A Fair Mystery: The Story of a Coquette

"It is too late to remedy that," replied Earle.

As he spoke he saw in the distance the glimmer of her dress between the trees.

"There she is!" he cried. "I will go to her."

His face flushed crimson, and Mattie watched him sadly as he hastened after her sister.

"How he loves her!" she thought. "Poor Earle! he has no life apart from her; it is almost pitiful to see him."

Doris, believing herself unseen, had gone out hoping to avoid Earle. She liked him too well to pain him, yet every moment she was drawing nearer to the precipice.

"Anything," she said to herself, "is better than the sight of that pained face."

She resolved to go down to the Thorpe Meadow and while away an hour or two there. Earle would not dream of looking there for her; so she went, taking with her one of her favorite French novels. She found a seat in a shady nook. She opened the novel, but she could not read; the romance of her own life was more exciting to her now than any other – that wild romance of which the outward symbol was a diamond ring. She took the ring from her purse and placed it on her finger. How it shone, and gleamed, and glittered! So may the eye of the serpent have glittered in the garden of Paradise. She held out her hand the better to admire it. Her lover's words came back to her: "I will hang jewels on your beautiful neck and round your white arms."

Her heart beat fast. That would indeed be a triumph. What was anything else in the wide world compared to this? Besides, the young lord sincerely loved her. Had he not so declared, with passion and truth burning in his eyes? What was Earle's love – the love of a poor poet – to the passionate rapture of a rich young lord, who was willing to marry her, and could crown her with the rarest gems, give her every luxury in life?

As the thought crossed her mind Earle drew near, at first unobserved by her. His eye at once alighted upon the ring.

"That is a beautiful ring, Doris," he said, "and a costly one. Who gave it to you?" He took her hand and held it tightly in his own, while his face grew deadly pale. "I know but little of jewels," he continued, "but I can tell that this is costly and valuable. Who gave it to you?"

Her face flushed deepest crimson, her eyes flashed fire.

"That is no business of yours," she replied.

But, rather to her surprise, Earle showed no fear of her anger, no irresolution.

"I have a right to ask," he said. "You are my promised wife. Who gave you the jewel you wear on your hand?"

"I refuse to answer you," she replied.

"Doris," he said, and there was more of contempt than of pain in his voice. "Doris, has that anything to do with your coldness to me?"

For one moment she looked at him steadily, then she seemed to remember that defiance and denial would be useless – would only cause inquiries. Her only way out of the difficulty lay in untruth. She smiled sweetly in his face.

"My jealous Earle," she said; "who do you think gave me this ring?"

"I cannot tell," he replied, gravely.

"Will you promise, if I tell you, never to mention it?"

"I promise faithfully, Doris."

"Lady Estelle Hereford gave it to me on the day I went to Downsbury Castle. Are you jealous of her, Earle?"

"No, my darling. I hope the time may come when I shall bring you even brighter jewels than this," and he kissed the fair, false hand as he spoke.

CHAPTER XXVI

THE LAST HAPPY DAY OF HIS LIFE

"Earle," said Doris, suddenly, "I hope you will keep your promise, and not mention to any person a word about this ring."

"I have never broken my word in my life," said Earle, proudly.

"Because, when Lady Estelle gave it to me, she wished me not to mention it; they would be so jealous at home. Mattie would want one like it."

Earle was indignant at this insinuation.

"You do not understand Mattie if you think that," he said. "She would be pleased in your pleasure, not envious." Doris laughed.

"You think all women are angels, Earle. I hope you may never find out your mistake."

"I hope not," he said. "Of course I will respect your wishes, and keep the most perfect silence. At the same time, I think you are rather imprudent; and any one, seeing such a valuable ring in your possession, would naturally wonder how you came by it."

"They may wonder," she said indifferently. "I know, and that is quite sufficient. Is it really valuable, Earle? What do you think it is worth?"

"I am no judge of such things," he said. "It is a large stone, full of fire, and without a flaw. I should imagine it to be worth two or three hundred pounds; it may be worth more, certainly not less."

Three hundred pounds. Why, the bare idea of it was fabulous – to have a lover who could give you such jewels; it was like a fairy tale, and he would hang chains of such round her neck and arms.

Earle wondered why she so suddenly grew abstracted and quiet – it was so unlike Doris, this dreamy repose. It had wanted but little to cause her to make up her mind as to her decision – such wealth as that was not to be despised. Earle suddenly grew quite insignificant in her eyes. When would he be able to give her a diamond worth three hundred pounds? Still, she would not let him even guess what were her thoughts; to-morrow she had to see her young lord lover – she would keep good friends with Earle till then; so she threw aside the many thoughts and ideas which haunted her, and turning to him, was once more her own charming self.

Earle was enchanted; she had but to smile at him, to give him a look of kindness, to evince the least sign of affection for him, and all was well; she was so completely mistress of his heart, soul, and mind, that she could do with him just as she would. He surrendered himself to the charm – he was more happy than words can tell; he said to himself that he had been mistaken, there was no coldness in her manner, no change; it had, after all, only been some little shadow of girlish reserve, some little variation of spirit; she was his own love – beautiful, tender, and true.

Seated by her, in the fair June sunshine, he told her all his hopes and his fears; he told her how he had fancied that her love was leaving him, that she was changing to him, that she had been caring less for him. Now he was delighted to find that she was all that was most kind, most amiable, and winning.

None, looking at the bright, happy face, could have guessed what was hidden underneath it – Earle least of all. Those eyes were full of heaven to him; he saw all truth, all honor, all nobility in the matchless features. Earle believed in her; drinking in the marvelous beauty of her face, listening to the sweet voice, he would have gone to death for her; it never entered his mind to doubt her.

So the summer hours passed, and Earle, completely happy, completely reassured, was in the seventh heaven of delight. They went home together. For long afterward did he dwell on the memory of that day, the last happy one of his life!

He remained at the farm until evening; he seemed unable to tear himself away. The moon was shining, and the stars were gleaming in the sky when he went. He asked Doris if she would walk with him just as far as the garden gate. She did not seem willing, but Mark Brace, who had noticed the wistful expression of the young lover's eyes, said:

"Go, Doris; the night is fine; going as far as the gate will not hurt you."

Unwillingly she rose to go. Another time she would have rebelled, but now the consciousness of the treachery she was meditating forbade that; she would do as they liked for the present.

Mattie held out her hand to Earle, with a grave, anxious look. If she could have saved him; if she could have done anything to help him! She seemed to have a foreboding that all was not well, that Doris was deceiving them.

"Good-night, Mattie," said Earle, in a low voice; "you see the sun is shining for me again."

"Heaven grant that it may always so shine!" said sincere Mattie.

Then she turned away from him abruptly. There were times when she could not bear those outward evidences of his love. She said to herself that Doris was quite unworthy of him – quite unworthy; but that if he had only cared for her, she would have made his life so bright for him.

Then the lovers went out together. Mattie, looking after them with a sigh, Mark Brace with a smile. Earle wishing that each moment of the starlight night could be lengthened into years, Doris silently wishing that there was no love in the world – nothing but diamonds.

Doris walked in silence to the garden gate. The picture was a beautiful one. The picturesque old farm-house lying in the soft moonlight, the moonbeams falling full and bright on the flowers, the fields, and the trees. The laburnums shining yellow and pale; the lilacs filling the air with sweet perfume; the starlight touching the golden head and face of the young girl until she looked beautiful and ethereal as an angel – lighting up the spiritual face of the young lover. Doris leaned against the gate, and directly over her head hung the flowers of the syringa tree. There was a deep, dreamy silence over the whole earth, as though the rest of heaven were lying over it. Earle was the first to speak.