so lightly in my poorwayward days. Gerald, she knows all my sins, and to-day she has carriedthem in her pure hands to God and asked His mercy on them. She had noneof her own. "

"And so having done, dear heart, she lies amid her flowers, and smiles, "he said, and he drew her white hand to press it against his breast. 

* * * * *

While her body slept beneath soft turf and flowers, and that which washer self was given in God's heaven, all joys for which her earthly beinghad yearned, even when unknowing how to name its longing, each year thatpassed made more complete and splendid the lives of those she so hadloved. Never, 'twas said, had woman done such deeds of gentleness andshown so sweet and generous a wisdom as the great duchess. None who wereweak were in danger if she used her strength to aid them; no man or womanwas a lost thing whom she tried to save: such tasks she set herself as nolady had ever given herself before; but 'twas not her way to fail--herwill being so powerful, her brain so clear, her heart so purely noble. Pauper and prince, noble and hind honoured her and her lord alike, andall felt wonder at their happiness. It seemed that they had learnedlife's meaning and the honouring of love, and this they taught to theirchildren, to the enriching of a long and noble line. In the ripeness ofyears they passed from earth in as beauteous peace as the sun sets, andupon a tablet above the resting-place of their ancestors there areinscribed lines like these:--

 "Here sleeps by her husband the purest and noblest lady God e'er loved, yet the high and gentle deeds of her chaste sweet life sleep not, but live and grow, and so will do so long as earth is earth. "