. . .
"You are here alone? Could Arthur find no one to dance with you?" said Lady Ida as she passed along the balcony and saw Edith sitting there.
I have been dancing all the evening and am only waiting here for Amy," answered Edith, adding kindly, "Let me offer you my seat, for you look pale and weary."
"Who have you been dancing with, pray, old Sir Harry Lee or Doctor Morton?" said Lady Ida as she threw herself into the seat from which Edith rose.
"Oh, no," said Edith gently. "Mr. Temple and Lord Arlington were my partners twice, and I have just finished my third dance with Lord Percy. He left me here and went to find Amy, for we are going to the lake."
Lady Ida felt her proud heart swell with anger, for Lord Percy had not asked her once, and Lord Arlington had scarcely spoken to her since Edith came. With .1 scornful look, she said, "You are too forward, Miss Adelon, and should remember that they only ask you for Amy's sake. You should decline, for it is soon remarked when lowborn girls like you are taken notice of, and for your own sake I advise you to be more reserved and less bold."
"Lady Ida, what have I ever done that you should treat me so unkindly?" said Edith. Her low voice trembled, while the tears shone in her gentle eyes. "I am not bold and gladly would refuse them all, but they would not let me, and for Amy's sake I danced with them. If it was wrong, forgive it, and tell me how 1 can win your love. Why do you so dislike me? Have I in any way offended you?"
"Yes," said Lady Ida bitterly. "You are young and lovely, and in spite of poverty and humble birth, you win respect and admiration from those above you. You have no right to stand between me and my happiness as you do, and I hate you for it."
"I have no other home but this and no friends to take me in or, much as I love Amy, I would leave her and trouble you no more," said Edith sadly. "How one so poor and humble as myself can injure you I cannot tell, but if it is so, do not hate me for the wrong I may have innocently done you, but tell me how I can escape it for the future, and I gladly will obey you."
"Will you promise to avoid the guests who may be staying with us and keep in your chamber as you used to do before you rescued Amy at the crags? Will you refuse to sing and take part in the gaieties about you? Will you do this and by pleasing me repay in part the debt of gratitude you owe my aunt?"
"I will," said Edith, "if by granting this, your strange request, I can win your friendship and goodwill. You cannot tell the happiness a gentle word can give me. Be more kind and I will gladly promise to obey you."
" Thank you, Edith. It is only for a while, and I will repay you for the favor you have granted." Lady Ida spoke kindly, for her heart reproached her for depriving Edith of the little happiness she possessed to gain her own selfish wishes. They both stood silent for a moment, and neither saw a tall figure glide quickly from a dark window just beside them and enter a lighted one beyond.
"Amy does not come. I will go and seek her. Can we pass through this way?" said Edith as she turned to enter the small room beside her.
"No," said Lady Ida, "the door is locked. It can be entered only from the balcony. Ah, here are Amy and her party coming for you," she added as their gay voices drew nearer and Lord Percy, Arthur, and young Arlington, with Amy and her cousin Lady Mary Villiars, joined them.
"Are you ready, ladies, for a stroll in the park and a moonlight voyage? Stay a moment. I'll get Amy's guitar, and then we will be off," said Arthur gaily as he stepped into the small, unlighted room. A moment after, he returned, saying, "Who has lost a glove I found by the door? Someone has been romantically sitting in the dark. Oh, Percy, you've but one. Come now, confess."
"What have I to confess, save that I tried to pass into the hall that way and dropped it then, I think," replied Lord Percy, adding, as he took the glove, "Shall we not go? It is getting late and the moon is brightest now before setting."
"Where has Edith vanished to?" said Arthur as they stood on the broad steps of the terrace, looking down the lighted paths.
"I was promising myself a ramble in your enchanted park with Miss Adelon, but I turned to look and she was gone," said Lord Arlington.
"She is doubtless tired and has left us for a quiet hour by herself. She is not strong and often keeps to her chamber," said Lady Ida as she turned her eyes away, for she saw Lord Percy look earnestly at her and, conscious of the falsehood she was telling, it confused her, for she knew too well why Edith had so silently retired and given up her pleasure, as she had promised.
No more was said, and they went on beneath the lighted trees till the clear, cool lake lay sparkling before them. "Put our fair cargo in the boat and we'll lift anchor and away," said Arthur as he arranged the cushioned seats and handed them in.
"Lady Mary does not like to venture on the water. I will see her safely back," said Lord Percy, adding as he turned away, "Do not wait for me. Sail off. I will find my way to you again."
"A song would sound finely here. Can no one favor us?" said Lord Arlington as they floated on the lake.
"But for Mary's fears, Percy would be here, and he "could sing divinely for us," replied Arthur. "I do not see him on the shore. How long he is detained."
"If Edith were but with us, we could spare Lord Percy longer," said Amy. "I am sorry that we did not send for her. She would enjoy it so much. Can we not row back and get her, Arthur?"
"No, no," said Lady Ida, "waste no more time but land us on the little island by the willow tree. Lord Arlington was saying yesterday how much he wished to see it, and it will look charmingly tonight."
"Hark!" cried Amy. "There is Edith's voice, but ' who can be singing with her? How beautifully they blend, dying so mournfully away, and see, here they come. Who is it standing in the boat?"
"Hush," said her brother, "do not call. It is too beautiful to end. Row into the shade, Robert, we will listen there." As they rested in the shadow, a small boat floated by, and in it stood Lord Percy, while before him on the cushioned seat sat Edith, her low, sweet voice mingling with the clear, deep music of his own as they sang a soft Italian air.
As the music ceased, they heard Lord Percy say, "I do not see them. Shall we not sail on and trust to find them at the island? As your boatman I wait your orders, Miss Adelon."
"Do I not see them there just in the shadow of that tree? Can we go a little nearer? I fear I am wearying you, but Lady Hamilton is anxious about Amy, and I could not come alone," said Edith.
"How can I feel weariness with moonlight such as this and music like your own? If the voyage of life were half as pleasant, few would wish it ended," he gently answered, adding gaily, "Arthur, is that you? Come out. You look suspicious hiding there."
"We are no pirates, Percy. Therefore, here we are," replied young Hamilton as their boat glided out and merry greetings were exchanged.
"Where did you find our missing Edith?" asked Amy. "We looked but could not see her."
"I met her seeking you, Lady Amy, with a messege and a mantle from your mother. You were here, and what could I do but take the wandering lady in and follow?" said Lord Percy with a smile.
"Many thanks, dear Edith, for your care of me and the sweet music we have listened to. I shall ask to hear the song again, now I have learned how beautifully Lord Percy's voice accompanies yours. Row closer, Arthur, so that I can reach the shawl," said Amy.
As Edith leaned across the boat to speak to Amy, Lady Ida said, "Would you not rather sit with Amy? 1 will change if you would like it, Edith."
"Thank you. I am very happy here, and it might be dangerous to move," she answered, handing her the shawl.
Lady Ida took it rudely from her hand, and had not Lord Percy caught her dress, she would have fallen.
"Dear Edith! Are you hurt? How did you fall?" cried Amy as she saw her lean for a moment on his arm.
"I am safe, Amy. Do not be alarmed. A little wet, but that is all," she answered with a smile, though the tears were in her eyes at Lady Ida's unkind look and action.
"You had better hasten bac
k, Edith, if you are wet," said Arthur. "James or Robert can row you, and Percy need not miss his sail."
"Thank you, Arthur, but I'm commander here and must see my vessel safely back," replied Lord Percy as he took an oar, "and I shall not miss my sail if Miss Adelon will sing. Finish your excursion to the island for Arlington's sake and do not disappoint your sister. Fair winds and a pleasant voyage." And, with a smile, he turned the little boat while the others landed by the willow tree.
"Miss Adelon, forgive my boldness and, believe me, it is from no idle curiosity that I ask if you are happy here," said Lord Percy as they floated slowly back. "I ask because I have seen and heard unkind looks and words and could not rest till I had offered with a brother's frankness part of my own home to one who needs and so well deserves the tenderness and care of friends. Pardon me if I am venturing too far, but I have often sought for someone who would be a child and faithful friend to my aged mother. She is very lonely, for I am much away, and she would make a quiet, happy home for you and be a wise and loving friend. In the weeks I have known you, I have wished more fondly every day that she could have a gentle, pure-hearted faithful friend like you beside her and that you could be enjoying her quiet, happy home and that good mother's love and care. Forgive me if I have pained you, and let me serve you if I may." He spoke with gentle earnestness and a timid fear, lest he should say too much of what his kind heart felt.
Edith, while the bright tears lay upon her cheek, answered sadly, "I am deeply grateful for this kindness, and were it not for Amy and the love and gratitude I owe her, I would gladly be to your mother as a faithful, loving child; but while Amy needs me, I must stay, and for her sake gladly bear any little coldness or neglect and try to be more thankful for the home they gave me when I was friendless and alone. Again, I thank you for the generous offer you have made me and the kind thought that prompted it, and believe me, when I need a home and friends I will most gratefully accept the one you have given me."
"And will you let me call myself a friend and serve you as such?" he asked with a gentle smile.
"I am a poor and humble girl. You are Lord Percy, Then how can we be friends?" asked Edith, looking with her innocent eyes to him.
"You are poor and humble, Miss Adelon, but rich in woman's truest virtues and rendered noble by a warm and sinless heart. 'Lord Percy' is but a name and, casting that aside, I am one who finds his greatest happiness in simple things and cares little for the rank and riches of the world, for these are nothing to a noble human heart. Then can you not forget the difference of years and let me learn of one whose pure and self-denying life I reverence so deeply, and accept my friendship freely and as frankly as I offer it?"
"I will," she answered with a happy, trusting smile, and in simple, earnest words she thanked him for the kindness he had shown her. And when he left her in the hall with the hope that through his carelessness she would not suffer, she watched with tearful eyes till he was gone and then stole softly to her room to treasure up the gentle words he had spoken and pray that she might deserve so noble and so kind a friend. And in her dreams she was floating still beside him on the moonlit lake.
CHAPTER
VII
IN A POOR AND HUMBLE ROOM SAT Edith by a bed, where lay a sick and suffering woman on whose pale and careworn face a smile was resting as she listened to the low, sweet voice beside her. When it ceased, she said, "Dear lady, read no more. Pleasant as it is, it must be wearisome to you, and you have still a long walk back. God bless you for the comfort you have given, and think me not ungrateful if I ask one favor more, but a mother's heart is ever fearing danger for those it loves the best. Then may I ask you to watch over my poor Louis? He is young and proud, and in the home that Lady Hamilton has kindly given him there are many things to tempt a gay and thoughtless boy. He has avoided coming here and, when last I saw him, seemed restless and unhappy. Then I feared all was not going well but dared not ask the cause. You are near him and can silently observe all that he does and save him perhaps from harm and win the blessing of her who should be there to guide and guard him. Dear Miss Adelon, forgive me if I ask too much, but on my lonely bed I have pined to be beside my fatherless child and longed most earnestly for some kind friend to whom I might confide my grief and who would grant my prayer and be a guardian to my poor boy. You are the truest one I have, and in you I have put my hope, knowing well the kind heart that can feel for suffering and sorrow."
"Nay, Theresa, do not weep so bitterly. Believe me, I will watch with all a sister's care over him and in my humble way do all I can to save him from temptation. He is a good, brave boy, and he loves you tenderly. He will, I hope, in all his troubles, ever turn to her who so patiently has borne her own deep sorrow. Do not fear for him, and rest assured a faithful friend shall be ever near him. Now let me bring some cooling drink and bathe your head, for you are feverish and weak."
As Edith bent so tenderly above the humble bed, Theresa's dim eyes rested fondly on the gentle form beside her, and she murmured softly, "He may well say 'tis an angel's face. None other could so tenderly look down on suffering and grief."
"Who are you speaking of, Theresa? Some new friend?" asked Edith as she laid a cooling bandage on the aching head.
"He told me not to mention it, but as he knows you, it can do no harm. I spoke of the kind gentleman who comes so often when you are gone. He reads the same book to me and speaks words of joy and comfort like your own. When I tell him all you have done to cheer my suffering life, he listens silently, while a smile so bright and beautiful shines on his handsome face. 'Who is he?' I have often asked, that I may bless him when I pray, but he always answers that your name alone is worthy to be whispered in my prayers. He stays with Lady Hamilton, but who he is, I cannot tell."
"Perhaps it is Lord Percy. Is he pale with gentle eyes and a low, sweet voice?" said Edith, while the color deepened in her cheek.
"Yes," replied Theresa, "but highborn and noble as he seems, few could be so gentle and so kind. And yet, dear Miss Adelon, no lord would come to my poor home and sit beside a dying woman with a face of such tender pity and speak such words of faith and consolation to a lonely heart. It cannot be Lord Percy, though the villagers can tell strange tales of all the good he does so silently."
"It must be he," said Edith. "And did you tell me he came every day?"
"The first time he came, you had just left me, and I sat beside the door, watching you along the narrow path and thinking how few young ladies would come that long, lonely way to cheer and comfort a poor thing like me, when he came round the rock that stands beside the spring and spoke so gently and said he was a friend of yours, that I told him all my story and blessed you for your care. He said little and seemed in haste to go. When he had gone, I found he had laid money on my chair. I watched him long, and he seemed to be following you as if to guard and yet not be seen himself. I loved him for his care of you, and in my prayers I bless this unknown friend and treasure his kind words with yours deep in my grateful heart."
"We will talk no more now, for you are pale and need some rest. Tell no one what you have told me, and prize the true and noble friend you have won," said Edith as she placed the pillows with a gentle hand and, with a few more words, she stole out. As she passed along the lonely path, she looked back often to see if her kind protector might be there, but no one could be seen, and with a new cause for gratitude and honor for one whom she already reverenced so deeply, Edith went her quiet way.
Theresa was a poor Frenchwoman who, in her younger days, had been a nurse to Amy and her brother and, as time went on, had won by her faithfulness and care the confidence of Lady Hamilton, who now, when she was ill and dying, gave her a quiet home and many comforts to repay her for the years of patient service she had given. She was a widow, and her only child, a boy of fifteen, was now placed by Lady Hamilton in her own home as a sort of page for Amy and herself. The handsome, lively boy was glad to show his gratitude by willingly performing all the slight tasks they migh
t give him. But he was young and thoughtless, and in the pleasant home, now his, he daily learned of those about him to sigh for wealth and rank and soon grew discontented, sly, and sullen. His mother had soon seen the change and feared some evil might befall her child. She dared not take him from the dangerous home which in mistaken kindness had been given him, and thus she had told her trouble to the gentle friend who often left the gaieties she might have joined to sit beside her humble couch and cheer the lonely mother lying there. Edith had promised to befriend the boy, and faithfully she kept her word.
As she passed along the balcony, young Hamilton came gaily toward her, saying, "We have been waiting for you, Edith. Neither Amy nor myself enjoy our rides when you are gone. The horses will be here by the time your hat is on. Amy is waiting for you in your room. Ah, Percy, you are just in time. I hope your solitary ramble has not wearied you too much to join us in a ride."
Edith raised her eyes as Arthur spoke and saw in Lord Percy's hand a little flower, which she well knew grew only by Theresa's cottage. The lonely walk was now explained, and when Lord Percy turned to greet her, he wondered why the gentle eyes were fixed so earnestly upon him.