A Fair Mystery: The Story of a Coquette

"I cannot say; I will not be followed, I will not be watched. I claim my perfect freedom until then."

"You shall have it. Do not think worse of me than I deserve, Dora. If I had found you married, I would not have spoken, I would never even have hinted at the discovery; but you are not married, darling, nor, while I live, shall any man call you wife except myself."

How bitterly at that moment she regretted not having been married! If she had known – if she had only known, he should have found her the wife of Earle!

"I have no wish to injure you, or to do anything except make life pleasant for you; but my love for you has mastered me, it has conquered me. You must be mine!"

Such passion shone in his eyes, gleamed in his face, that she shrunk back half frightened. He laughed, as he said:

"It is one thing, you see, Dora, to light a fire, another to extinguish it."

"Now, will you leave me, Lord Vivianne? You have placed the pleasing alternative very plainly before me; we have agreed upon a time until you come for my answer – that will be at the end of August. Until then your own good sense will show you the proper course to pursue; you need neither seek nor avoid me."

He bowed.

"I hope, Lady Studleigh, you will have overcome your great objection to my presence before you see me again. I will now go. Let me give you one word of warning. A desperate man is not to be trifled with; if you attempt to escape me, if you place yourself in any way legally out of my reach, you shall answer to me, not only with your fair name, but with your life! You hear?"

"I hear," she replied, calmly, "but I do not come of a race that heeds threats. Good-morning, my lord."

"Dora," he said, "for the sake of old times – of the old love – will you not give me one kiss?"

"I would rather see you dead!" was the reply, given with an angry bitterness she could not control.

He laughed aloud.

"I shall soon see that pretty spirit humbled," he said. "Good-morning, my lady."

And the next minute he was gone.

She stood for some little time where he had left her. Such fiery passion and anger surging in her heart as almost drove her mad. Her face flushed crimson with it, her eyes flamed, she twisted her white hands until the gemmed rings made great dents in them. She hated him with such an intensity of hatred, that she would have laughed over his death. Her graceful figure shook with its heavy strain of anger – her lips parted with a low, smothered cry.

"I pray Heaven to curse him!" she cried, "with a terrible life and a terrible death; to send him a thousandfold the torture he has given to me! I – I wish I could kill him!"

In the might of her wrath she trembled as a leaf upon a tree. She raised her right hand to heaven.

"I swear I will never marry him," she said. "Let him threaten, punish, disgrace, degrade me as he will, I swear that I will never marry him. I will lose love, happiness, wealth, position, nay even life first; but I swear also that I will torture him and pay him for all he has made me suffer!"

She walked to and fro, never even seeing the brilliant blossoms and the glossy leaves, trampling the fragrant flowers she gathered underfoot, moaning with a low, piteous wail. It was too cruel – too hard. She had sinned – yes, she knew that – sinned greatly; but surely the punishment was too hard. Others sinned and prospered; why was she so heavily stricken? She was young when she sinned – careless, ignorant, heedless; now she was to lose all for it. She had beauty that made all men her slaves; she had wealth such as she had never dreamed of; she had one of the highest positions in the land; she had, above all, the love of Earle, the love and fealty of Earle. Now, in punishment for this one sin, she must lose all. Would Heaven spare her?

Was it of any use in this her hour of dire need, praying? Why, in all her life – her brief, brilliant life – she had never prayed; was it of any use her beginning now? She did not even remember the simple words of the little prayer she had been used to say with Mattie at her mother's knee – it was all forgotten. She knew there was a God in heaven, although she had always laughed and mocked at religion, deeming it only fit for tiresome children and old women; surely there was more in it than this.

She knelt down and stretched out her hands with a yearning look, as though some voice in the skies would surely speak to her; then she could not remember how it happened, the fragrance of the flowers seemed to grow too strong for her, the glass roof, the green, climbing plants, the brilliant blossoms, seemed to fall on her and crush her. With a long, low cry she fell with her face on the ground, a streaming mass of radiant white and golden hair.

It was there, that, going in an hour afterward, Earle found her, and raising her from the floor, thought at first that she was dead.

Great was the distress, great the consternation; servants came hurrying in, the doctor was sent for. The earl and the countess returning, were driven half frantic by the sight of that white face and silent figure. It hardly reassured them to hear that it was only a fainting fit.

"Brought on by what?" asked the earl, in a fever of anxiety.

"Nothing more than the reaction after too great physical fatigue," replied the doctor.

"The Lady Doris looks stronger than she really is; the best advice I can give is, that she should leave London at once, and have some weeks of perfect rest in the country. Medicine is of no use."

Lady Linleigh quite agreed in this view of the subject, and the earl declared impetuously that they should go at once – to-morrow if she is better, he said, "I should not like such another fright."

That evening when Lady Doris lay on the little couch in Lady Linleigh's boudoir, and Earle sat by her side, he said to her:

"What caused that sudden illness, my darling? Did anything frighten you?"

"No; I was only tired, Earle."

"Tired! I am beginning to dread the word. Do you know what they told me, Doris?"

"No," she replied, looking at him with frightened eyes; "what was it?"

"One of the servants said she was quite sure that she had heard some one talking to you in the conservatory; but when I went in you were quite alone. Had any one been there?"

"What nonsense," she cried evasively; time and experience had taught her that it was foolish to risk the truth recklessly.

"I thought it was a mistake," said loyal Earle. "Who would be likely to be with you there, when you had reserved the morning for me?"

She closed her tired eyes, and said to herself how thankful she should be when all this was over.

CHAPTER LXXII

THE EARL RELUCTANTLY ASSENTS

Three days later they were once more at Linleigh Court. The earl would hear of no opposition; he ruthlessly broke all engagements, sacrificed all interest and pleasure; his daughter's health, he said, must be paramount with him, and so it was. The only drawback was that Earle could not go; he might run down for two or three days, but until Parliament broke up he could not be away for very long. The earl and countess were amused to see how both lovers felt the separation.

"Thank Heaven!" said Lady Estelle. "Ah! Ulric, you do not know how I thank Heaven that our child loves Earle."

"Did you ever doubt it, my lovely, sentimental darling?" said Lord Linleigh.

"I was not sure; I was always more or less afraid," said the countess. "She spoke so lightly of love; but now she seems very fond of Earle."

"I do not think the woman is born who could help loving Earle," said Lord Linleigh; "he is the finest, noblest man I know. She shows her good taste in loving him."

"She will be very happy," said Lady Estelle, with tears in her eyes. "She will be one of the happiest women in the world, and I am so grateful for it, Ulric; it might have been all so different for the poor child."

Lord Linleigh looked thoughtfully at her.

"Do you know, Estelle, I have an idea that Doris is very much changed? Have you noticed it?"

"She seemed to me much fonder of Earle, and not so strong as she was; I have not noticed any other difference."

"Then it must be my fancy. She has seemed to me more thoughtful, at times even sad, then strangely reckless. A strange idea has come to me – do you think she has any secret connected with that former lonely life of hers?"

"I do not think so," replied Lady Estelle, growing very pale.