The sun shone brightly upon the roses that gleamed in her hair and nestled against the white neck. Could it be lingering in cruel mockery upon the pale face and the dark eyes so full of wild horror? As Beatrice Earle read that letter, the color left even her lips, her heart seemed to stand still, a vague, nameless dread took hold of her, the paper fell from her hands, and with a long, low cry she fell upon her knees, hiding her face in her hands.
It had fallen at last--the cruel blow that even in her dreams and thoughts she had considered impossible. Hugh Fernely had found her out, and claimed her as his own!
This letter, which had stricken joy and beauty from the proud face and left it white and cold almost as the face of the dead was from him; and the words it contained were full of such passionate love that they terrified her. The letter ran as follows:
"My own Beatrice,--From peril by sea and land I have returned to claim you. Since we parted I have stood face to face with death in its most terrible form. Each time I conquered because I felt I must see you again. It is a trite saying that death is immortal. Death itself would not part me from you--nay, if I were buried, and you came to my grave and whispered my name, it seems to me I must hear you.
"Beatrice, you promised to be my wife--you will not fail me?
Ah, no, it can not be that the blue heavens above will look on quietly and witness my death blow! You will come to me, and give me a word, a smile to show how true you have been.
"Last evening I wandered round the grounds, wondering which were the windows of my love's chamber, and asking myself whether she was dreaming of me. Life has changed for you since we sat upon the cliffs at Knutsford and you promised to be my wife. I heard at the farm all about the great change, and how the young girl who wandered with me through the bonny green woods is the daughter of Lord Earle. Your home, doubtless, is a stately one.
Rank and position like yours might frighten some lovers--they do not daunt me. You will not let them stand between us. You can not, after the promises you uttered.
"Beatrice, my voyage has been a successful one; I am not a rich man, but I have enough to gratify every wish to your heart. I will take you away to sunny lands over the sea where life shall be so full of happiness that you will wish it never to end.
"I wait your commands. Rumor tells me Lord Earl is a strange, disappointed man. I will not yet call upon you at your own home; I shall await your reply at Brookfield. Write at once, Beatrice, and tell me how and when I may meet you. I will go anywhere, at any time. Do not delay--my heart hungers and thirsts for one glance of your peerless face. Appoint an hour soon. How shall I live until it comes? Until then think of me as "Your devoted lover, Hugh Fernely.
"Address Post Office, Brookfield."
She read every word carefully and then slowly turned the letter over and read it again. Her white lips quivered with indignant passion. How dared he presume so far? His love! Ah, if Hubert Airlie could have read those words! Fernely's love! She loathed him; she hated, with fierce, hot hatred, the very sound of his name. Why must this most wretched folly of her youth rise up against her now? What must she do? Where could she turn for help and counsel?
Could it be possible that this man she hated so fiercely had touched her face and covered her hands with kisses and tears?
She struck the little white hands which held the letter against the marble stand, and where Hugh Fernely's tears had fallen a dark bruise purpled the fair skin; white hard, fierce words came from the beautiful lips.
"Was I blind, foolish, mad?" she cried. "Dear Heaven, save me from the fruits of my own folly!"
Then hot anger yielded to despair. What should she do? Look which way she might, there was no hope. If Lord Earle once discovered that she had dealt falsely with him, she would be driven from the home she had learned to love. He would never pardon such concealment, deceit, and folly as hers. She knew that. If Lord Airlie ever discovered that any other man had called her his love, had kissed her face, and claimed her as his own, she would lose his affection. Of that she was also quite sure.
If she would remain at Earlescourt, if she would retain her father's affection and Lord Airlie's love, they must never hear of Hugh Fernely. There could be no doubt on that head.
What should she do with him? Could she buy him off? Would money purchase her *******? Remembering his pride and his love, she thought not. Should she appeal to his pity--tell him all her heart and life were centered in Lord Airlie? Should she appeal to his love for pity's sake?
Remembering his passionate words, she knew it would be useless.
Had she but been married before he returned--were she but Lady Airlie of Lynnton--he could not have harmed her. Was the man mad to think he could win her--she who had had some of the most noble-born men in England at her feet? Did he think she would exchange her grand old name for his obscure one--her magnificence for his poverty.
There was no more time for thought; the dinner bell had sounded for the last time, and she must descend. She thrust the letter hastily into a drawer, and locked it, and then turned to her mirror. She was startled at the change. Surely that pale face, with its quivering lips and shadowed eyes could not be hers.
What should she do to drive away the startled fear, the vague dread, the deadly pallor? The roses she wore were but a ghastly contrast.
"I must bear it better," she said to herself. "such a face as this will betray my secret. Let me feel that I do not care that it will all come right in the end."
She said the words aloud, but the voice was changed and hoarse.
"Women have faced more deadly peril than this," she continued, "and have won. Is there any peril I would not brave for Hubert Airlie's sake?"
Beatrice Earle left the room. She swept, with her beautiful head erect, through the wide corridors and down the broad staircase.
