She knew that Leonora's pretty face, once seen by the guests, wouldexcite remark. It had already won the admiration of the house-maids.
These latter persons, having caught occasional glimpses of Leonorain their errands to the housekeeper's room, were disposed to be verysociable with the fair American girl; but Mrs. West put an end to theirwell-meant cordialities by saying, gently:
"My niece would rather not be disturbed; she is in great trouble; shehas recently lost her father."
After that the maids did not court Leonora's society any more. Theyaccepted her aunt's excuse good-naturedly and sympathetically, andcontented themselves by talking about her among themselves, andpraising her beauty, which they declared to each other was even greaterthan that of the young ladies who were sojourning at Lancaster--greatereven than that of Lady Adela Eastwood, who, it was confidentlywhispered, was to be the next mistress of Lancaster Park.
Mrs. West grew downright sorry for her pretty prisoner, whose pinkcheeks were fading in the close, dark rooms where she was kept. Shesaid to herself that this would not do. She must not have poor Dick'sorphan child pining for liberty and light and the blessed sunshine thatwas free to all.
"I will not do it; no, not if I have to leave Lady Lancaster's serviceand make a home for the girl elsewhere," she said to herself.
So one day she came into the little room where Leonora, sitting at thewindow, gazed wistfully out at the green grass and the blue sky, withan unconscious pathos on the sweet, girlish face.
"My dear, you are tired of this stuffy little chamber, I know," shesaid.
"Not very," said the girl, a little drearily. "I suppose I ought to begrateful to you for giving me such a home."
"Grateful to me for hiding you away in these little musty rooms, asif you hadn't the sweetest face the sun ever shone on!" cried the goodwoman, self-reproachfully. "Not a bit of it, my dear. I'm ashamed ofmyself for treating you so. It mustn't go on so, or your health willsuffer, and so I shall tell Lady Lancaster; and if she won't allow youthe liberty of the grounds, I will go away from here and make us a snuglittle home somewhere else, where we may come and go as we please; sothere!" said the good woman, with sudden independence.
Leonora rose impulsively and went and kissed the homely face of herfriend.
"Aunt West, would you really do that much for me?" she exclaimed,delightedly.
"Yes, I would," Mrs. West answered, firmly. "Poor Dick left you to meto take care of, and I'm bound to do the best I can for your happiness."
"Ah!" said Leonora, checking an impatient sigh.
"And I've come to tell you," Mrs. West continued, "that if you'd liketo go and sketch the Abbey ruins, you may go this morning, Leonora."
"If I'd like!" cried the girl. "Oh, Aunt West! it's just what I waswishing for. I shall be so happy!"
"Yes; you shall go, dear, and stay all day, if you like. I'll putyou up a nice cold lunch in a little basket, and I'll hire thelodge-keeper's boy to show you the way. I'll give him a shilling to go,and he will stay all day to keep you from getting frightened."
"I shall not be frightened," said Leonora, radiant.
"I don't know; it's still and lonesome-like there, and the bats andscreech-owls might startle you. And there's an old dismantled chapel,too--"
"Oh, how lovely! I shall sketch that, too!" Leonora exclaimed, clappingher bands like a gleeful child.
"And a little old grave-yard," pursued Mrs. West. "Some of the oldLancasters are buried there. You might be afraid of their ghosts."
"I am not afraid of the Lancasters, dead or living," the girl answered,saucily, her spirits rising at the prospect before her.
She set forth happily under the convoy of little Johnnie Dale, thelodge-keeper's lad, a loquacious urchin who plied her with small-talkwhile he walked by her side with the lunch-basket Mrs. West hadprepared with as dainty care as if for Lady Lancaster herself.
She did not check the boy's happy volubility, although she did not heedit very much, either, as they hurried through the grand old park, wherethe brown-eyed deer browsed on the velvety green grass, and the greatoak-trees cast shadows, perhaps a century old, across their path.
When they had shut the park gates behind them, and struck into thegreen country lanes, bordered with honeysuckle and lilac, Leonora drewbreath with a sigh of delight.
"How sweet it all is! My father's country, too," she said. "Ah! he wasright to love these grand old English homes, although he was but lowlyborn. What a grand old park, what sweet, green lanes, what a sweet andpeaceful landscape! It is no wonder that the English love England!"
She remembered how her father, now dead and buried under the beautifulAmerican skies, had loved England, and always intended to return to itsome day with his daughter, that she might behold his native land.
She remembered how often he had quoted Mrs. Hemans' lines:
"The stately homes of England, How beautiful they stand! Amidst their tall ancestral trees O'er all the pleasant land! The deer across their greensward bound Through shade and sunny gleam, And the swan glides past them with the sound Of some rejoicing stream."
"He loved the homes of England, although his fate was not cast withthem," she said to herself. "Poor papa! I must try to love England forhis sake; it was always dear to him, although he was fond of his kindadopted home, too!"
When they reached the ruins, she studied them carefully on every sideto secure a picturesque view. She found that to get the best possibleone she would have to sit down among the graves close to the littledismantled chapel.
"You bain't going to sit down amang them theer dead folk, missus?"inquired Johnnie, round-eyed, and on the alert for ghosts.
"Yes, I am. Are you afraid to stay, Johnnie?" she asked, laughing.
"Ya'as, I be," he replied, promptly.
"Very well; you may go off to a distance and play," said Leonora."Don't let any one come this way to disturb me. And if you get hungry,you may have a sandwich out of my basket."
"I'm hungry now," he answered, greedily.
"Already, you little pig!" she cried. "Very well; take your sandwichnow, then, and be off out of my way. I'm going to make a picture."
She sat down on the broken head-stone of an old grave, took out hermaterials, and while she trimmed her pencils, glanced down and read thename on the tomb beneath her.
It was Clive, Lord Lancaster.
Something like a shudder passed over her as this dead Lancaster, gonefrom the ways of men more than a century ago, recalled to her theliving one.
"What do all the paltry aims and ambitions of our life matter, afterall?" the girl asked herself, soberly. "The grave awaits us all at last!
"'The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike the inevitable hour; The path of glory leads but to the grave.'"
Sitting there among the lonely green graves and broken, discoloredmonuments, with the ivy creeping over their dim inscriptions, Leonora,a little lonely black figure, began her sketch.
She worked industriously and skillfully, and nothing disturbed her forseveral hours.
Johnnie had availed himself of the opportunity to make an excursioninto the woods on his own account, and she was quite alone; but nothingalarmed her, and she worked on fearlessly amid the fragrant stillnessof the lovely June day, whose calmness was broken by nothing louderthan the hum of the bees among the flowers, or the joyous carol of thesky-lark as it soared from earth to heaven, losing itself, as it were,in the illimitable blue of the sky.
The midday sun climbed high and higher into the sky, and Leonora,pausing over her nearly completed sketch, pushed back her wide hat fromher flushed face, and stopped to rest, glancing around at the quietgraves that encompassed her.
"What a still and peaceful company we are!" she said, aloud, quaintly,never thinking how strange it looked to see her sitting there--the onlyliving thing among the silent tombs.
Then all at once,
as if the tenants of the grave had come to life,Leonora heard a soft babel of voices and laughter.
With a start she turned her head.
A party of gay young ladies and gentlemen were strolling toward heracross the level greensward. Foremost among them was Lord Lancaster,walking beside the earl's daughter.
It was too late for retreat.
Every eye turned on the graceful figure sitting there so quietly amongthe graves of the dead and gone Lancasters.
As they passed the low stone wall that divided them, Lancaster liftedhis hat and bowed low and profoundly.
Then they were gone, but an eager hum of masculine voices was borneback to her ears on the light breeze:
"By Jove! what a beauty!"
"Heavens! was that a ghost?"
"What a lovely being! Who is she, Lancaster?" She heard his deep,musical voice answer carelessly:
"It is Miss West--a young lady who is staying in the neighborhood forthe sketching, I believe."
They went on toward the ruins.
Leonora, with a deeper color in her fair face, bent over her sketch andrapidly put some finishing touches to it.
"Now I wonder where little Johnnie can be?" she thought.
She glanced up and saw Captain Lancaster coming back to her.
CHAPTER XXVI.
He came on quickly toward the figure sitting among the graves, with thesmall head poised defiantly, although Leonora was thinking to herself:
"He is coming to scold me, perhaps, for trespassing on his property."
He came up to her and stood bareheaded before her with the sunlightfalling on his fair head--tall, stalwart, handsome--a living Lancasteramong those dead and gone ones; one who did no discredit to the name.
"I beg your pardon for interrupting you," he said; "but--you aresketching the ruins?"
"Yes."
"Will you let me see your work?"
She held it out to him in silence.
He scrutinized it in mingled wonder and delight.
"How perfect! how spirited! how beautiful!" he cried. "You must havereal talent!"
"Thank you!" she answered, with a slight inclination of her head.
He stood watching the half-averted face a moment in silence. It had aslightly bored air, as if she wished he had not come, or that he would,at least, soon go.
"You are very brave, Miss West, sitting here all alone among thesegraves," he said, after that momentary pause.
"Did you leave your friends to come back and tell me that?" inquiredshe, with delicate sarcasm.
"No-o," slowly; "I came back to ask a favor, Miss West."
"Indeed?" incredulously.
"Yes; and it is this: I should like to have that sketch. My friend,Lady Adela, is in raptures over that pile of old ruins. She would liketo have a picture of it."
He was watching her closely. He was rewarded for his intent scrutiny byseeing an angry crimson flush the round cheek.
"You would like this for her?" said Leonora, with ominous calmness.
"Yes; will you part with it?--for money, if you will. It is singularlyperfect, and should be worth something considerable."
"You are very kind," said Leonora.
She had pulled a flower from a grave, and was tearing its petals apartwith fierce cruelty between her white fingers.
"No; I am only just," he said; then, with a smile. "Ah! Miss West, donot be so cruel to that poor flower. I have a shuddering convictionthat it is, metaphorically, myself you are deliberately annihilating."
She glanced up to him rather curiously from beneath her shady lashes.
"I--did not really think what I was doing," she said. "Why should youthink I would treat you that way?"
"Because I have been so unfortunate as to incur your dislike," heanswered.
She did not utter the denial he half hoped she would, but she threw hermutilated flower from her with a quickly suppressed sigh.
"Well, am I to have the sketch?" he inquired, after waiting vainly foran answer.
"No."
"You refuse?" he asked, chagrined.
"Yes. I drew the picture for myself, not for Lady Adela," she replied,spiritedly.
"She will be disappointed at my failure to secure it for her," said he.
"That does not matter to me," Leonora returned, coldly. "Why does shenot make a picture for herself?"
"She does not sketch."
"Ah! is it beneath her dignity?" asked the girl.
"No, but beyond her power," he returned.
"Really?" asked the girl.
"Yes," he replied; "she assures me that she has no talent at all inthat way. You who are so clever, Miss West, might afford to pity her."
"I do, but not because she can not draw," said Leonora.
"Why, then?"
"Because, for all her high birth and proud position, she will have tosell herself for money."
The shot told. She saw his cheek grow red.
"Mrs. West has been telling her these things. I wish to Heaven she hadheld her tongue!" he thought, bitterly. But aloud he said, lightly:"Perhaps you may find it expedient to do the same thing, Miss West."
"To do what?" she inquired.
"To marry for money," he replied.
"And you think it would be expedient?" she inquired, drawing herdelicate black brows together in a vexed little frown.
"Yes, for you," he replied. "You are too beautiful and gifted, MissWest, to be contented in your present humble condition. You shouldmarry wealth and position. Both would become you rarely."
"Thank you, my lord," she said, bowing, with a pretty gesture of mockhumility.
"That reminds me to tell you that De Vere will be here to-morrow," hesaid, suddenly.
"What has that to do with our subject?" she inquired, shortly.
"Everything. De Vere is in love with you, and he is rich and well born.You can be Mrs. De Vere any time you wish."
"Did your friend employ you to tell me this?" asked Leonora, pale withpassion.
"No; but he would have no objection to my doing so. He will tell you sohimself when he comes."
"And you advise me to marry him?" she asked, gazing into his face withher soft, steady glance.
His own eyes fell beneath it.
"I should not presume to advise you; yet it would be a good thing foryou, I know. De Vere adores you. He would be your slave, and you wouldbe like a little queen in the position to which his wealth would raiseyou."
"You make a great deal of wealth," she said, gravely, and waitingcuriously for his reply.
"It is a great power in the world," he replied.
"Is it?" she asked. "Ah! Lord Lancaster, 'almost thou persuadest me' tosink to Lady Adela's level and sell myself for gold."
"You seem to have imbibed a strange contempt for Lady Adela," he said.
"I have. Where is her womanliness, her self-respect, that she canlend herself to that wicked old woman's ambitious schemes for buyinga coroneted head with her twenty thousand a year? She is the daughterof a hundred earls, and yet she can give herself to you merely for themoney's sake. Pah!"
"Need it be merely for the money's sake?" he asked. "Am I repulsive tolook upon, Miss West? Is it quite impossible that a woman, Lady Adelaor another, should give me her heart with her hand?"
Something like wounded pride quivered in his voice, and he looked ather reproachfully.
"Would it be impossible for me to be loved for myself alone?" he wenton, slowly. "Might not some good, true, sweet woman love me for my ownself--even as I am?"
She looked up at the handsome face, the large, graceful form, andsilently recalled the words Lieutenant De Vere had spoken to her on thesteamer's deck that day:
"He is more run after by the women than any man in the regiment."
"He knows his power," she thought; and from sheer contrariness made noanswer to his appeal. "He shall not know what I think about it," shesaid to herself.
CHAPTER XXVII.
The handsome young lord stood looking at the f
air face and mute redlips with a half chagrined air for a moment; then he said, hastily:
"Good-day, Miss West. I see how disagreeable my presence is, so I willleave you to your meditations among the tombs. I hope none of those oldfellows will come out of their graves to haunt you for your scorn oftheir descendant.
"I hope not, indeed!" said Leonora, and then she laughed.
He turned back at the sound of that laugh.
Perhaps she was relenting.
She had risen, indeed, and was holding out to him the sketch he coveted.
"Take it," she said. "I was in a bad temper just now. Lady Adela mayhave it."
"Will you, indeed, be so kind?" he exclaimed, radiant with pleasure."But, indeed, you must not give your whole morning's work for nothing.Let me--"
He put his hand into his pocket and brought out a shining gold piece.
"Thank you, my lord," said Leonora, demurely, as she received the moneyinto her palm. "I shall be able to buy myself a new dress with this."
"You are not angry?" he said, struck by an inexplicable something inher tone.
"Oh, no; I am very glad to be so well paid for my work," she answered,with the same demure air; and then she said, suddenly: "Good-morning,"and walked away from him.
He followed her.
"Are you going home alone, Miss West?"
"No; I have a small escort hereabouts, if he has not eaten my lunch andrun away," she replied, carelessly.