Lancaster's Choice

She that I love may be fairy light;
I will not say she should walk sedately,
Whatever she does it will surely be right.
And she may be humble or proud, my lady,
Or that sweet calm that is just between;
But whenever she comes she will find me ready
To do her homage, my Queen, my Queen!

But she must be courteous, she must be holy,
Pure in her spirit, that maiden I love—
Whether her birth be noble or lowly,
I care no more than the angels above.
And I'll give my heart to my lady's keeping,
And ever her strength on mine shall lean;
And the stars shall fall, and the angels be weeping,
Ere I cease to love her, my Queen, my Queen!"

De Vere did not like his friend's selection much. He regretted that he had asked him to sing.

"It sounds like he was singing to her," he said, discontentedly to himself as he watched the couple at the piano. "What does the fellow mean, and what will Lady Adela think?" he wondered; and glancing toward her he saw that she was looking very cross over the top of her fan. Truth to tell, she was very much in doubt whether to appropriate the song to herself.

When the song was ended De Vere, who had lingered jealously near the piano, went up to Leonora's side.

"I thought you were going to rest while some one else sung," he said, reproachfully.

She glanced up with a smile at Lord Lancaster.

"So I was," she replied, lightly, "but Captain Lancaster wished me to play while he sung for Lady Adela. So of course I could not refuse."

Lancaster gazed into her face with amazement. Was she indeed so blind, or did she purposely slight the tribute he had paid to her, and which he had believed she could not fail to understand? Angered and chagrined, he bowed his thanks coldly, and retired from the piano, leaving a fair field for his rival.

He went out through the open window and wandered into the grounds, driven from her presence by the pain of her coldness, her studied indifference. There was a gulf between them that grew wider and wider at every effort he made to bridge it.

"Heaven help me! I am a fool to waste my heart on one who laughs at my love," he said to himself. "I will tear her from my heart. I will never show her again the tenderness of a heart she chooses to trample. She will choose De Vere. That is wise. He is rich, I have nothing but Lancaster. Yet, if she would love me, I could bear poverty without a sigh, deeming myself rich in her affection."

His aimless walk led him to the Magic Mirror, where he had come upon her so suddenly and with such irrepressible joy that night. If only she had listened to him then, she would have known the whole story of that passionate love wherewith he loved her—she did not even care to hear, he said to himself with bitter pain and humiliation as he gazed into the clear pool from which her face had shone on him that night, and fooled him with the love he thought he saw on the lips and in the eyes.

He had always been gay and light-hearted until now, but an hour of profound bitterness came to him to-night alone in the odorous moonlit stillness. The words of Leonora's song seemed to echo in his brain:

"For my heart was hot and restless,
And my life was full of care,
And the burden laid upon me
Seemed greater than I could bear."

"I wish that I could go back to my regiment to-morrow," he thought. "Why should I linger on here, and how will it all end, I wonder? Will De Vere marry Leonora? shall I marry Lady Adela? What will fate do with the tangled thread of our lives, I wonder?"

He went back to the house, and he found that Leonora was gone, and that De Vere had gone over to the fauteuil, and was talking to the earl's daughter. Several of the men had formed a coterie around Lady Lancaster, and were good-naturedly upbraiding her because she had declined to present them to the beautiful musician.

"I could not do it, really," said the dowager. "She is not in our set at all. She is a mere nobody, the dependent niece of my housekeeper."

"Well, but Lancaster and De Vere were quite hand-in-glove with her," objected one.

"A mere accidental acquaintance. She came over from America with them," said the dowager, carelessly.

In fact, she was inwardly raging with vexation. Her clever plan for annihilating Leonora had failed. The girl had appeared to much more advantage than she had expected—had created a sensation, in fact. The men were all in raptures, the women were all angry and jealous, and Leonora's modest withdrawal from the scene as soon as she arose from the piano was felt by all as a relief.

Lieutenant De Vere had gone with her as far as the door. He had held her hand a minute in saying good-night.

"May I come into Mrs. West's room and see you to-morrow?" he asked, with an entreating glance into the bright eyes, and he saw a gleam of mischief shining in them.

"Will Lady Lancaster permit you to do so?" she inquired, demurely.

"Yes," he replied, "I have told her quite frankly the reason why I came to Lancaster Park, and she had nothing to say against it. If you will let me see you to-morrow, I will tell you what I told her," he continued, with his heart beating fast as he gazed at her fresh young beauty.

She was very thoughtful for an instant. She seemed to be making up her mind.

"You must not say no," he said, hastily. "I assure you that Lady Lancaster will have no objection to my doing so, if your aunt will permit me. May I come?"

Leonora raised her eyes gravely to his face.

"Yes, you may come," she answered, and then turned quickly away.

CHAPTER XXXV

The impulses of men in love are as various as their natures. Where one will linger around the fatal charmer and hug his pain, another will fly from

"The cruel madness of love,
The honey of poison-flowers, and all the measureless ill."

Lancaster, being wise, chose the latter part. He had an innate conviction that Leonora would accept Lieutenant De Vere. He did not feel strong enough to witness his friend's happiness just yet. He felt that if he remained he might betray his passion and be laughed at for his pains. He sought safety from himself in ignominious flight.

What was Lady Lancaster's dismay next morning, when she arose to her late breakfast, to find a note awaiting her from that troublesome nephew. She was in a great rage when she read it. She pushed back her dainty, untasted repast, which had been served in the privacy of her own room, and rang her bell violently.

"Present my compliments to Lieutenant De Vere, and ask him to come to me for ten minutes," she said, sharply, to the servant who answered the summons.

He came immediately, full of wonder at this abrupt summons, and found her pacing up and down the floor in a great rage which she did not take any pains to conceal.

"Did you know of any reason Lord Lancaster could have for going up to London this morning?" she asked him, after they had gone through the preliminaries of a hasty good-morning.

"No," he replied, gazing at her in surprise.

"Well, he has gone—did you know that?" she demanded.

"Yes, I heard from his groom that he went at daylight this morning," he replied.

"Here is a note he left for me," she said, angrily. "He says he has been suddenly called away by urgent business—may be detained a week or more, and wishes me to present excuses and regrets to you and the rest of the company."

"I am very sorry he had to go," said the lieutenant.

"But do you believe that he really has business?" she inquired, peevishly.